#she is a demon disguised as an angel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aureatchi · 6 months ago

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ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about.

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up.

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you.

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!”

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence.

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.”

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.”

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud.

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.”

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement.

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.”

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right.

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed.

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile.

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps.

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far.

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.”

“Pardon me, Fyodor?”

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position.

It was just meant to be, you guessed.

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence.

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested.

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now.

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint.

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both.

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too.

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works.

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?”

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.”

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation.

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied.

“Even worse! You better not fall off!”

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening.

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made.

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness.

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.”

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror.

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular.

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room.

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design.

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said.

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.”

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others.

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods.

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics.

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you.

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said.

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!”

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks.

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.”

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…”

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters.

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after.

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed.

“…Yes, my lady.”

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing.

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again.

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man.

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake.

Oh shit!

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank.

Am I really going to do this?

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began.

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in.

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted.

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature.

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you.

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return.

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue.

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly.

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared.

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.”

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?”

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry.

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up.

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!”

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside.

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting.

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?”

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself.

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs.

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.)

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves.

There is no way.

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room.

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask.

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd.

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!”

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else.

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.”

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading.

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away.

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white.

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him.

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed.

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him?

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions.

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters.

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them.

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear.

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all.

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face.

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you.

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach.

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago?

He was the artist you admired all along?

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words.

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked.

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not.

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.”

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.”

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.”

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you.

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words.

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough?

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?”

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face.

“Excuse me?”

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you.

“I’m flattered.”

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own.

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat.

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project.

“What about you, my lord?”

There was a pause; he was thinking.

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?”

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you.

What a juxtaposition.

“What did you say?”

“Did you not hear me?”

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.”

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?”

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you.

“Lord Dazai?”

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where.

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight’s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.”

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.”

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine.

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended.

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!”

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared.

“Keyword: nearly!”

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them.

“Ow!”

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn.

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot.

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin.

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot.

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted.

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.”

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor.

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere.

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly.

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.”

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what.

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore.

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit.

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge.

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided.

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned.

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.”

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.”

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed.

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer.

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist.

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?”

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy.

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration.

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you.

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you.

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night.

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.”

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal.

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.”

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!”

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.”

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake.

“Exactly! You remember!”

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?”

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself.

“You’re too beautiful to not.”

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.”

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room.

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.”

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors.

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.”

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas.

It was unheard of.

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again.

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you.

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked.

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?”

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay.

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.”

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?”

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was.

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope.

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed.

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.”

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it.

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out.

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm.

“There you are! Let’s go!”

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away.

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away.

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?”

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.”

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.”

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.”

“Intentions? For what?”

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…”

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside.

“...I carve marble, not paint.”

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.”

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice.

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo.

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care.

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-”

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you.

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.”

The three of you waited.

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.”

He thought for another moment.

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.”

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night.

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door.

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.”

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys.

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!”

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.”

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys.

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.”

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside.

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased.

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.”

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!”

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day.

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.”

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.”

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.”

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.”

Dance.

Deceit.

Dreams.

Only a few you had discovered so far.

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land.

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise.

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours.

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again.

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked.

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you?

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!”

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative.

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…”

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?”

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.”

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!”

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?”

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.”

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?”

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin.

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.”

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?”

“Rome.”

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.”

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state.

As if you did not already.

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again.

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer.

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?”

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway.

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face.

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night.

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again.

“I pinkie promise,” he said.

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter.

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—”

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless.

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.”

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.”

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

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anxi04 · 24 days ago

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Tim admits this was… definitely a bad idea. But in his defense he could not be blamed for anything he decides after an intense case. He stayed up for a consecutive 74 hours and then crashed for 2 days straight so… really it's Kon's fault for taking the suggestion seriously.

Tim and Kon are at Olive Garden on a small date, nothing too serious. However like the fool Tim is he's disguised so he doesn't get recognized as 'Timothy Jackson Drake' or 'Tim Wayne' and since he's still very out of it at the moment he's not really putting much of a mask on so the confidence is gone, and he's still so tired so the comprehension is a little… off right now.

He forgot about the dreaded 'how much Parmesan do you want' question for dishes and after a minute it just got too awkward to say anything. So here they are, Tim dying inside while the waiter (who's definitely a meta cause where the hell is all that cheese coming from?) grates the 5th block of Parmesan. Kon is laughing the traitor that he is and at this point it's also a little bit of a challenge on his and the waiters end.

"Is this good enough for your exquisite tastes?" The waiter, Lora (god they are getting a minimum of a 500$ tip), asks him very pointedly while looking directly in his eyes and aggressively grating.

Tim can feel an angel and demon on his shoulder. 'More! A mountain of cheese! All the cheese in the restaurant!' is what his angel is saying. The demon is… cruel in the way they want cheese.

God maybe Tim should've stayed asleep. He stares the waiter in the eyes (uncomfortable but he's had to look Becca directly in her beady eyes and tell her that her ex-husband was wrong for leaving. Tim gave said husband the courage to leave. This is nothing.) and makes a 'go on' gesture.

Tim blinks and suddenly three feet have been added to the height of the cheese mountain and holy shit. Using powers for the most petty reason is 100% what he would do. He respects Lora so much right now.

"Tim.. Hon… You're lactose intolerant that is way more than enough." Once Kon was able to get his breath back he tries putting an end to this madness but Tim is committed. So is Lora, if the way her eyes dart over to Kon in a challenge is any indication.

"No. Lactose intolerance is a weakness and I will train it out." Why is he not backing out oh god what the fuck is he thinking.

"Oh, would you like more help with that? We have some more… brutal cheeses for lactose intolerance. I can grab some mozzarella, or brie, or any other soft cheeses." Oh my god. Tim's gonna die here. He's gonna die cause he's too stubborn. Although he respects the hell out of Lora right now. He's entertaining the idea of her becoming a hero. Or villain. Either would fit.

Anyway. That sounds like a challenge, and Tim doesn't back down from challenges like that. "That would be wonderful, thank you." Eye contact has not been broken. Janet would be proud of him.

Eventually there is a 10 foot tall mountain of cheese on his plate and a ladder next to the table. And now he'd feel like a dick if he doesn't eat it all but also holy fuck he is severely lactose intolerant.

Kon's head is making a dent in the table. Tim will fully understand if Kon needs a break after this.

He can see Lora blatantly staring him down from across the restaurant and well that's just another fucking challenge.

Slowly, (but not too slowly, no that would be showing weakness) he finishes the plate. And honestly he completely forgot what he had originally ordered until he got to the bottom of it and by then it was just such a cheesy mess he can't even tell if it was supposed to be spaghetti or some version of American Alfredo. He eats it anyway.

Lora comes over soon after, fake smile barely hiding fury, and asks if he wants seconds. It's a challenge and Tim doesn't refuse challenges… but Tim is also not dumb and so he declines. He swears he sees disappointment in her eyes.

She lets him pay the bill and tip her (looking at him slightly when he gives her a thousand dollars, which causes him to put down another thousand in her hand) and soon after they're set to leave.

Tim does however hear her say something about using the money to put little rockets on a skateboard instead of something useless like rent and honestly? Tim might have found his best civilian (for now) friend.

They leave Olive Garden 2,043$ less rich (not really) and Tim with a new contact and a promise to personally build her a skateboard that easily reaches 90 mph.

He's praying no one recognized him and he won't wake up to the news calling him out. He could never live it down.

(He was in fact recognized, but by one of the Bat-Clan and when he opens his bedroom there is an absurd amount of cheese everywhere. He blames Jason.)

(It was Damian.)

#tim drake #connor kent #batfamily #chaotic tim drake #damian wayne #tim drake is a menace #damian bought so much vegan cheese the cashier was looking at him so confused and concerned #kon was recording the whole thing #lora also ends up joining the titans. and then a day later becoming a villain and specifically becoming one of tim’s rogues

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spacebubblehomebase · 8 months ago

Text

Enchanting as always: Carmilla~!

Human disguised Carmilla Carmine with her hair up and down in the style of my #HHStargazersAU! She doesn't play a major role or anything, nor will I focus much on the other Overlords. I'll mostly keep it between Chaggie & Radioapple, but @softholly made me curious about what Camilla would look like if I were to draw her in my story. I got the curly haired idea from one of her daughters. As for WHY she would be disguised as a human if we were to see her in my AU... Surely you didn't think Vaggie & Alastor are the ONLY angelic/demonic entities roaming the Earth now, did you? =) Question is, why are any of these powerful beings on the mortal realm to begin with? Guess we'll later find out~! XD -Bubbly💙

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justatasteofyourpoison · 9 months ago

Text

Helping Alastor out of a rut…

(A Hazbin Hotel/Alastor x Fem reader fan fiction)

Part 1

My first time writing a bit of Hazbin Hotel smut. Well, any smut for that matter! Probably a lot of grammatical mistakes but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Pairing: Alastor x Fem Reader

Plot: Not a great deal of plot, but you’re the latest resident at the HH who may be able to help Alastor out of his rut…

Warnings: 18+, smut, sexual content, rough sex (not for me, but maybe you) oral, rut, slight bit of bondage, p in v, not the best grammar).

Word count: 2k

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It was a quiet evening at the Hazbin hotel. You were sat in the lobby flicking through an old recipe book you had found on the sprawling bookshelves, hoping to find something new to make everyone for dinner tomorrow. You glanced up from your book periodically just to see what everyone was up to. Nifty was wondering around, dusting every nook and cranny while muttering to herself. She relished in tormenting any roaches that she stumbled across during her duties. Angel Dust was sat at the bar speaking quietly with Husk. “Get a room you two” you thought to yourself as you could see Angel leaning closer and closer towards Husk as the night went on. Charlie and Vaggie you presumed would be upstairs coming up with the next “fantastic” team building exercise for tomorrow. And as for Sir Pentious, who knows what batshit crazy stuff he was up to…

After scanning the room your eyes fell back down to the pages of your book, but you felt distracted by how heavy the air suddenly felt. You had felt it building for the last few days, like the air was filled with static and something was brewing… But you just thought that was just Hell for you, something ominous happened everyday! With a small shake of your head you continued with your recipe searching.

“There is a wonderful recipe for Jambalaya in that book y’know” a statically voice chimed, “not as good as mine of course”. You looked up from your book and saw two familiar red eyes staring back at you, as if they were looking into your very soul.“Hello Alastor” you said cheerfully, trying to disguise just how much the Radio Demon had made you jump. Despite his fearsome appearance and sadistic nature you were very fond of him. He was always very good company and you had spent many a night shooting the breeze and laughing with him at the bar. “How are you this evening?” you said warmly.

“How kind of you to ask my dear” Alastor said, smiling devilishly as always.

“I’ve been better” he said sounding almost pained. Which was very unlike him at all.

“Oh no what’s wrong?” You said almost taken aback, the Radio Demon was always on cloud 9 (as much as you can be in hell). Alastor slowly stood up and leaned down towards you, his mouth just an inch from your ear. “Something you can maybe help me with Mon Cheri”. His hot breath in your ear sent a shiver down your spine. He stood up sharply, his eyes still burning into you. “Meet me in my room in 15 minutes, don’t worry about knocking. I’ll be expecting you.” And with a flash of black smoke he was gone. You sat there for a minute, face flushed, heart racing. Whatever could the Radio Demon want with you?

You pondered outside Alastair’s door a moment exactly 14 minutes after he left you in the downstairs lobby. You didn’t want to keep the Radio Demon waiting, but knots were building in your stomach. What did he want with you? You’d heard of the all the deals he had made in the past with poor wayward souls of hell. Is that what he wanted from you? Your Soul?

You took a deep breath and grasped the brass doorknob, twisting it carefully to not make a noise before gingerly stepping into the room. “Alastor?” You chimed nervously as you closed the door silently behind you. You turned and stepped into the room taking everything in. The room was warmly lit, with old books and various flora and fauna filling the ceiling high shelves. A grand 4 poster bed adorned with red satin sheets sat against the middle of the wall to the left of you. You walked forward and stopped in line with the end of the bed when you finally clocked Alastor stood looking over the balcony at the almost-full moon. His red hair almost looking ablaze in the moonlight. His jacket and bow tie were resting on top of the stone banister of the balcony. You had never seen him looking so informal.

“Nice of you to join me my dear” Alastor said cheerfully, his back still to you. You could feel the air was now saturated with static, the intensity of it made your pulse quicken.

“You wanted to see me?” you said, no longer being able to hide the nervousness in your voice.

“Yes my dear, and because you came with such hast I will not keep you in the dark much longer. “You see…” he continued to gaze up at the moon. “You see where I was born it is now Autumn. And although we don’t see the seasons change in hell, for some reason I can feel this change every single year. And Autumn…” He trailed off almost contemplating his next words.“Autumn is the season when some animals have certain…” Before finishing his sentence he turned to face you. “Desires.” He said smirking.

Was the Radio Demon asking what you thought? Did he want your body? Before you could contemplate what he was saying any longer he had appeared in front of you, his eyes aglow. “I know you can feel the static my dear” he mused. “And I definitely know you have secretly desired this”. Alastor wasn’t wrong, since arriving in hell you hadn’t ever even had so much a thought about anyone; except Alastor. There was just something about him. You titled your face up to meet the Demon’s gaze, the tension now palpable. “Ok, let me help you Alastor” you said sweetly, your heart racing from the excitement.

Barely as you finished your sentence Alastors lips came crashing into yours and your lips instinctively moved with his. You opened your mouth to allow his tongue to snake in, the passion of the kiss sending heat rushing down your body. His clawed hands caressed your face before gently sliding down your neck and gripping your shirt. With one swift pull in either direction your shirt was ripped open. “Haha!” Alastor laughed nervously, “A bit lost in the moment, I will pay to have a new one tailored of course”. He said charmingly before carefully undoing the button of your trousers and sliding them down gently, exposing your simple black underwear. The Radio Demon looked you up and down “just perfect” he purred. “May I?” He said, his eyes gesturing towards your bra and underwear. His formality took you back slightly, but you guessed no matter how sadistic Alastor could be he was a gentleman when it came to the ladies. “Of course” you said seductively, you couldn’t wait to have him.

He removed your bra and underwear as gently as possible, his claws fumbling with the clasp of your bra a moment. Making you both chuckle like teenagers. When your breasts were exposed his eyes seemed to glow brighter as he bent down to have a taste. You moaned lightly as you could feel his tongue twirling slowly around each nipple. His hand reaching down to place two fingers between your now soaking lips. A low moan came out of him as he felt how ready you were. He removed his fingers and clicked them and in an instant his shirt and trousers were gone, before you he stood in just a pair of black boxers. His chest was adorned with thick black and red hair which trailed down to the large yearning bulge in his tight boxers.

He scooped you up and carried you to the bed as if you weighed nothing. He gently placed you down and moved down the bed, his head between your thighs. “Let’s see how you taste” he whispered seductively before licking slowly up the length of your slit. His Antlers has grown large and in the heat of the moment you grabbed hold of them. “Ah ah ah” the demon teased, “you may look but not touch”. With that green glowing chains appeared around your wrists and pinned you to the headboard. The buck then continue to taste you, circling your clit with his masterful tongue as you lay there squirming. It was all starting to get too much. “Alastor.” You painted. “Please fuck me”.

Alastor removed his head from between you thighs and sat up on his knees. He looked down and smiled cheekily “I guess it is time we both got what we wanted” and with a click of his fingers the green shackles disappeared, along with his boxers. Revealing his engorged cock which was glistening wet in anticipation. He leant down to kiss you while getting himself into position, each kiss still as meltingly passionate as the first. He grabbed just below the tip of his manhood and thrust it inside you. You squealed involuntarily from the sudden pain, annoyed at yourself as you didn’t want to come across as weak in front of the demon. “I’m sorry my Doe” Alastor cooed. He slowed his rhythm and gently eased himself into you. “I didn’t expect you to be so tight, what a delight you are” he purred.

After a few more gentle, but still painful thrusts the stinging began to melt away into pleasure and you both began moaning in delight at every thrust. You gazed up at the handsome demon and still couldn’t believe he wanted you! “Oh Y/N” he growled as his thrusts became deeper and faster. You could feel him hitting your sweet spot with perfect rhythm. “Please don’t stop Alastor!” You moaned. He continued his pace with perfect precision and you could feel your orgasm brewing, a few more thrusts and that was it - pure ecstasy. Your legs tightened around his back, lightly brushing his tail and your cunt convulsed around his cock with otherworldly pleasure. As the pleasure sadly dulled Alastor could take no more, he swiftly pulled out of you before grabbing your hand and pulling you up “on all fours please my dear” he begged. You faced away from him and placed your pussy in the air, leaning your head down and arching your back. He entered you swiftly, grabbing your hips, claws digging in animalistic-ally. As the thrusts quickened the demon began to moan in pleasure before finally he reached his peak. You could feel him come inside you “Oh Y/N!” He moaned. The static in his voice wavering. He collapsed onto you back and you both just stayed there for a moment trying to get your breath back.

A few moments passed and Alastor retreated from you, laying himself down on the satin pillows. His antlers shrinking back to their normal size as his head hit the pillow. “Ah that was wonderful, I’m absolutely shattered” he chuckled before yawning and reaching his arm out to pull you onto his chest. His nose nestled into your hair breathing in the sweaty scent of you. You snuggled into him, wanting the moment to last forever. “Sorry my dear, but I must be getting to sleep, one needs their rest to make sure their voice is fit for radio!” He smiled. “So I will have to bid you goodnight. Please feel free to grab one of my white shirts and I will get a new one tailored for you in the morning.” He said sleepily. Reluctantly you released yourself from the Demon’s soft warm chest and began dressing yourself, picking the closest looking shirt to what you were wearing from the Demon’s wardrobe. You didn’t really want to be caught wearing Alastors clothes by the other guests…

Once you looked as respectful as you could after the night’s events you slowly walked towards the door. As you were about to grab the doorknob you heard Alastor whisper, “That was a lot of fun my Deer.” You turned to see him gazing admiring at you. “Rest assured it will be happening again. Goodnight my little Doe.”

“Goodnight Alastor” you said, your heart rate quickening once again from the words that just left his mouth.

You quietly opened the door and exited into the dark lobby. You leaned against the door for a moment and let out a heavy sigh.

“The Radio Demon wants me?” you mused to yourself as a wicked grin spread across your lips.

All instalments:

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel writing #fanfic

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dewdropdinosaur · 10 months ago

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Only For You

ALASTOR X READER Summary: You are beautiful there is no doubt about that. But Alastor would prefer that you kept that beauty only for him Warnings: NONE. Just sassy narrator as always(I will applaud anyone who figures out who the snarky narrator is of my stories) This was a request for the lovely @anon-of-the-void. Enjoy darling! REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN. See pinned post for rules.

In the heart of Hell, where the shadows danced to the tunes of torment, there resided a figure unlike any other – Alastor, the Radio Demon. He ruled over the airwaves of the infernal realm with his charismatic voice and sinister charm, a being of darkness wrapped in the allure of the old radio era. Having a penchant for old-fashioned charm and a twisted sense of humor, he found himself entangled in an unexpected romance with a fellow sinner….you. There was a peculiar softness within Alastor, a hidden warmth that few dared to perceive save yourself. It was in the tender glances he shared with his beloved, the unspoken acts of service he provided and yes…even his certain shall we say—possessive nature.

You were Alastor's almost in every way opposite. Which made it hard for many of the Hotel’s residents to understand how you even got together in the first place or even got along(That dear reader is a story for another time)

You exude confidence and have no qualms about your appearance. Proud of your demonic allure, you revel in showcasing curves and radiant skin. Yet, all of this sexual tension that is exuded was for none other than the Radio Demon himself, and for your own sense of amusement of course. Flaunting oneself for all of Hell only to be uninterested and leaving both men and women alike all hot and bothered was particularly entertaining one could speculate.

Alastor, however, was not as open-hearted about such boldness from you. His possessive nature stirred within him, a jealousy that simmered beneath his charismatic facade. Oh how the screams of many who had dared look at his darling for a second too long made a horrific melody over his radio tower…You had long since tried to stop him for it was pretty much a futile effort at this point. Despite being the only one privy to what lied beneath your revealing clothing, the red demon still felt the swells of envy within him. He craved attention and that your beautiful soul only be turned in his direction and for him only. When you in the nude simply invited Alastor in the bathroom while showering for a chat. Poker was a common pastime while doing your makeup, to which he would often let you win, or listening to LPs while you both danced around half dressed.

One fateful evening, as the shadows draped the corridors of Hell, Alastor and you found yourselves amidst a gathering of the Hotel residents and staff. Your laughter rang through the air, form draped in silken garments that accentuated every curve, every line of demonic beauty. Wearing an outfit that highlighted everything, your fiery eyes sparkled with mischief. Alastor couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and possessiveness, his snarky smile masking the growing jealousy within him. He watched from afar, his ruby eyes ablaze with a mixture of desire and resentment. As the eyes of Hell lingered upon you(mainly Angel and Sir Pentious, the latter unable to help himself, poor gentleman), a surge of possessiveness consumed him. With a snarl disguised as a smirk, he approached your side, wrapping his coat around your shoulders; his voice dripping with honeyed venom.

“Here my dear, you must be cold.” Leaning down to whisper in your ear, he spoke so only she could hear “Darling, must you parade around like a succubus on display?" Alastor quipped, trying to hide his true feelings behind his charismatic persona.

You chuckled, a demonic laugh echoing through the chaotic streets. "Oh, Alastor, dear, why hide what I have? It's a crime to keep such beauty under wraps." Turning to face him, laughter dancing in your eyes. “Must you always be so possessive?” You teased with a voice so close to a melody that stirred the depths of his being.

Alastor's snarky smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of insecurity. "I just prefer to keep you all to myself, my dear. No need to share your radiance with the whole underworld."

However, not one to be controlled and quite liking to rile up your partner, you sauntered away from Alastor. With a mischievous glint, after taking off his coat and handing it back to him, you teasingly exposed more of your demonic allure. The other demons ogled in admiration(except Husk who knew better than to get between his so-called boss and his partner….also a story for another time), and Alastor's jealousy reached its peak.

Alastor's smile faltered, his grip reaching out towards your form and tightening around your waist. "In a realm where darkness reigns supreme, one must guard what is precious," he replied, his words dripping with thinly-veiled jealousy. Little green lights flickered around the hotel as the shadows smirked and moaned, yet you stood there unafraid.

Determined to claim your attention for himself, Alastor conjured a stylish black coat from thin air and draped it over your bare shoulders. "There, my love, let's keep a bit of your mystery, shall we?"

Laughing heartily and not bothered by the sudden cover-up, you relented. "If it makes you happy, Alastor, I'll indulge your possessiveness." Walking your fingers up Alastor’s chest to adjust and fix his bow tie, you flashed a soft and genuine smile up at your partner.

"My dear Radio Demon," you whispered, breath warm against his ear, "there is no need for jealousy. My heart belongs to you and you alone."

With those words, Alastor's doubts faded into the abyss, replaced by the warmth of the embrace. In the depths of Hell, amidst the chaos and the shadows, love had found its way into the hearts of demons, a flickering flame in the darkness that refused to be extinguished.

“And besides my love, you know I never much cared for that kind of attention from anyone but you anyway.”

As you and Alastor continued your stroll through the Hotel while mingling with guests, Alastor clung to your side; content that he had, at least momentarily, subdued his jealousy. Little did he realize that love in Hell was as unpredictable as the flames that flickered throughout the underworld, and the dynamic between the snarky Radio Demon and his confident partner would continue to evolve in the fiery depths of their unconventional romance.

#romance #hazbin hotel requests #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagine #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #request #requests open #answered #asexual #ace pride #sassy narrator #hazbin hotel fandom

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dark-strangers-art · 3 months ago

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Behold:

The look of an angel,

Or is it

a devil in disguise?

capable of both

purity

and, wickedness

a mixture of the

demonic and the divine

…. she is woman

~Dark Stranger ©

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#dark stranger #my thoughts #my poems #my quotes #original poems #my art

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kiame-sama · 11 months ago

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Drag Me To Hell- (Yandere!Alastor x Chubby!Fem!reader) pt 2.

Warnings; same warnings apply from Hazbin Hotel as to here, but if you know Hazbin, you're already prepared for what's coming, spoilers for episode 1 of Hazbin, a bit more "background" for reader, fem pronouned reader,

~~~~~~~~

"I swear, if you film me goin' at it with mister fancy-talk creepy voice here, you'd be rollin' in participants willin' to stay at this tacky hotel."

"Haha, never going to happen."

You glanced over from where you sat at Husker's bar, seeing Angel Dust make a few gestures to Alastor. The Radio Demon in question had a sneer on his face disguised as a wide grin, almost seeming annoyed with the consistent light flirting from Angel.

Angel would never have him.

Alastor- as you knew him- was not an overly sexual being, and anything that did come over him was fleeting if even substantial enough to act on. Besides, he was not one to expose himself to just anyone. It took decades for Alastor to come to you, and you were by his side more often than anyone else in his demonic life. You suspected part of why he was even willing to approach you about the matter was because you were already the equivalent of a lady in waiting to him.

His living diary. His secretary. His studio assistant. His bed-fellow. His ensnared soul bound eternally to be loyal to him alone. His favorite soul in the entire collection.

You weren't his strongest- if anything, you were his weakest- but you were his favorite.

"Hey," Angel started, "I have a question, if freaky-face over there is so powerful, then why can't he just make people stay here?"

"Oh, trust me," the light around Alastor faded and his antlers slightly grew, "I can!"

It was then Husker spoke up, a bottle in hand and a frown on his face.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

The hell-cat bartender was a familiar face to you. He was yet another soul in Alastor's repertoire and his contract was one that made you pity the gruff demon. You were there when it was struck after-all, not that Husker knew that.

Alastor didn't like going places without you, so he would often contain you inside of his microphone cane. In a sense, you were the spirit possessing his microphone. Where it went, so did you, meaning you were always by Alastor's side. Of course, you could be separate from it, he just didn't usually want you to be. An eternal summon bound by the shred of demonic power you had to your name.

"You actually think I'd be cleaning bottles and listening to you fucks bitch and moan all the time if he wasn't forcin' me?"

"I like being forced."

"Keep that to yourself, Niff."

The sudden interjection from Nifty actually made you laugh, knowing the twisted inner workings of another of Alastor's 'summons'. Nifty was more like you than Husker, far more intertwined to Alastor and his whims than others. Nifty was more of a pet to Alastor- not that you were any better- and she kept things tidied to Alastor's standards.

"Never change, Nifty."

She smiled at you and Husker rolled his eyes, wiping down the same bottle once again. Husker was damn good at being a bartender and listening, even if he bitched about it while it happened. Between the three of you, you all were used to Alastor and his general behavior in most situations. As Alastor's confidant and microphone, you knew him better than anyone else and even then there were things you didn't know about him.

"Darling, can we talk a moment?"

The words sent anxiety down your spine, but you were quick to answer the non-optional summons. Walking up to his side he lazily wrapped an arm around you, leading you away from the group.

"Yes, Alastor?"

"Ah-ah, what did we talk about?"

"Sorry... Yes... Dear?"

"Hm, I never get tired of hearing that. I just wanted you away from them for a bit, that's all~"

Part of you wondered if Alastor was being serious or not, but decided that he had done far deadlier things to other demons for far less than vaguely annoying him by existing. If anything, his new interest in 'pet-names' was a recent development that likely had to do with his growing jealousy. You had been with Alastor on his seven-year 'sabbatical' and now you both were among others like this. It was clear to you that he was finding himself a bit more possessive of you.

"Just happy to have you here, and trust me, I'll make sure you never leave."

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #tw cursing #tw demons #tw blasphemy

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remember-the-fanfics · 11 months ago

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Earthborn (Hazbin Hotel Reader Insert)

Oh geez this made me realize I have religious trama while writing this.

Spoilers if you haven't actually watched hazbin hotel.

Also apparently the characters are taalll. Minus Niffty

Just test on how I'll write hazbin hotel so to be continued or not

"Go fuck yourself pompous prick!" (Y/n) yelled at Adam, their anger getting to them.

"Don't speak to me like that! You came from me!" He responded. "You are alive because I fucked-."

"Up, yeah I know. Being God's chosen people, Adam and Eve. Cast out after eating the apple, had two sons and one killed the other. Blah blah, I was raised in church." They told him. "And in a club in elementary school about the Bible so I know a bunch."

Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other in confusion, (Y/n) never talked about these parts of their past.

"Then why are you arguing with me?!"

"Because if you get to be here after getting banished from the garden by God himself then I see no reason why Sinners that want change themselves to get shouldn't." (Y/n) said staring at Adam with their arms crossed.

The Angels watching started to whisper to themselves.

"(Y/n), you know why you are here." Said Sara. "Please do not get involved with the next issue until we get to that."

(Y/n) looked way up to where Sara and Emily were seated. "Very well, apologizes I just wanted to get that out of the way." They bowed while speaking before standing straight. "...This is probably has to do in how I've been in hell?"

"Yes, (Y/n) (Middle Name) (L/n), you are still earthborn, not yet a sinner or a winner, have been in hell for just less than a year. How did you get there?"

Shocked faces across the room from everyone minus (Y/n), who looked uncomfortable with being called their full name.

"(Y/n) is that true?" Asked Charlie, surprised at the information. She knew (Y/n) didn't look like a sinner, kept a more humanoid look than most and was shorter than most of the people at the hotel.

"Yeah, I'm still human or well Earthborn as it was called. I didn't tell any of you since I didn't want you to worry." (Y/n) told Charlie look at her and Vaggie. "How did you even know?" They asked the Seraphim in charge. "I have an... okay disguise." Looking at themselves, with pointy ears,sharper teeth, and their eyes were not a normal color. They atleast didn't look human enough to question.

"We can tell by your soul. It still shows your the weight of your sins or what not. Not like I forget what one of my millions of too many great-grandchildren look like." Said Adam and with a grin and a snap of his fingers, (Y/n) felt the necklace they wore break in peices as the magic it held broke with it.

"I would rather be dead than be related to you, prick." (Y/n) said with deadpan look.

"It took awhile to realize you weren't just a weird sinner soul so we told Sara when we noticed all of you earlier." Said Lute, finally butting in before Adam could argue again.

"(Y/n) how did you get into hell?" Sara asked again, tried of this again.

"Not sure? Its kinda just a blank space between being on earth and then in hell." They answered with a shrug. "I found someone to help me somewhat look the part and then Vaggie found me while I was wondering around."

The earthborn was complete being too nonchalant with being in hell.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about not being from hell?" Asked Emily, earning a look from Sara.

"Well I mean at first for safety and then to keep anyone from worried about me? I'm kinda more... fragile compared to anyone else since demons and sinner have... an easier time getting up from a normal serious injury than I would." (Y/n) having to think of what they said before they actually saying it.

"I threw you off a building into a fight, how did you survive that?" Questioned Vaggie.

"Well Angel Dust caught me slash soften the fall and I mostly hide until Husk picked me up to leave."

"Why have you been helping Priness Charlie Morningstar with her project even when you are earthborn?" Asked Sara.

"Because it's a good cause? If I was a sinner I would want the hotel to be there to even give me a small chance to get into heaven even if you all don't believe in it. It's a humane way of handling the population down there. If redemption can happen to people while they are alive, why wouldn't it happen while they are dead and in hell? As along as they put in the effort to be good person, they should be a good person."

"If you know the words of the Bible why didn't you spread it down there?"

"Because being pushy to the wrong person could end me? And they really don't really think highly of you all. Plus for me if you heard how people like me would end up there for something out of their control, I would have trama with it."

"Why are you talking about it now if you have an issue with the Bible and God?" Questioned Adam.

"Oh, mostly because I'm pissed off. I don't have an issue with God, at all. It's people with opinions that wrote the book that got translated to many time with out checking by people who also had opinions. The Bible is.. fine. Heck, I didn't even knew there was a Lilith involved until Charlie told me."

(Y/n) sighed, taking a deep breath.

"What's gonna happen now? Are you going to kill me? Actual make me a sinner? Send me back making seem crazy or thinking this is all a weird dream until I actually die?" They asked. "Because if you send me back crazy, I'm gonna actually kill myself."

"No! Let's not do that, please." Pleded Emily to Sara, scared for (Y/n)'s safety.

"Of course, I wouldn't want you to do that." Said Sara.

"Because the Bible says it's a sin or because you actually don't want me too?" Questioned (Y/n), they were tired of this.

"They could become an Exorcists, it would be funny." Said Adam, laughing at the thought of (Y/n) killing their friends.

"How many times do I have to tell you I would rather die than be anything associated with you?"

"You're soul has yet to be judged but you've seen more than any earthborn have seen in many decades. You could stay in heaven as Winner or angel. We could send you back to earth. Which would you want to do?"

"I want to continue to help Charlie see this though." Said (Y/n).

"Your soul would be damned forever, (Y/n) as a sinner. I would not let that happen to any earthborn in your place in good conscious."

"Then send me back as I am. When I die, wherever that may be judged me as I will be."

"(Y/n), you're too young for-."

"It's Hell, I know but it can be nice when you get use to it just like Earth. Please just let me help until I'm ready to go home."

"...Very well, I'll give you till a month time to sort this out for yourself."

Gives you enough time to help for get set for extermination.

#platonic hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #Charlie morningstar #Vaggie #Sara Seraphim #emily seraphim #hazbin hotel adam #happy he died #hazbin lute #only says like one thing #reader insert #platonic #this is mostly a test of how people would react and how i wrote #got carried away with trauma so um yeah #did not know i had that trauma

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 5 months ago

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Heaven Spent

℣ Pairing: Vox X angelic!reader

℣ Summary: A naïve angel descends to Hell looking for Vagina. Finds Vox instead.

℣ Content notes: Voyeurism, first time for everything, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, guided masturbation, Vox being Vox, pet names: mostly sweetheart, babydoll and baby, reader is a girl, reader has a pussy and tits, reader has a name and it's a fucking stupid one.

Now has a sequel: Hell 2 Pay!

You weren’t a real exorcist, not really. You didn’t pass the wingspan requirement for a start, or, as the Lieutenant never ceased to remind you, the strength requirements. You were never getting selected into one of the lucky squads who got to go down to Hell and do battle with demons. But you had begged to join, and everyone needed someone to sweep the floors and do laundry, and so, that was you, swooping through the exorcist barracks with a mop and bucket while everyone around you trained in combat.

Most of the exorcists didn’t even acknowledge your existence. You were invisible, inaudible, the help. The big exception to the rule was Lieutenant’s strongest soldier, Vagina. You would see her training tirelessly, on the practice grounds after all the others had left, and bring her a fresh towel and a pitcher of iced lemonade. She would smile at you. She knew your name. When you started talking about something that interested you, she didn’t tell you to go away or walk off.

In all of Heaven, Vagina was the closest thing you had to a friend.

And then, one day, the squads had come back from their battles with the forces of Hell, and she had been gone. No-one had wanted to look you in the eye, no-one even mentioned her name. Gone. Dead? No, Vagina was Heaven’s strongest soldier, you’d heard Adam say as much. There was no way she could be dead.

Had they left her behind? Every day your thoughts were plagued by thoughts of Vagina stuck behind enemy lines, Hell’s forces doing terrible things to her. And of course the Lieutenant wouldn’t send more exorcists after her; how could she risk Heaven’s forces for the wellbeing of a single soldier? But you? You were disposable. You were no asset to Adam’s forces, your wings so malformed that you could barely fly, and with Vagina gone there wasn’t anyone who would miss you on a personal level.

With your access to the exorcists’ laundry, it was easy to assemble a makeshift uniform for yourself, a spare sword strapped to your waist as you lined up with the departing squads. The masks disguised everyone’s faces, so no-one looked twice at you. You filtered out the chatter of the exorcists around you as you watched the portal to Hell open, a glowing circle with a core of deep red.

You would find Vagina, and return to Heaven with her, useful at last. Maybe the Lieutenant would be so impressed that she would make you a full exorcist.

Vox slurped his kale and spirulina smoothie as he watched the descending horde of angels through fifteen distinct drone feeds. This year’s purge was uncharacteristically quiet in the Vee tower; Valentino was doing some sort of romantic make-up dinner with one of his sluts and Velvette was organizing some sort of augmented reality event where sinners ran the length of the city taking selfies without getting killed by exorcists, which left Vox holding down the fort.

One of the systems gave a beep as it picked up an anomaly. Now that, that was interesting. It looked like the pack had a straggler this year. Vox picked a drone to fly closer, opening a channel to Velvette as he did so.

“-you better not be taking the piss, Vox. I’m sort of a tiny bit busy here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Hear me out, this could be big,” said Vox, and Velvette gave a snort but went quiet. “Any of your fuckheads out near the west side of the pentagram?”

One of your wings was bigger than the other. That was just how it was, just a little defect that made it difficult to fly, and almost impossible to fly long distances. When you had asked about it, Saint Peter had patted you on the shoulder and told you that everyone was special in different ways. And you had accepted that. Some people got beautiful singing voices, or brains that could do mathematics faster than anyone else’s, and you got one wing that was smaller than the other, primary feathers growing in with a slight curl that meant your flight was wobbly and exhausting.

And that was just part of God’s plan.

What was not part of God’s plan, it seemed, was for you to keep up with the squads of exorcists descending to Hell. They sped up as they passed through the portal, the pack quickly speeding up to a pace that your wings could no longer carry you at. You found yourself drifting behind, panting as you beat your wings to correct your uneven path.

Strangely, you didn’t see the forces of Hell rising to do battle, but you supposed you were inexperienced in this sort of thing. The last time you’d even swung a sword had been at the exorcist tryouts. Giving up on catching up with the pack, you hung back, your wingbeats slowing as you surveyed the city below from your wobbly vantage point. You should find somewhere to hide, you reasoned, until the battle was over and you could look for Vagina safely.

Finding Vagina in Hell was harder than you would have guessed. Even after you shed your exorcist disguise and folded your wings away, people didn’t really want to talk to you, and when you started asking about Vagina, faces turned covetous, and people started asking for money. Which, of course, you didn’t have. You didn’t need money in Heaven, why would people want it in Hell? But everywhere you asked, the answer was the same. If you wanted to know about Vagina, you needed money. And if you wanted money, well, you needed a job.

That's how you found yourself in a line of sinners three miles long, for an open audition for a spokesperson for something called Angelic Security, a subdivision of something called VoxTek. You weren’t going for the audition itself, but a sinner had offered you money to queue for them, and queuing was a pretty morally decent, angel-appropriate act. You knew how to queue. You could queue for days.

You were queuing when a fish demon with a VoxTek nametag walked past, on a video call with someone important, the other side of the conversation blaring out the speakers of his tablet as he held it up to his face.

“Listen, do you have any idea how fucking busy I am today? Whose crackpot idea was this anyway? No, don't answer that, I don't fucking care. Just pick the three at the front and, uh, that one, no, the hot one with the gray skin.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” The fish demon glanced over his shoulder at you, making a beckoning gesture as the man on the other end cut the call.

You pointed to your chest with a silent me? and the fish demon nodded, walking on without a backwards look as you trailed along after him.

“Actually, I was holding a spot in the line for someone else, they were going to pay me money, if you could let me borrow a phone, I could -” you scurried to keep up. “-you know I don't think it's really fair that someone’s paid me to keep their place and now I'm going in with you, isn't that against the rules?”

“Look, lady.” The fish demon held out a hand as he waved the other candidates over, to grumbling from the other people in the line. “I'm not paid enough to deal with your drama shit, save it for the casting director.”

“Are you really going to leave all those people out there?” you asked quietly as the assistant let you through the security gate at the front of the building. “Some of them have been waiting for days. It doesn’t seem fair.”

The man shrugged. “What can I say? Welcome to Hell.”

Out of a lingering sense of guilt, you let the three women who had been in the front of the line go into the audition first, so that when you were called up, no-one was waiting. The casting director turned out to be the tall demon in the shirtsleeves and sweater vest that the dour fish had been talking to on his tablet. He had a large, rectangular head, and was handsome, in a striking sort of way.

He was sat on a bench against the wall of the audition room, elbows on his knees, and he looked up as you came in, watching you walk, an eyebrow raised.

“H-hey.” You gave a little wave. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You see, I was saving a space in the line for someone else, but the assistant told me to come in here, and, you see, I was hoping that maybe I could phone the person, and, um, maybe they could do the audition?”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The television headed demon gave you a sidelong grin.

“I'm really sorry, but I don't.” You bit your lip, mentally preparing for a lie. “You see, I'm kind of new here.”

“Oh yeah? How long since you, y'know?” He made a vague hand gesture, getting to his feet.

Oh, darn. You had no idea what a good number would be here. You furrowed your brow. So if the universe was about ten thousand years old, and the average human lived to one hundred and twenty years old… a reasonable amount of time for a newcomer to have been in Hell was…

“Oh, not long. Only about three hundred years.” You plastered a big smile over your face, hoping Mr Television bought your deception.

“Oh, only three hundred you say? Wow, you are new, huh.” He smiled back at you, and you did a quick internal fist pump. Success! You were a natural liar! At this rate, you'd be able to find Vagina and be out of Hell in no time flat.

“My name's Vox, by the way. Like the company.” He snapped his fingers, and the tagline VOXTEK: TRUST US scrolled across the big screen on the wall of the audition room. He tilted his head. “What's yours?”

“My name?” You blinked. It had been a very long time since you'd had to introduce yourself to anyone not already aware of your name, and everybody in Hell just seemed to enjoy making up rude epithets for you, so you hadn't bothered with introductions. “My name's, uh, Areola. Like the -” you paused, unbuttoning your shirt.

Vox stared at you, frozen for a second before he raised a hand to cover yours, halting your struggling fingers. “You don't need to whip them out, dollface. I know what a boob is.”

“Y-you do?” you stammered, part of you thankful and a smaller, more sinful part disappointed, the touch of his fingertips on your hand like fire against your nerves. He was probably down here for one of the carnal sins, the sins of the flesh Chastity was always warning the younger angels about. “Of-of course you do, silly me.”

“Can I call you Ari?”

You’d always hoped the other angels would give you a nickname like that. Like Vagina was called Vaggie by her squadmates. But everyone in Heaven who called you by any name at all called you Areola, even Vagina did. To have Vox just give you a nickname like this, apropos of nothing, seemed too good to be true.

“Y-yeah! I’d like that. A lot, actually.” You swallowed. “You’re the first person who’s been nice to me here,” you admitted.

Vox shrugged. “I’m a nice guy, most of the time. I can afford to be. You want the job?”

“What?” You blinked. “B-but I didn’t audition. I w-wasn’t even in the line.”

“It’s not a hard job, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Vox, holding out his hand. “You take a few photos, record a few infomercials, and bam, you’re done! You won’t even have to run your own social media profiles. And the money-”

“I’m really sorry, Vox, I-I can’t.” You took a step backwards, hands raised. “I-I should go. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

You ran.

You ran without thinking, heart in your throat, past the security doors, away. Taking something that wasn’t yours was stealing, even if someone offered it to you. You should never have gone inside. Hell was terrible and confusing, and you wished that Vagina was here. She would know what to do. She would have said something tough, and made Vox do the right thing. She wouldn’t have run away. You stopped, panting for breath, and realized you had no idea where you were. You were down an alley, a crowd of curious sinners behind you.

“Hey, it’s that bitch who cut the line.”

“Thinks she’s better than us.”

Oh, this was bad. You took a step back, reaching for your angelic sword with a trembling hand.

Velvette’s face looked down at Vox from the big screen on the wall where the tagline had scrolled, thirty feet wide. “That’s seriously who you’re gonna hire as the new Angelic Security mascot? You have to be fucking shitting me.”

Vox rolled his eyes. “Velvette, she is a real, literal fucking angel. I challenge you to think of a more appropriate pick.”

“It’s your subsidiary, so whatever.” Velvette pursed her lips. “I just hope you know that I’m not costuming her dumpy arse.”

“Your concerns are duly noted,” said Vox, redirecting his attention from the call to his nearby drones. “Now pipe down. I need to focus.”

Vox gave a small sigh as he transferred a small portion of his conscious mind to the drone that hung in the air over the dispersing line of would-be auditions, looking for your face. He flitted from security camera to security camera, searching for a telltale flash of white and grey.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected you to be so naive. Exorcists, from what data he had on them, were hardened killers, who regarded sinners as scum to be cleaned up.

Vox hadn’t spent a lot of time with exorcists, but he had spent a lot of time with killers, and his guts told him you weren’t one. Which was weird, but he could work with that. He just needed to make sure that no-one else got to you before he did.

“Alleyway behind the old munitions factory,” said Velvette from above him, sounding bored. “There’s three pissed off old slags about to shiv your new pet; someone’s streaming it.”

Fuck. Vox grimaced, switching his attention to the feed. Sure enough, there you were, fear on your face as three taller sinners made you back up against a wall, your hands out, pleading. “I’m gonna cut the signal. Make sure nothing goes viral.”

Travel by lightning was fast, but it wasn’t instantaneous. Vox manifested in a flash of ozone to see two dead sinners, you with your sword through the guts of a third. Your eyes were glowing gold, unseeing and dangerous, a splatter of blood across your face.

“Ari?” Vox ventured, keeping his voice as low and calming as he could.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, oh-” You yanked the sword from the guts of the woman who’d been about to stab you, and oh goodness that was a lot of blood that was gushing out of her. You looked in horror at Vox. “I didn’t-” you started, then stopped. The one person in this place who had been kind to you, and he had to see you like this? These sinners weren’t even soldiers; they just looked like regular people, and granted they had tried to murder you, but that didn’t mean they deserved to die.

“Hey, babydoll. Easy, now.” Vox approached you his hands out, calming.

You were a murderer now; the police would catch you and you’d have to go to Hell jail. You didn’t want to go to Hell jail; the food was probably terrible and you’d never be able to find Vagina. The back of your throat hurt at the hopelessness of it all. You stared at Vox, your vision wobbling as tears formed.

“You’ll be okay, shit, uh, let’s get that big knife out of your hand-” Vox’s blue talons were on your fingers, prying them from the hilt of your sword as he moved in, and you resisted for a second before his coaxing moved you and you let go, surrendering the sword into Vox’s grasp as his other arm wrapped around you. “You’re gonna be okay, I got you.”

Pressing your face into the fuzzy material of Vox’s sweatervest, you gave a big, ugly sob. You clung to him as you cried, vaguely aware of his arm around you, his claws petting your hair. Oh, you’d ruined everything now. He probably thought you were pathetic.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumbled against his chest. “Y-you should probably hand me over to the police now, so you don’t get in trouble.”

“Excuse me?” Vox’s tone was incredulous.

You sniffed, blinking more tears from your eyes. “You know, the police? Since I committed three murders?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Vox breathed, looking down at you, his claws carding through your hair. “There aren’t any police in Hell. Well, there are lots of cops in Hell, sure, but no police force.”

“B-but I just, I just-” you motioned to the bodies in the alleyway behind you. “How will I be punished?”

“Oh, fuck me, you’re adorable.” Vox covered his face with a hand. “You’ve had a long day, babydoll. Let me take you home, and you can have a bath, and a change of clothes, and maybe then we can talk about your problems, yeah? I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

No-one had ever been this nice to you, even in Heaven. Part of you wondered whether Vox was in Hell by mistake, and you nodded, slowly, face against his chest again as his hand moved to the small of your back.

“You’re bringing a fucking exorcist to our fucking living quarters?” Valentino’s eyebrow raised above the frames of his pink glasses. “Are you fucking stupid? Or just thinking with your dick?”

“Look, I’ve just gotta win her trust, okay” Vox leaned back, analyzing Valentino’s surroundings through the videofeed. He was in his studio, which was a good thing. There was also a visible lovebite on the exposed skin above Val’s second set of arms. Which was good; it meant Valentino and his on-off squeeze were on talking terms.

“So you can fuck her?” Valentino took a drag on his cigarette, pink smoke briefly clouding the lens of the camera.

“Uh, so she’ll fucking work with us.” Vox sighed heavily. “You have a one track fucking mind sometimes Val, I swear.”

“But you are gonna fuck her, aren’t you?” There was a gleam in Val’s eye now.

“First of all,” said Vox, holding up a finger, careful with his volume so that his words didn’t travel to you ensconced in your bubble bath in the next room. “I don’t recall putting you in charge of where I put my dick. And secondly, fuck you.”

Valentino laughed, good-natured. “Alright, papito.” He grinned, gold tooth flashing. “I’ll take my Angel out somewhere else tonight, you have fun with yours.”

They compared calendars before Vox closed the call, grumbling to himself. All things considered, it could have gone much worse- if Valentino hadn’t been in a good mood, he might have decided to be jealous and that would have been a pain in the ass. Valentino’s instincts weren’t wrong, either; the big moth had been around Vox for too long to not have picked up on his preferences. The combination of dangerous power and lack of worldliness just did something for him. And then there was your body.

Vox chanced a peek through the security cameras as you climbed out of the bath, a sneak preview, he told himself, growing hard in his pants as he took in the soft lines of your thighs, the crest of downy feathers that covered your pudenda, snowy white to match your hair. Fuck, but you looked soft all over, as if his hands would sink right into you. Vox cut the feed with a groan; if he kept on watching there was a good chance you’d walk in on him jacking off over the video, and that wasn’t really the impression he wanted to make. No, he needed to be trustworthy, a good guy, someone you felt you could work for. Someone you’d trust your soul to.

And Vox might be a voyeur, but he could keep it in his pants if he needed to. Business before pleasure.

Vox was right; the bath did help. Warm water cradled your body, the panic that had wracked you flowing out of you. You added bath salts, and bubbles, and stayed in there much longer than you really needed to, feeling the dirt that had accumulated on you since your descent into Hell float away. Vox’s tower was the only place you’d visited in Hell so far that had been clean, all shining chrome and expensive polished black granite. Finally, you climbed out, even your conscience feeling cleaner than it had when you had started, and grabbed a towel so fluffy that felt like it had been imported from Heaven.

The outfit that Vox had left for you was modest and well-fitting, a soft wool cardigan with a camisole and blouse to go underneath and a pleated a-line skirt that reached your mid-calf, all in eggshell colors that complemented your grey skin. Even the underwear was perfectly sized, and you tried not to think too hard about it- you were pretty sure that one of VoxTek’s subsidiaries was a fashion company of some sort, and Vox had probably guessed.

“Hey, Ari.” Vox gave you a smile as you stepped out, and you found yourself smiling back at him. “You feeling better? I ordered us Dim Sum.”

“I, uh, yeah. Thank you.” You pushed your hair behind your ear. “For everything.”

Vox’s smile only grew. Your plan had been to thank him for his help and leave, but he’d gone to the trouble of organizing you food already and leaving would be rude and the little steamed buns he was offering you smelled very good, so you found yourself sitting with him, listening to him talk about the food as he piled different items onto your plate. All of it was delicious.

“-and you need to try this one, it’s got the spicy shrimp paste, I don’t know how you are with spice, so it might come on a bit strong for you, but it’s worth it, trust me.”

You nodded, your reflexive oh no, I couldn’t dying on your lips as you smelled the bun, the delicate scent of the shrimp coupled with a dark, sweet undercurrent. You bit in, the gummy texture of the outer dumpling giving way to something coarser and more savory; perfectly cooked crustacean flesh that leaked juices when broken, in the paste that Vox had described, which imbued a richness and a sweetness both at once. It had a spice that began as an ache on the back of your tongue, and built and built upon itself, until you were salivating almost painfully and yet somehow wanting more. You closed your eyes, your jaw stopping to prolong the moment.

“So.” Vox picked his moment to lean in, face perilously close to yours. “What do you want, Ari?”

You, was your embarrassing, gut instinct response, thankfully stymied by your mouth full of dumpling. You chewed and swallowed, which gave you time to think. Vox was trustworthy. He’d been nothing but kind to you. He wanted to help. “I had- have a friend,” you said, feeling your pulse quicken. It was a risk, telling Vox. If he figured out that you were an angel, you’d be in big trouble. “She’s in Hell, somewhere. I’m looking for her.”

“I’m pretty good at finding people,” said Vox, his expression sympathetic. “Maybe I could help?”

You shook your head, the taste of the dumpling still lingering on your tongue. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much, and I’ve got no way to repay you. I don’t even have money.”

“I’m sure there’s a way we could help each other,” said Vox, unperturbed. “Money isn’t everything, after all. Let’s think about it, see what we come up with, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed Vox, nodding slowly. “You’re really nice to me,” you added, with a small frown.

“And is that a bad thing?” Vox asked, his screen tilting. He picked up the second of the shrimp paste dumplings with his chopsticks.

“No,” you admitted, quietly.

“Then,” said Vox, holding the dumpling out to you, not to your plate this time, but to your face. “You should accept it, yeah?”

Your face flushed from grey to white as you came to the realization that Vox’s intention was to hand feed you, a warm sensation in your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Cupping your hands under the dumpling to ensure none spilled, you opened your mouth. Again the outer shell of the dumpling was gummy against your lips, and you held it gently between your teeth so that Vox could withdraw his chopsticks. He looked happy as you chewed, and you told yourself this was nothing untoward, simply the demon being a good host.

“We should watch a movie,” he said, chin in his hand as he watched you chew. “I’ll let you pick.”

Hell, it turned out, or at least Vox, had a much wider selection of titles than were available in Heaven, and you hesitated to pick. In the end, Vox quizzed you on what you’d seen and what your favorites were, and picked something out. His earlier demand, of accept it, let me be nice to you, stuck in your head, overriding doubts that you might have expressed. You’d been warned, in Heaven, about the dangers of fraternization. How two people, watching a movie together alone, could fall into sin. But you’d never done anything like that, and Vox seemed nice.

When Vox patted the sofa next to him, you hesitated, and so Vox grabbed the bucket of popcorn he’d made and placed it by his thigh, a barrier between you.

“Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You looked at the popcorn. “It won’t stop us kissing,” you joked, a small smile.

“You can kiss me, if you like,” Vox returned your grin. “I won’t mind.”

He wasn’t joking, you realized, a surge of warmth through your core that caught you unguarded. “Isn’t that a sin?”

“Kissing?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “I’ve read like five, six versions of the bible and I don’t think any of them said shit about kissing.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, feeling your face turn from gray to white in a blush.

Vox didn’t do more than to open the possibility for you, but that possibility remained, playing at the periphery of your mind as you watched the movie with him, his arm looped easy round your shoulders, the bucket of popcorn the only chaperone stopping your hips from touching his. You could lean over, and just kiss him.

Waiting until he was engrossed in the film, his slim side profile showing to you, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the plastic of his screen’s casing. The material was smooth, the edges angular, and strangely warm.

“Heyy. What was that?” Vox tilted his head to you, an amused cast to his lips. When you didn’t answer his grin widened. “Did you just kiss me? In the middle of the movie?”

You tore your gaze from his, embarrassed. “Y-you said I could,” you protested, adding a belated, “sorry.”

“But kissing is usually a two-way thing,” said Vox, leaning in.

“I didn’t kiss your face,” you said, very factually.

“You didn’t,” agreed Vox, pushing a strand of hair back from your ear, the sharp edge of his talon tracing over sensitive skin. “So I won’t either.”

Vox leaned in, the bucket of popcorn chaperoning you threatening to topple as he drew his lips to your ear. The close proximity of his screen was enough to make your skin tingle, and you drew in a breath and held it, an uncomfortable pulse building between your legs as he took his time, breath hot over your neck and the shell of your ear. You didn’t dare tell him to hurry up, didn’t dare tell him to stop, not with how his mere proximity had you quivering, until at last you felt his lips, ghosting over your earlobe, teasing the soft flesh between them. Was it still a kiss, if his lips were now wrapped around a part of you, and sucking. Oh, Heavens. You bit back a noise, warmth pooling in your core as Vox’s tongue teased the circumference of your ear.

“Vox!” you squeaked, and he let you go, grinning.

“Try kissing my face next time. Or not, your choice.”

You went back to the movie, trying to tamp down the sinful thoughts that were spinning through your head. He didn’t deserve to be thought of lustfully like this. He was a really good guy- he was just trying to watch a movie with you and you were thinking lewd thoughts about him. You were an angel, for crying out loud: you were meant to be better than this!

His lips had felt so good, his tongue even better, a crackling spark that licked against your nerves. What would kissing his lips feel like? What would that tongue feel like, inside your mouth? Vox’s arm was back over your shoulders, his blue claws bright against the white of your blouse. You could touch his hand. Holding hands wasn’t sinful. People in Heaven held hands all the time. Hesitantly, you reached for his hand, your fingertips stroking from his wrist and over the back of his hand to his knuckles.

“You gonna kiss my hand next, babydoll?” asked Vox, his voice low and teasing.

“N-no,” you squeaked again, voice rising in pitch as your throat constricted.

Vox exhaled, glancing over at you, his thumb catching your exploring hand and stroking along your index finger. “Something the matter?”

Oh, all you could think about were the possibilities. Oh his lips on yours, his hand skating down over your shirt to encompass your breast. “I’m having sinful thoughts about you,” you confessed.

“Ohh?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “Lustful thoughts?”

Slowly, you nodded, shamefaced. “I’m really sorry. I know you’re just being a good host, and you don’t deserve me objectifying you…” you trailed off.

Vox just smiled. “I think I deserve to know exactly what lustful thoughts you were having, don’t you?”

“I was thinking about your fingers in my mouth,” you breathed out, though that was the least of your inner debauchery.

“Like this?” Vox asked, trailing blue talons up the side of your neck, over your jaw, and over your lips. You opened your mouth reflexively, and Vox slipped two fingers inside. Oh, fudge. Your eyes fluttered closed, a noise in your throat as Vox’s fingers explored, gentle as anything against the surface of your tongue, your cheek. “Were you thinking about them anywhere else?”

Face hot, you nodded, Vox’s fingers still inside your mouth, pulling at your lower lip slightly as he rocked his wrist back and forth.

“You gonna show me?” Vox asked, his voice still teasing, and with a shaking hand, you gestured to your own breasts, cupping them through the fabric of your blouse. The heat in your core was almost unbearable now, an embarrassing wetness pooling in the gusset of your panties.

“Get in my lap, babydoll,” said Vox, his voice soft as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a string of spittle trailing from your lower lip as he did. “I wanna do all the things you were fantasizing about me doing.”

Oh, you wanted this, you wanted this. So badly that it was a pulsing ache, an insistent drumbeat between your thighs. “Th-this is definitely sinful,” you said, hesitating.

Vox made no move to force you, sitting back a little on the couch. “Does it matter?” he asked, his tone going from sultry to playful again. “We’re both damned, after all.”

“R-right.” You swallowed, cursing yourself for your earlier lie. He waited, quiet, the movie playing forgotten on the big screen in front of you, until you moved the popcorn bucket to the floor and climbed onto his lap, your skirt bunching up around your knees as you straddled his legs.

“Well, heyy there beautiful,” growled Vox, looking at you, a finger pushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you felt your face break into a smile. He crossed his legs, one over the other, so that his top thigh was flush with the gusset of your panties, smirking at you when his leg made contact. “Sitting comfortably?”

“Your leg… feels nice…” you managed, lamely, struggling for words. The pressure felt exquisite, the folds of your labia squashing together in a way that made you profoundly aware of the pulsing between your legs.

“Oh yeah?” Vox didn’t tease, and you were grateful. “You wanna stay like that? You maybe wanna rock back and forth a bit?” As if to demonstrate, he pushed his thigh up between your legs, against your gusset, and moved it side to side. You found yourself giving a soft whimper at the sensation. “It’s okay, baby,” said Vox, his voice soft and coaxing. “You can rub against me.”

You shouldn’t, you knew. You knew you should climb out of Vox’s lap, leave the feeling of his thigh between your legs behind, ignore the slick pooling in your panties. You should apologize for taking advantage of his generosity as a host, for even thinking about using his body in such a sordid way. You didn’t, though. Instead you canted your hips back, grinding your sex against the tensed muscle of his leg, finding warmth and friction and pleasure.

A shameful little whimper escaped your lips, and you felt Vox’s eyes on you, intent. “You don’t mind?”

Vox looked pleased with himself. “I invited you here, didn’t I?” He reached to your chest, tracing the lines you had traced when you had cupped your own breasts, the sensation of his claws through the fabric of your shirt leaving a tingling in its wake. You rocked your hips again, finding a slow rhythm, the sensations seeming to layer one atop the other, Vox’s talons moving up again, circling first one of your nipples and then the other, bringing each one to a sensitive point. “Do you wanna get them out for me?” he asked, voice low and gentle.

He withdrew his hands and your skin seemed to ache at the lack of him. “Will you touch them, if I do?” you asked, your voice small.

“If you ask me to,” said Vox, hands smoothing over the fabric of your skirt, over your thighs. “Otherwise if you want, I can enjoy the show. You want me to touch them, Ari?”

He used your name, not an epithet, his eyes on yours, and you felt the flush that bloomed on your cheeks, the flutter in your chest joining the pulse between your thighs as you continued to pleasure yourself on Vox’s thigh, each slow movement of your hips grinding the juices that soaked your panties into Vox’s slacks. Fingers trembling, you unbuttoned your blouse to your navel, then unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, leaving your breasts exposed, nipples peeking over the lacy edge of your camisole. “Please,” you answered, feeling very exposed considering how little you were showing.

Vox pulled down the edge of your camisole with one talon, admiring his handiwork with a grin before his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs tracing soft circles around your namesake, your areolae. You made a noise in your throat, grinding hard against Vox’s thigh, and Vox gave an answering growl.

“Is that a good noise, babydoll?” Vox asked, gravel in his voice now. “You like having me squeeze your tits as you rub your pussy on my leg, huh?”

Shamefaced, you nodded, and Vox leaned in, a shift in his grip on your breasts pulling a moan from you. You froze, uncertain, as Vox lowered his wide rectangular head to your chest. As he had with your ear, he paused before his lips touched the skin, already tender and puckered from his fingers.

You whimpered, heat pooling in your core as you ground yourself wantonly against his leg, wet fabric against wet fabric, and Vox groaned, his breath hot over your breast. “Good girl,” he murmured, taking your nipple between his lips and sucking.

No amount of Heavenly chastity infomercials could have prepared you for how your next moments felt; Vox’s mouth first on one breast, then the other, the gentle tug of his teeth, the electrical lash of his tongue, all of that competing with the feel of him between your legs as you rode his thigh, your rhythm ascending from steady grind to desperate canter as sensation built and built. You found yourself pleading, losing rhythm as you jerked against Vox’s thigh, answering moans from Vox vibrating through your flesh as he suckled at you, your world narrowing to that scant handful of sensations. You cried out, feeling something inside you seize, and your eyes fluttered closed, your hips stilling.

“Vox,” you squeaked, uncertain.

“Heyy. Hey hey hey.” Vox lifted his face from your breasts, pulling your torso flush with his, his arms around you, his legs uncrossing. “I’ve got you.”

As before, his embrace was a comfort, and you found yourself pressing your body against his, your eyes squeezing shut. “There’s something inside me, it just twitched, it’s still-”

You felt Vox’s body tense against yours, and he tilted his screen to look at you, an error message flashing up that he hastily dismissed. “Sweetheart,” he said. “You, uh, you mean to tell me that you don’t know what an orgasm feels like?”

Your eyes snapped open, your core still throbbing. “That was an orgasm?”

“Well, uh, your heart rate spiked, and your pupils are dilated and your blood pressure is dropping now,” said Vox. “So yeah, seems likely.”

“I’ve never-” You sank against Vox, feeling weak.

“You’re making me feel like a real piece of shit, you know that?” Vox pressed his palm against your back, rubbing circles. “Your first orgasm and I didn’t even fuckin' kiss you first.”

“You could kiss me now,” you said, peering up at him, shy.

Vox gave a bark of laughter, a grin creeping back onto his face. “That a request, babydoll?”

His tongue in your mouth felt as good as you’d feared it might.

Click here to read the sequel

#vox x you #vox x reader #vox x reader smut #vox smut #no antlers tho #hazbin x reader

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