#because that's what it means to be created by human hands
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For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II
“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.
As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?
The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.
…right?
Pairing: Geto x female reader
A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.
To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍
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CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.
“Awake early, little dove.”
Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call.
“As are you, Arella.”
Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth.
“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?”
Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony — undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind.
She’s not wrong.
Technically it is her duty.
But Arella is your blessing.
Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home.
Constant hellos.
Permanent smiles.
Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude.
Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe.
Breathe.
Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang.
Much like he did.
The Chaplain.
His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off.
The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him.
You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening.
“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.”
It does, but not for the reason she thinks.
“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.
The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.
“I would like to go to the chapel garden.”
A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night.
“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”
The blood in your veins runs subzero.
“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“
“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”
Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter.
“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room.
“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”
· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·
A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears.
This is harmless.
It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.
In all of his majestic glory.
Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.
Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around.
Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind.
Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is.
You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood.
Maybe an illusion?
The Lord playing tricks from his throne?
The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness.
Because this must be a dream.
“Oh, don’t be cruel.”
Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on.
Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first.
There he stands.
A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands.
His hands.
Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.
Pull and toss.
Pull and toss.
You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again.
A spear?
No.
A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine.
His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.
“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured.
“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it.
“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes.
“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.”
He is a man of God.
And would never insinuate anything impure.
But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.”
“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours.
You are weak.
And greedy.
The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you.
Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips.
“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?”
“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only.
He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.
Brilliant.
With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.
“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.
“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle.
Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?
“What gave me away?”
Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass.
“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”
Your statement is greeted with blaring silence.
Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language.
“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies.
The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.
“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time.
“Your father! Is he—“
“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere.
“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.”
A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?
“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”
“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours.
“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space.
You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper.
“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush.
“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you.
“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone.
“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?”
A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.
“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”
· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·
Mass was miserable.
Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn.
Wretched.
But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable.
The worst part of it was him.
The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush.
His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel.
So desperate for blessings from Father Geto.
Could you blame them?
His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly.
Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives.
He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.
Above you.
Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.
The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you.
Did you read him wrong?
Did you misinterpret your budding friendship?
Does it…should it even matter?
Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.
You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden.
“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds.
You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.
“I’m right here, Ezra.”
“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek.
“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead.
“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.”
Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat.
“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.
The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly.
“Pleasure is mine.”
Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.
“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air.
The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over. Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze.
He, the archer. You, the bullseye.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”
Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.
Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.
“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.
But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing.
The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze.
“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble.
“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat.
But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.
“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away.
“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.”
“Yes, Father. I understand.”
“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease.
“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat.
He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want.
“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze.
“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat.
“Tell me about your love.”
The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.
War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be.
“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward.
“A week ago?”
“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable.
“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same.
He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in.
“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper.
The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow.
“Right.”
Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.
“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.”
His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind.
“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine.
The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.
Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind.
· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·
Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs.
Today was maddening.
He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast.
And the sea provided anything but peace.
She was angry with him, tonight.
Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.
Just like that night.
“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”
Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes.
Brother in name, technically.
Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity.
But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.
‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’
It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea.
Then fate struck.
Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents.
And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright.
With eyes as ominous as the sky above.
Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods.
“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”
Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear.
“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile.
“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”
A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain.
They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain.
“Almost ready to go, son?”
His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him.
“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit.
He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features.
Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.
“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”
“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.”
Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side.
This goodbye was different.
“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.”
Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back.
“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines.
“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”
The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway. Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back.
“My beautiful boy.”
The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him.
“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.
Oak.
He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.
“If Poseidon calls—“
“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.
Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace.
She was irate.
Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone.
Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof.
This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him.
Aerated waters.
Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen.
The boat.
The boat would never make it to shore.
Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross.
A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face.
Followed by another.
Then another.
And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.
As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman.
Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful.
Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.
Fucking, hell.
He can’t seem to escape pain today.
The swim was excruciating.
Mass was dreadful.
Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating.
Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.
The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.
Do not covet, Suguru.
He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral.
This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on.
“Would you be proud, Father?”
A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again.
“Did He tell you?”
Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it.
But it angers him all the same.
“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize.
“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone.
Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision.
“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream. Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him.
Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might.
“Bastard. I’m your SON.”
Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed.
Is he cursing his earthly father?
His Heavenly One?
Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?
It hurts.
An unforgiving pain.
Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low.
Well exceeding his father’s time limit.
Poseidon stole from him that day.
A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence.
“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.”
Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely.
The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to.
Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.
“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air.
“I made it to shore, Dad.”
E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover.
taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess
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Hiii! Can I request headcanons on what vox would be like as a father of a teen daughter? I feel like he'd be great to gossip with and would tell her to slap any boy that hits on her
Vox absolutely fucking would do this, and he is that type of girl dad to loudly brag that his Princess is cuter than every other father’s! Vox be like: ‘You wish your daughter was as cute as mine’
Vox- Baby Laptop
Vox is extremely doting and loving but extremely protective. Like, he has cameras and drones following you, his fourteen year old human life and demon life daughter, around all the time. You can’t leave the tower without him knowing and he won’t condone you walking around Hell without ALL his bodyguards escorting you
Vox is a bragger. He brags and he flexes what he has so when it comes to you, he is one-upping every known mother and father in the Pride Ring and flaunting his precious babygirl with no hesitation. You’re beautiful and Hell deserves to bask in your presence… according to Vox
Remember, your dad is the technology Overlord. The one in charge of every device in this city, so of course, he is kept to date with everything and he always gives you the latest models his slaves team create. He spoils you since it’s a symbol of his love
Vox is basically your best gossip buddy and no matter how busy he is, he’ll make time to talk to you. Call him, he’ll answer and whilst he works, he’ll listen to you and he remembers it. He has a good open ear and a good sense of ‘fuck you all’ so he’ll get rather into your gossip pieces and consider asking Velvette to spread them through her social media influence
Vox is more than capable of getting sweet, soft and emotive with you. He always proclaims to you, with his whole heart, that he puts you out because he’s proud of you and adores you and he wants you to have everything when back on Earth, he could barely give you anything
Yes. Vox loves you MORE than he likes messing with Valentino so if Valentino dares to hit you, your father is bolting across the room at mach speeds to make his on-and-off boyfriend regret putting his hands on you. You’re his spoiled little princess and nobody touches you! You’re too valuable!
Vox has a picture of you in his wallet and in his suit pocket. So, whilst he is working tirelessly throughout the days and hasn’t seen you in a while. He’ll pick either photograph out and admire it. Both are direct recreations of photographs he owned when both of you were humans
Like Carmilla Carmine with her two daughters, Vox likes to have you occasionally work for him and occasionally means occasionally. Vox only cares that you’re happy so if you want to spend all day everyday in your big fancy room in his tower free of stress, he lets it!
However. Vox, of course, teaches you important life skills. He didn’t get a chance to when both of you were humans on Earth so he is now. Every night, he teaches you to cook recipes, he teaches you to do basic chores, he teaches you how to balance any money you earn
Vox almost views you as the cute babygirl he had back on Earth. The little five year old that was so happy to see him come home after so long of working so hard as a TV salesman in the late 1940s. The little girl who needed him to go to sleep at night, the precious darling who claimed she’d grow up and become a saleswoman too!
Vox does baby you and he doesn’t regret it. He coodles, he snuggles, he baby talks, he coos. He does all of it because he loves you dearly, you’re the single thing that drove him to become a Overlord, you’re the single thing that motivated him to become one of the strongest Overlords in Hell, you’re the single thing that even brought him to work with technology
Vox had always taught you; ‘if a boy or a girl hits on you, slap them’ and that became your norm. You come home, Vox asks what happened and you tell him. He is always happy to hear that you don’t let anybody bother you
The only criticism or advice Vox will take for his products is you so when you say something doesn’t work or needs improvement. He takes it and throws it as his workers so they can fix up what you said. He doesn’t care what his clients think, he cares what his own flesh and blood thinks
Vox loves how you have his TV head and even gets you to wear a matching outfit with him as a cute father-daughter joke. He likes it, it’s adorable. You look like such a badass business lady! He is that type of dad that will embarrass you with how much he loves you
Talking about a father-daughter situation, Vox has the weekends booked all for you. Two father-daughter days out so you two go to the shops, get drinks, gossip more, talk shit about Alastor, go egg the Hazbin Hotel, get some shopping then go to visit the Vees to chat then pick up a movie suggestion to go watch a movie together! Vox loves these days since he is truly himself with you
Vox legit has you in his contacts as the following; ‘My precious darling princess’
“Darling, Princess. It’s time to wake up, we’re going out together! Yes. To the movies and to the shops. I heard that old timey prick is in a Hotel so let’s go egg it once we’re done, ‘kay? Great, I’ll be waiting for you, pumpkin”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel au#hazbin hotel characters#vivziepop hazbin hotel#vivziepop#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel imagines#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin hotel vox x reader#vox x reader#hazbin vox#vox#father vox#hazbin vox x reader#father vox x reader#headcanons#father headcanons#father daughter moments#fluff imagines#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin hotel overlord#overlord vox#teen dad vox#cute fluff#parent headcanons#cute parent stuff#cute imagines
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My husband finally put into words for me something that has been the main problem with this whole Anti Gwynriel because of Gwyn's past narrative.
According to Anti's, it's not ok to ship Gwyn with Az because she's not healed enough and hasn't shown that she's ready for a relationship.
According to Anti's, fanart of Gwynriel in provocative positions are not appropriate because it's disrespectful to Gwyn due to her SA, that she needs to first give verbal consent before we're allowed to imagine what a HEA for Gwynriel might look like.
And at first, it almost feels like a gotcha for them because you question whether you're disrespecting real survivors by saying, "she doesn't need to give consent for us to ship them since it's a book." This statement is true, I don't think readers should be forced to abide by real world morals when it comes to possible paths a characters arc might take, however it makes you pause for a moment to question whether what you're saying is disrespectful to those who have been victims.
But he actually flipped that entire thing on it's head when he said, "if the issue is about consent, then why is only being applied to a SA victim? Shouldn't consent be applied to everyone?"
It was kind of a lightbulb moment for me because those Anti's never vocalize how it's wrong for people to ship Eris & Az, Mor & Emerie, Vassa & Lucien (SA victim), Lucien, Jurian & Vassa, the LoA & Helion (because at this point they are not a consenting pair), Nesta & Eris. There are a bunch of non canon, non consent ships in this series and nobody has an issue with those. Nobody takes up the crusade arguing that it's wrong for people in the fandom to imagine those pairings together or drawing fanart of them in NSFW positions. Most of the time they're celebrated but has Emerie consented to having a sexual relationship with Mor? All she did was call her beautiful and Feyre had done the same in ACOMAF. Why do they never call out fanart of that pairing? Or Neris after Nesta harshly rejected him? Where Eris is currently suffering torture at the hands of Beron and we've got no clue as to his sexual preference. Also, Elain only consented to a fully clothed kiss in the bonus (remember, she grew up with human morals which she still holds fast too, she didn't jump right into bed with Graysen), we have no evidence she wanted more yet there's plenty of NSFW E/riel artwork out there and I'm betting some existed before SF, before she even consented to a kiss.
The only time I've ever heard anyone argue for consent or argue against NSFW art is in relation to Az and Gwyn and the message they're sending is that only female characters who have been SA need to give consent before fans should be shipping them.
That's when the shipping agenda makes itself known because if no other non-canon / non-consenting pairing disturbs them to the point they need to create post after post surrounding how wrong people are for shipping them, then it's clear to see that it's only Gwyn being shipped with Az that they take issue with and when only E/riels make these arguments, it seems highly suspect.
Gwyn's SA is irrelevant in terms of consent because EVERYONE should have consent before engaging in physical acts with others no matter their past. However, Gwyn's SA should not be the weight dragging her character down, the scarlet letter on her chest that means the fandom isn't allowed to give her the same treatment that all other characters receive. Where we're free to imagine and create fanart / fanfiction / headcanons (even the NSFW variety) for any pairing that we desire, regardless of their past or preference, even those who have never expressed romantic interest towards one another, except for Gwyn.
Consent in the actual book will be important but consent having already been given in our imaginations so we can imagine possibilities beyond what is currently written is the right of any reader.
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Some people, in defense of generative A.I., will claim that A.I. builds from influences the same as human beings do. This is, to me, the first indication that I’m talking to somebody who either does not understand how A.I. works, how human creativity works, or most likely both. Something that needs to be clearly understood is that A.I. has no intelligence. It does not “think”. It is a predictive text program that simulates human expression by ingesting unfathomable amounts of data and trying to replicate that data. It does not know and can not know what meaning its outputs have. Further, it has no desire and no emotion to motivate action or decisions. It simply runs a program and assembles pixels or words to match what seems most like other correct pixels and words in its vast data set. It aggregates. It produces averages.
Humans, obviously, do not create like this. Humans have intentions and purpose to what we do. These intentions are sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, sometime clear, and sometimes nebulous. But we always have emotion and thought connected to what we make. What we create is guided by intent colliding with discovery, and these two states feed each other. And the influence that we draw from existing work is not an analysis of pixels, but an emotional response to how that work makes us feel. Even in analytical study of form or anatomy, our brains do not operate like computer programs. While committing information to memory, we also interpret and seek to understand and this affects how that information is later able to be used. Because we are each an individual, infinitely complex being, our different physiological, environmental, and cultural variations bring us to infinite different endpoints. Like it or not, we all see the world slightly differently and our creative expressions reflect this.
It has become standard to describe A.I. as a tool. I argue that this framing is incorrect. It does not aid in the completion of a task. It completes the task for you. A.I. is a service. You cede control and decisions to an A.I. in the way you might to an independent contractor hired to do a job that you do not want to or are unable to do. This is important to how using A.I. in a creative workflow will influence your end result. You are, at best, taking on a collaborator. And this collaborator happens to be a mindless average aggregate of data.
To some, the prospect of collaborating with the sum average of all artists is apparently an attractive prospect. Maybe you feel you are below average in some areas and the A.I. will therefore raise the quality of those areas. But every percent that you hand over to the A.I. is a percent less of your unique voice, perspective, and intention. And for folks who use A.I. generations wholesale, that comes out to a 100% loss of anything personal or unique that they might bring.
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I'm really not a villain enjoyer. I love anti-heroes and anti-villains. But I can't see fictional evil separate from real evil. As in not that enjoying dark fiction means you condone it, but that all fiction holds up some kind of mirror to the world as it is. Killing innocent people doesn't make you an iconic lesbian girlboss it just makes you part of the mundane and stultifying black rot of the universe.
"But characters struggling with honour and goodness and the egoism of being good are so boring." Cool well some of us actually struggle with that stuff on the daily because being a good person is complicated and harder than being an edgelord.
Sure you can use fiction to explore the darkness of human nature and learn empathy, but the world doesn't actually suffer from a deficit of empathy for powerful and privileged people who do heinous stuff. You could literally kill a thousand babies in broad daylight and they'll find a way to blame your childhood trauma for it as long as you're white, cisgender, abled and attractive, and you'll be their poor little meow meow by the end of the week. Don't act like you're advocating for Quasimodo when you're just making Elon Musk hot, smart and gay.
#this is one of the reasons why#although i would kill antis in real life if i could#i also don't trust anyone who identifies as 'pro-ship'#it's just an excuse to shut down legitimate ethical questions and engaging in honest self-reflective media consumption and critique#art doesn't exist in a vacuum#it's a flat impossibility for it not to inform nor be informed by real world politics and attitudes#because that's what it means to be created by human hands#we can't even make machine learning thats not just human bias fed into an algorithm#if the way we interact with art truly didn't influence anything then there would be no value in it#just because antis have weaponized those points in the most bad faith ways possible#doesn't mean you can ignore them in good faith#anyway fandom stans villains because society loves to defend and protect abusers#it's not because you get the chance to be free and empathetic and indulge in your darkness and what not#it's just people's normal levels of attachment to shitty people with an added layer of justification for it#this blog is for boring do-gooder enjoyers only#lol#knee of huss#fandom wank#media critique#pop culture#fandom discourse
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🥴🥴🥴
#i love living in a miserable awful world#you will see every awful thing going on#you will read about how things are only getting worse#you will be subjected to misery even when you are offline just because that's the world thats been created for us#why go to college? so i can be in constant debt and get rejected from every job?#why get a job? so i can be dehumanized on the daily and forced to work for the rest of my life?#its not like it matters. i will never be able to afford a house nor function like a normal human being#there will be no joy or hope. and what kind of life is that#if it is one at all?#there is no community for me in the real world i can already barely even talk to people on the Internet#i only have online friends#my only skills and talents are those that would be hell to monetize and suck all the fun out#i mean. i cant ever have a family either.#i despise school#all that keeps me going is cowardice and the price tag thats now attached to my life#on the bright side at least i could do it once i earn about 7k#on the other hand i dont want to#i want to keep going#i dont know why anymore#im lazy man i dont have any motivations or passions all i ever want to fucking do is draw and play video games#i dont want a job dont want to go to college cant make friends and cant have a family or happy life so#really whats left for me?
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started on the french dictionary and so far i've only read the front matter and three pages of the A's and i'm already having so much fun. highlights:
the irony of the preface, which basically says, "this is an abridged edition. isn't that neat?", being at least three times longer than necessary
the list of 16 different symbols and their uses in distinguishing senses and introducing distinct usages within the same definition. because that seems like a large number of symbols, i have given myself permission not to comprehend the differences between any of them and just vibe
from the list of abbreviations:
"abusivt: abusivement (emploi très critiquable, parfois faux sens ou solécisme)" 😒 @ french lexicographers: have you heard the good news (of linguistic descriptivism)?
"recomm.: recommandation (dans recomm. off. « recommandation officielle » ; terme conforme à la loi française de 1994 sur la langue)" okay actually @ all of france: get well soon
"abdomen [-ɛn]" do you mean to tell me this vowel isn't nasalized??? sick. twisted. rebellious. can't believe la loi française de 1994 sur la langue has nothing to say about this !
"aber [abɛʀ]" this dictionary tells me when to pronounce the r in words ending in -er. my holy grail. crying and kissing its feet in gratitude
every time the definition includes a word i don't know i can just look that word up elsewhere in the same book i am currently holding!!!!
"abortif, ive adj. Qui fait avorter." told you b and v were related
"abreuver v. tr. 1. Faire boire abondamment (un animal)." this makes it sound like you're force-feeding animals water...on the previous page abondance is defined as "Grande quantité (supérieure aux besoins)" so like i'm getting the sense that you're leading a horse to water and not only making it drink but not letting it leave until it's drunk every last drop in the trough lol
"abribus [-bys] n. m. (nom déposé) Arrêt d'autobus équipé d'un abri" ok cute.
the example it gives for abruti is "Espèce d'abruti !" folks it don't get any frencher than that.
#so conflicted about france's attitude toward anglicisms in particular. like on the one hand i get it and if we were talking about any other#language i'd be like yeah the global supremacy of english & its overwriting and erasure of other languages is a big problem#but this is FRENCH. french! aka the source of the majority of the english lexicon!!!!#hello the normans!!! you made your language the anglo-saxons' problem! chickens coming home to roost et cetera!!!!#if you wanted us to keep our language to ourselves...little late for that dontcha think. ya filthy hypocrites#anyway i don't think the 1994 law says anything about pronunciation (it might idk but it's definitely not the focus)#but i just like razzing the french powers that be over...basically anything i can think of#oh you want me to pronounce this word-final n? that's rich coming from YOU#it just seems so dumb from the outside to be so focused on trying to preserve forever the workings of a highly complicated system#that's not even internally consistent at any kind of layperson-accessible scale#like you think modern french is this perfect specimen when in fact it is a LANGUAGE created by HUMANS and therefore riddled with#idiosyncrasies and vestigial remains of diachronic processes AND THAT IS WHAT MAKES IT SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!!#and that means! it must be allowed to continue to evolve! not to even mention! it's going to evolve whether you want it to or not!#because that's its nature! that's how it works! that's how humans work! that's what we need from it and it is by us & of us & for us!!#french#lexicography#lecture du dico#prescriptivism#my posts#i know i said i was going to wait to read the dictionary until after i read all my other books but i was too excited to wait#and i told a friend about my plan and after the requisite 'yeah that sounds like something you would do you kooky broad'#she was like maybe you should read one letter at a time. like in between books or something. so you don't get bored#and i thought that was pretty smart. so i've started the A's. i'm not in between books i just wanted to start immediately#the problem is this dictionary is only 900 pages long so already i'm going psh. 900 pages? i could knock that out in three months#reading only 10 pages a day. it took me longer than that to read the count of monte-cristo#oh the other part i read today was the appendix on pronunciation. which didn't tell me anything i didn't already know (mostly that#there are still a bunch of vowels i can't pronounce lol) but was still fun to read out loud because of all the times i could be like#well i KNOW i'm not pronouncing that right. it says so right here.#like when it says ne confondez pas pâte et patte ! and i'm like okay well i pronounce them the same. so. sorry#my mouth only makes one of those sounds. and they sound identical to me. my b my b
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yknow sometimes i feel like. if fandom was a kindergarten playground i've been spending the past several years just sitting in a corner of the sandbox by myself making my little sand sculptures just for myself to look at and maybe there are other kids who come by to take a peek every once in a while but mostly its just me and my shitty little sand sculptures
and now suddenly i've gotten a lot better at my sand sculptures and the playground is a lot smaller and so there are people who know that im good at making sand sculptures and specifically come by to my corner of the sandbox because they like my sand sculptures and sometimes those people are teachers who walk past and give a thumbs up and tell the other kids to come look and its so. new and cool and exciting but also its so different from anything i've experienced before and im not saying thats bad its just. a lot to get used to. im still not that good at playing with the other kids and i still hate having others be around to watch me make stuff because i've never had that before and i have no idea how to.. do.. a lot of this. but it's okay. i'll learn.
#asto speaks#some thoughts ive been spinning in my head for a while because i would not trade this new community for anything in the world#its just..... im not good at Human Interaction sometimes so i have to figure some stuff out is all#for what its worth a big part of it is also that i have very very few people irl to share art related stuff with#the only people i know irl who know i draw is like... a handful of very close friends who dont.. tend? to be in the same fandoms as me#i mean its also why i love the community a lot because ive gotten more validation for my art in the past few months than the past#what 20 years of my life. 6 years of drawing#but its also like. *creation* has always been something intensely personal for me because ive gotten so used to holding anything i create#incredibly close to my chest. so to speak#which is why i dont post wips. or share a lot of my ideas both because im not much of an ideas person anyway but also like#anything i make has to be neatly wrapped up and packaged before i show it to anyone. idk#im an amoeba and anything i create is just a part of my cytoplasm until im absolutely 100% ready to wrap it up in a vacuole and export it#until then i aint showing you shit. im not giving other people access to my cytoplasm thats my whole ass innards right there
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The original thing I'm brewing rn is like: Do you wish your romance novel was written by an aromantic asexual who views love as something to strap on a vivisection table? Do you wish your romance novel included themes of identity formation and crisis, of emerging self-governing and the fear and the thrill of it, o being built wrong through none of your own fault and having to adjust that wrongness into a functioning human identity, of the first experience of ever being loved after a long existence of blind worship, of love as a transformative power, as a corruptive power? Do you wish the guy was the sub?
#lucy blabs#im like ehehhe my lil barbie dolls they are so romantic they flirt they dance~#imagine living as a tool without autonomy for your entire existance#decades and centuries of it#worshiping blindly because you were made to do so#executing your order because you were made to do so#your body surrender your will non existent modified and adjusted to whims of an unfeeling uncaring god that never saw you as anything more#than a tool on his workbench#imagine being created for one purpose only to be modified for something completely different uncaringly sloppily so#leaving you as something you can no longer recognize something that you were never supposed to be#imagine if your god died then there would be no going back no fixing you no changing this cage of a body you are trapped in#you are alone you are on your own you are growing a will growing a personality you are no longer a toy on the shelf#and you know what has been done to you you are realizing it now#the pain that you had brought the pain that has been brought on you all the things you now have to live with and an understanding of what#they mean#but your god is dead and you cant even rebel against him cant even wreak havoc on his doorstep can take no revenge for yourself or those#who had not lived through the madness and the pain to see this other side of the suffering#you are a tool turned human and you are only learning to exist and existence is helplessness and hatred and injustice#and you are a being used to worship but not to love tools are made to be useful not to be loved and you had never felt a kind hand before#and then someone loves you for the first time ever someone loves you and its a toxin its a drug and you would do anything for them#it doesnt matter what they do or who they are it doesnt matter who they kill or harm#they love you and you are a being used to worship and the only way you know how to love is to throw yourself on an altar#and rip your heart out for consumption#<3 and then they kiss <3
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sometimes i think about the fact that luka is every event holding blog's worst nightmare. why? well because he's not fearless, he is incapable of feeling fear.
#we joke that he only feels fear when his mom 'gets up out of her chair'#but it's not even fear it's just respect and knowing that Mom Needs Sleep#but luka just genuinely does not feel fear#and that amplifies; like.#his ability to love tenfold.#to a point that he frequently finds himself spiraling because#his universe associated ''fear makes you human''#& ''love makes you stupid/insane''#(r at least thats what he grew up with)#but its so wild.#his paladin + cleric + bard magic entwined? makes him IMMUNE to FEAR#all fear effects? nope.#CANONICALLY? IN REAL GAME MECHANICS.#the embodiment of nightmare and fear herself morganna le fay#''only exists'' as a means to piss him off and encourage him to commit passive aggressive major miracles#its imprssive i think when u manage to be such an aggravation that someone creates a PANACEA#♡. mordred mumbles ⁄ ⁄ right hand to the king .#♡. luka.about ⁄ ⁄ an acquired taste for a bleeding heart .
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I think there’s something so deeply and intimately and morbidly true about The Last of Us’s primary thesis which is that humanity’s fatal flaw, in that very Shakespearian way, is that we are destined to care too much about one another so much so that we discard the collective entirely. like we have such a capacity to love the human race and humanity as a whole, to grow our communities and govern cities how we know best and foster such connection with the masses which we are part of, but it’s overtaken by our capacity to love even just a single other person. like one human can come into your life that creates such an intrinsic and passionate love in you— or maybe two people or a family’s worth or any small number— and you suddenly would burn entire villages down just to keep them safe.
joel doesn’t blink twice murdering to find ellie. he doesn’t look back when he decides to do what he does at the hospital later on. he has no remorse about any of it it, because this one girl has grown to mean more to him than any possible greater good could ever mean. and it’s reciprocal. ellie would— and does— do anything she can to help him, save him, protect him, and, eventually, to avenge him. because that’s what you do when you love someone. not when you love people. when you love someone.
and it’s selfish, in a way??? because we love these people and would do so much for them because they mean more to us than other strangers do. it’s exactly like an iteration of the trolley problem, actually. one track has your daughter on it and one track has fifty people. don’t even try telling me you wouldn’t go onto track B if it meant saving your daughter and her puppy dog eyes from the whimpering and pain and fear. The Last of Us says yes, you would. I would. we all would. and like yeah that is our greatest weakness, that we have such a unique ability to love a handful of people so deeply that our compassion towards community and strangers and the bigger collective starts to slip from view. but goddamn what a fucking great fatal flaw it is to have. we are all going to die and the world will burn because we loved another person too much.
#i wrote a poem about this#idk if i should post it bc i dont want to risk someone stealing it#but yeah… this concept has me really thinking#the last of us#the last of us hbo#hbo the last of us#tlou hbo#hbo tlou#tlou#the last of us spoilers#tlou spoilers#joel miller#ellie williams#joel and ellie
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Hiiiii can you do a jealous Alastor but not of anyone but his own shadows bc his wifey takes a liking on one of his shadows.
Oooh! I like this quite a lot! It’s very interesting and unique! Once again, beloved hubby Alastor! Another one I want to explore hubby of is Blitz. I think Blitz would make a good hubby
Alastor- Picking Favourites
Alastor’s furious, steaming from his deer-like ears so hot that it’s basically boiling him… did somebody hurt his ego? No. Did Angel Dust sexually advance on him again? No. Did his breakfast get interrupted by the Hotel Manager? NO. Nothing has inconvenienced him but something awful has been happening, day by day, that he can barely keep his composure
Hitting your laughter directed at something else feels like a hit that would form a bruise, but knowing your laughter is directed at his mere sentient shadow basically gutted him in the stomach with a sharp butcher knife. You’re his wife, his lady, his realm, the woman he has been fawning over for so long and you’re hitting it up with his sentient silent shadow, and not him?!
Of course, Alastor’s fascinating lively shadow is just being nice to it’s master’s recently wedded wife, and is trying to get you accustom to being around so much Voodoo magic and the weirdness that is Alastor himself so it’s being all caring and leading you around, showing you items and reaching you Alastor’s favourite foods
But that doesn’t mean Alastor isn’t jealous… because he is, he’s really jealous
Whilst he reads through a interesting crime fiction novel, Alastor’s tall fluffy deer-like ears flick up at the sound of your voice. He can’t sense his voodoo-magic induced shadow, meaning that it’s wondered off to you and as he suspected, you enter your husband’s soothingly silent fireplace-warmed accompanied by Alastor’s sentient shadow. It cant really talk but it makes all kinds of humming and echoey noises. It almost seems like you understand it…
Alastor’s patience, throughout every time he hears this, has finally shattered to pieces as his claws dig into the book in his hand, snapping his fingers. The shadow directly mirroring your husband’s look, fades away into thin air as if it was a big fire and a bucket of water was dumped on the top of it, rising up into streams of smoke. It’s gone and you’re confused on why it disappeared
“Darling. Why are you getting so handsy with my friend?”
Alastor almost growls out with his deep scowl… this is possibly the first ever time you and Hell will ever see Alastor frown and frown so deeply he is… it’s kinda unnatural to look at but when Alastor willingly frowns and can’t pull himself to smile, it means he is more than pissed off… you didn’t think just being polite and going along with your husband’s voodoo magic shadow being would ever cause a problem
It’s just that Alastor’s love for you is so strong that it causes jealousy to concur and even jealousy over just some magic creating a shadowy being. Something that is sentient but mainly tied to it’s owner, to Alastor and he is jealous of his own creation
Approaching your beloved husband, the Radio Demon, you lean over, pushing back his somewhat messy crimson red bangs and kisses directly over the pale red almost bullet-sized ‘x’ on the flesh of his forehead. That ‘x’ is the biggest weak spot on Alastor, a symbol of his shame and where his pride can be hurt the most but he doesn’t mind showing off all his weaknesses and vulnerabilities to you… he had already told you about his human life
What’s one little kiss on that ‘x’ going to do?
Pulling back. It’s almost like the single kiss had melted away all his anger and Alastor is now just a soft innocent fluffy little fawn with his crimson red eyes almost sparkling at the affection. He didn’t suspect that, he suspected this’d turn into some big fight but you’re not going to argue, you’re going to explain yourself
“Alastor… Al, my love. I wasn’t replacing you with your shadow buddy. He was just trying to help me get accustom to being your wife. I’ve never been married before and being married to the Radio Demon… it’s. It requires a lot of adjusting so he was just trying to help”
Alastor couldn’t help but feel a bit bad about his half temper tantrum. Of course, why would his shadow even care about having a spouse of its own? It doesn’t, it cares about you being the best wife for its master so it’s trying to help and get you more comfortable. Yes, he is still jealous that you didn’t come to him and go to a shadow… but he does really appreciate all the effort and the wish to not rely on him in order to impress him
After taking a deep breath whilst placing his bigger clawed hand on the smaller clawed hand of yours over his cheek, gently fondling the soft skin over his face. Alastor rhythmically brushes his own fingers over the smooth skin of your hand briefly. Controlling himself, controlling his emotions and then finally saying whilst opening his eyes again to meet yours
Just… such beautiful eyes
“My dear… I appreciate the efforts but please, don’t think you can’t come to me to learn. We’re husband and wife, we work together. You don’t need to go to my friends for that advice”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel characters#vivziepop hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin imagines#romantic alastor#alastor short story#alastor x reader#alastor#radio demon x reader#hazbin radio demon#the radio demon#radio demon#husband alastor#husbando#vivziepop#husband alastor x reader#romantic short story#romantic alastor x reader#comfort short story#comfort#married couple go brrrrr
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Moo business (monster!Konig x CowHybrid!fem!Reader)
Promotion to colonel has its perks. Having your own caretaker with fluffy cow years and a nice pair of...additions is one of them - and Konig is about to enjoy his new rank.
Content warning: Hybrids, Konig is a huge pervert, naive cow hybrid reader, slight dub-con, power imbalance, and inappropriate work behavior, lactation kink. Implied big chested!Reader
Humans have learned to live with monsters.
Obviously, having dangerous, much more powerful neighbors in this tiny green planet, didn’t allow humans to actually thrive and succeed – the power dynamics were shifted ever since the first monster decided, that wearing a collar and identification badge doesn’t really go with their style. And humans would be much more suited to wear it.
Unfortunately, monsters aren’t created equal – while most of them are killing machines with little to no regard to the danger of real life, there are some particularly fragile hybrids with no use in fights or even normal life. House cat hybrid girls, almost no claws and all purring and laying on their backs to let humans and other monsters pet their bellies. Sheep hybrids, all fluff and tiny, rounded horns that would never hurt anyone. Cow hybrids, adorable and silly, no use in the fights except for moral support.
Which is exactly why König was fucking pissed.
— G…good evening, sir. I will be your assistant for the day. I mean, every day. As long as you’re having me.
You smile nervously, munching on your lips. When the only way up the social ladder was working in the army as an…assistant? Moral support? Waving your nurse training like you’d be able to safely secure a monster’s health when he is twice as big as you?
Being a colonel in the army has its perks – better gear, better paycheck, better chunks of meat that he can bite off the enemies without higher-ups whining about war crimes and rules of war. Having a cute lil’ assistant with fluffy ears and a chest that physically can’t fit into the uniform, forcing you to wear permanent cleavage and just let a bit of chubbiness roll on the tight fabric is also a perk. For a pervert, maybe, but not for König who is already sworn to never deal with anyone who is this sensitive, this soft, and this…adorable.
He thought he was quite certain in his wishes – if higher-ups really need for him to take a fuck toy, he wanted it to be resilient. Maybe a dog hybrid, maybe a vampire, just weak and hungry enough to overpower with little fights. Not someone like you, who has no idea what she is doing in the army and why her hands are trembling like he is going to devour you alive. Although, looking at the way your chest is swaying every time you flinch…maybe, he can do just that. Teach higher-ups a lesson on why he doesn’t need their handouts.
— Dismissed.
He doesn’t even look at you. Honestly, you’re a bit hurt – honestly, you almost want to yell at him or scream or tell all of your higher-ups that the colonel is a huge jerk who clearly doesn’t need a little cow darling to make him coffee and tend to his needs and be a huge moral support because they can’t take another fucked out recruit when the dangerous hybrid is in heat again. You feel like a glorified whore – the one that he doesn’t even want.
— B…but…
You pout your lips, a billion questions raised in your mind – why is he like this, what is his deal and you should even look at him if he clearly doesn’t want you…and that look on your face, helplessness mixed with a bit of deliciously sweet anger, combined with your soft, doe features…
Colonel has a problem.
He thought he knew what he wanted – a strong partner, someone resilient and fiery, someone who can take his cock anywhere without whining. Someone who wouldn’t require a lot of attention and softness, someone who knows their place. Now König looks at you, your floppy ears and trembling lips, and his gaze darts lower, his nose getting milk fragrances even under all of those layers of fabric.
It doesn’t take a genius to know why they sent you. He doesn’t need a secretary, he doesn’t need an assistant and even if he needs help with something, there are always lower ranks ready to do whatever he says. You’re useless to him, on all levels he can imagine – and yet, he can’t find it in him, to truly dismiss you. To hate your trembling lips and obedient stare – no thought behind those pretty eyes of yours. He always thought he wanted someone strong, someone who is hard to break and resilient to any advances.
He looks at you and, for the first time in forever, has this wild urge to protect.
— Sir? Is everything alright?
You tilt your head to the side, that naive stare you has makes his cock twitch in his pants. It was a long time since he had sex with anyone, especially that adorable. Some hybrids look like they are made to be fucked and loved and used in all of those delicious ways – he knows it’s problematic, he knows that having that view on fellow monsters isn’t right for someone as strong as him, but he wants to devour you. Wants to see that pretty eyes wide from desire – he knows you’d feel the urge too, it’s in your blood, to present your soft belly and even softer tits to a larger predator.
Indulging on you would mean giving up on his attempts of constantly undermining the higher-ups – it would also mean that he would finally receive a partner for the extensive mating seasons that clash with his work and make his skilling rate go up – and not just for the enemies. Private Halseen, you will be missed. Your ass probably wouldn’t.
— I thought you’d heard me the first time.
— But I brought coffee.
— They make coffee machines in cows now?
— Sir! I was just trying to…break the ice? I’m your new operator, or, um, assistant, I have nurse training, and I…
— What are you going to do with an injury? Lick it away?
— M…my saliva has healing properties, so…
— They really sent me a magic cow, ja?
— That’s a very…special way to put it, colonel.
You are surprisingly stubborn for someone who isn’t a confident killing machine. You balance the little tray with a cup of coffee – a big one, seems like you did your homework on that one – and he can’t help but imagine your hands gripping something else this tightly. Your body is trembling, your face switches between a sad and a surprised expression as he slowly emerges from his table to get a good look at you.
You’re a cow hybrid – they are naturally adorable, naturally soft, and naturally made for someone like him to tower over. He is good over 7 foot, even in mostly human form, and his monster height would be almost twice your size – he'd love to take you like this, raw, bully his giant cock into your, no doubt, tight pussy, and make you squeal from the stretch. Maybe, he can help you with milk production – put another hybrid into you, make your belly swell from his cum. Keep you locked away in his room like a perfect little treat, using your soft body as a perfect pillow.
He can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation – saliva collecting in his mouth as the thinks of all the ways he can use such a pretty secretary. There is no way you don’t know why they sent you here – no way you think that your self-worth is something more than being his obedient pet, beloved toy. König never thought of settling down, the bloodshed is his one and only partner – but he looks at your rounded horns, at your twitching ears and pouty lips – and he thinks about putting his earring right into your floppy ear. lick away all the blood and calm you down as you’d squirm under the pain, soothe your panicking cow brain as he would bully his cock even deeper, claiming you as…
Ah, shit. You’re still here, waiting for his answer – your eyes are shocked and afraid, anticipated a little bit because of course you’re aroused, his pheromones are too overwhelming for a thing like you – you stare at the bulge in his pants, at nis, no doubt, hard cock – and he can almost see gears in your head turning slowly. God, you’re adorable.
— You forgot the milk.
— Sergeant Horangi didn’t say anything about milk.
So, Horangi was the one to set you up. Of course, tiger shifter probably got his hots on you – pretty prey, perfect for every hunter nearby, but, just as a good officer, he let you go to his colonel first. You talk back with a surprisingly fierce tone and König appreciates the way his mask covers up his whole face – you couldn’t see his smile, the way corners of his mouth jerked up at your pout. Continue like this, and the colonel will do more than just smile at your antics.
— Probably because he knew that our milk is shitty.
— If…if you need me to bring you something else, I will do it right away, sir.
— No need, Kuhen. I think you have what I need right here.
His cock twitches in his pants again – your eyes are locked on his bulge, you slowly push the tray to the table. You’re naive, you’re cute, and he knows that KorTac probably pays you triple for being this adorable and playing dumb like the good girl you are – bastards probably know that if you’d be upfront and pushy, he would just set you away from his office.
But standing here, munching on your lower lip, your soft, pink tongue disappearing in your mouth only to reaper to lick your lips again, your face not ever betraying the emotions you, no doubt, are feeling – König can smell your arousal, can almost see the way your pussy is glittering with juices flowing right into your soaked panties. They send a lamb – a cow – to his chambers and they know that he would never resist a good hunt. You allow him to cut through the chase, to just pin you to his desk and take what’s his – but anxiety, that stupid fucking worm eating his brain over the tiniest facts, is making him question everything again. He knows he thinks too much, he knows it’s not going to do him any good – still, he wants to be sure that you’re not too dumb to understand his advances. Still, he wants to play a bit more. Delay the moment of sex because his doubt can eat him alive otherwise.
— Take off your shirt, Schatzen.
He doesn’t even look at your chest, bouncing from the tight shirt you were wearing – poor buttons holding on for dear life, barely containing your soft flesh – he drinks up your expressions, embarrassment, and poorly hidden curiosity. You saw the job requirements for an operator, saw his profile – high risks, high aggression, can be very, very violent – and you decided that you can take him, for the right pay.
— You want me to…take off something else, sir?
A smart girl would run the fuck away from him – but you just lock your hands in front of you, not even bothering to cover your chest. God, he wants to be with you forever – just for that little look on your face your nervousness. You’re standing in front of him, only wearing pants and your bra – and you’re afraid that he isn’t going to like what he sees.
Just for this expression, he might as well push a ring on your finger already.
— Ja. Bra is next.
You nod like you expected this. You probably did – for a prey hybrid, you’re surprisingly smart in understanding what he needs. Your bra is lacy and cute, white, with little flat roses printed – surely not something he expected from military personnel, even if your duties are laying in under him, not with your belly in trenches and your cute hands squeezing the trigger.
Your breasts look even bigger without a bra to keep them close. You place a hand under your chest, feeling a bit awkward with your colonel just standing here, looming over your form. You lick your lips – he cocks his head closer to you. You can hear something shifting under his hood – you don’t know what his face looks like, rumors were opting for either a bunch of tentacles tucked neatly inside of his hood, the head of some mythical animal, or a normal, but disfigured and burned human face. You don’t know which option you prefer – even the files you were reading before choosing this job didn’t give you an answer. There is something stirring inside of you when you’re thinking about tentacles, though.
— Braves Mädchen…good girl.
You smile, feeling the knot in your tummy getting even tighter at the praise. You like him – despite his rough exterior and the obvious arousal, you like being liked, wanted, and devoured by a much stronger predator. Not having any supernatural powers, your only survival option in this world is to appease the strongest – and it looks like you just got a really juicy target.
Suddenly, König grabs your waist and lifts you to his table – documents go flying around and you put a bit more, thinking of how long it would take to put everything back together. He doesn’t care for your concerns – the next thing you know, you are pushed ever further into his table, and the colonel lifts the end of his hood just enough to envelop his mouth on one of your nipples.
— S…sir! Please, a little warning next time…
He laughs, his hands pressing small, sweet bruises into the curve of your waist. His mouth feels cold at first – then he flicks his tongue at your hardened nipple, and it feels like an oven. You moan you squeak, you squirm under him – all those documents and transferring and half a dozen Suits trying to tell you of how dangerous your work is going to be, how unstable and irritated the colonel is, how he is probably going to shoo you from his office the first two weeks – all of this comes flying right out the window.
— You already think of the next time, Schatzen?
König never tastes something as sweet, as silky, and smooth as your breasts. There is something deep, primal, wild in the way he sucks and bites at your nipple – he devours the taste of your skin and it feels like he can come to his pants just from the feeling alone. You’re squirming in his grasp, poor thing, probably aren’t used to sensation – he closes his eyes and allows his monster to take over, to take what he wants from you.
He shifts to your other breasts, warming and cooling them at the same time. He isn’t an expert in that weird kind of massage, but you don’t need an expert in boob sucking when all of your cow instincts telling you to spread your legs and allow him to put babies in you, to breed like the prey you are, to take care of you outside of this stupid job. You’re terrified that his sharp teeth can draw blood and arouse at the way his tongue clicks at your nipples so perfectly, so naturally, like he was doing it his whole life.
You moan, whispering little begs and praying to deaf ears. Your hands are going to hig his neck, to just kind put your fingers on his hood and just keep it here, not daring to try and direct the movements of his tongue. All of those days of constant preparing for the worst, long nights of studying the psychology of hunters, of predator hybrids, didn’t leave you much time to milk yourself in the past week – you might just be a hybrid, but it doesn’t release you from the endless burden of constant lactation.
— S…so embarrassing…please, sir, we need to stop or I will…
— Ja, meine Kuh? Did you want to say something to your colonel?
— Please, I’m going to…fuck, this is embarrassing…
— Language.
He closes his teeth on your tender bud, making you moan his name – his callsign – loudly. He grunts from satisfaction, finally tasting sweet milk pouring from his body – might be the only thing that makes cow hybrids useful for someone as strong as him.
Your milk is sweet, rich, and creamy, and your little cries only make it tastier. He pushes his tongue deeper, swirls it around your hardened bud, waits for you to moan even more – every inch of your being makes him feel weird, protective, like he already put a baby in that soft tummy of yours and made you his. It’s dumb, you aren’t even connected on the official level – but he sucks your milk ever so passionately, forgetting about every mission trouble he had.
Sucking your tits feels like therapy – giving up all of his powers just to kiss you, to bite you, to drink your milk, and softly massage the flesh until your pussy starts to grind against the round corner of his table. Poor thing, he doesn’t even touch you in any way – you’re too precious for this, and he falls too deeply into your eyes and the swell of your chest.
— Sir! Pl…please, don’t…if you’d stop, I will…
He drinks your milk swiftly, feels the liquid dripping down his chin – always a messy eater, one of the reasons he used the mask to hide his embarrassment. He can’t look at your face, the angle is too far off for this, and it disappoints him – he wants to drink your pretty expressions, wants to know that he is one to make that pretty cow this slutty. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to get your ass off his office – and now he is changing between two of your round breasts, making sure to not waste a drop.
Fuck, this is far better than any milk the base kitchen can provide.
He sucks a little bit more, pressing his tongue against your swollen, abused nipples. You whine at the sensation, poor little hybrid isn’t used to his teeth and his mouth – he’d have to make sure to repeat this procedure every other day, if possible, to get you used to direct milking. He’d have to spend weeks spreading your pretty cunt for him, teaching you how to milk his cock and meowl like a good prey hybrid you are – but he didn’t become colonel because he was afraid of challenges.
He stops sucking with a little pop, final droplets of milk falling to his lips as he licks it, groaning from pleasure. His stubble made the soft skin around your nipples irritated and you tremble when the cold air hits them – you feel fragile, used, your pussy is twitching around nothing, the pulsation forcing you to grind against the corner of his table like a bitch in heat.
König made you like this – half-naked, trembling, so fucking horny that you can’t even look at him without dropping to your knees, and it almost made you want to run away. He squeezes your tits again, enveloping the soft mounts in his large, rough hands – you whine a little bit, still all too sensitive after this pleasurable torture he created.
— How do you feel?
He sounds…weaker now. Almost embarrassed at his little outburst, he picks up your bra and helps you get dressed – you both want more, to check if his table is really as sturdy as it looks, but König has a training session in 30 minutes and you have König’s training session, standing behind his shoulder and watching him yelling at the recruits. It would be hard to get scared at him again, when every time his cold gaze darts to your face, he softens. When you look at him and can only imagine milk dripping down your chin – your milk, no less.
— I’m…empty. In a good way, I mean. Thank you, sir.
You feel weird when he gently helps you get into your clothes, his fingers are simply too big for the buttons – he presses his head against your shoulder, trying to concentrate, and you awkwardly hug him for stability. He chuckles.
— My pleasure, Schatzen.
You stand here, awkwardly – your neck enveloped with a collar, with his name on it, and he can’t pry his eyes away from it. God, he never knew that being a colonel would allow him such a cutie as a bonus. KorTac didn’t seem like an organization that would give away wives so easily, but König isn’t going to complain.
He just has to make sure to keep you chained to his table, that’s all.
#cod#yandere konig#konig x reader#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#konig mw2#reader insert#yandere cod#yandere x reader#konig#konig x you
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I went down the internet rabbit hole trying to figure out wtf vegan cheese is made of and I found articles like this one speaking praises of new food tech startups creating vegan alternatives to cheese that Actually work like cheese in cooking so I was like huh that's neat and I looked up more stuff about 'precision fermentation' and. This is not good.
Basically these new biotech companies are pressuring governments to let them build a ton of new factories and pushing for governments to pay for them or to provide tax breaks and subsidies, and the factories are gonna cost hundreds of millions of dollars and require energy sources. Like, these things will have to be expensive and HUGE
I feel like I've just uncovered the tip of the "lab grown meat" iceberg. There are a bajillion of these companies (the one mentioned in the first article a $750 MILLION tech startup) that are trying to create "animal-free" animal products using biotech and want to build large factories to do it on a large scale
I'm trying to use google to find out about the energy requirements of such facilities and everything is really vague and hand-wavey about it like this article that's like "weeeeeell electricity can be produced using renewables" but it does take a lot of electricity, sugars, and human labor. Most of the claims about its sustainability appear to assume that we switch over to renewable electricity sources and/or use processes that don't fully exist yet.
I finally tracked down the source of some of the more radical claims about precision fermentation, and it comes from a think tank RethinkX that released a report claiming that the livestock industry will collapse by 2030, and be replaced by a system they're calling...
Food-as-Software, in which individual molecules engineered by scientists are uploaded to databases – molecular cookbooks that food engineers anywhere in the world can use to design products in the same way that software developers design apps.
I'm finding it hard to be excited about this for some odd reason
Where's the evidence for lower environmental impacts. That's literally what we're here for.
There will be an increase in the amount of electricity used in the new food system as the production facilities that underpin it rely on electricity to operate.
well that doesn't sound good.
This will, however, be offset by reductions in energy use elsewhere along the value chain. For example, since modern meat and dairy products will be produced in a sterile environment where the risk of contamination by pathogens is low, the need for refrigeration in storage and retail will decrease significantly.
Oh, so it will be better for the Earth because...we won't need to refrigerate. ????????
Oh Lord Jesus give me some numerical values.
Modern foods will be about 10 times more efficient than a cow at converting feed into end products because a cow needs energy via feed to maintain and build its body over time. Less feed consumed means less land required to grow it, which means less water is used and less waste is produced. The savings are dramatic – more than 10-25 times less feedstock, 10 times less water, five times less energy and 100 times less land.
There is nothing else in this report that I can find that provides evidence for a lower carbon footprint. Supposedly, an egg white protein produced through a similar process has been found to reduce environmental impacts, but mostly everything seems very speculative.
And crucially none of these estimations are taking into account the enormous cost and resource investment of constructing large factories that use this technology in the first place (existing use is mostly for pharmaceutical purposes)
It seems like there are more tech startups attempting to use this technology to create food than individual scientific papers investigating whether it's a good idea. Seriously, Google Scholar and JSTOR have almost nothing. The tech of the sort that RethinkX is describing barely exists.
Apparently Liberation Labs is planning to build the first large-scale precision fermentation facility in Richmond, Indiana come 2024 because of the presence of "a workforce experienced in manufacturing"
And I just looked up Richmond, Indiana and apparently, as of RIGHT NOW, the town is in the aftermath of a huge fire at a plastics recycling plant and is full of toxic debris containing asbestos and the air is full of toxic VOCs and hydrogen cyanide. ???????????? So that's how having a robust industrial sector is working out for them so far.
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Congrats on 1k! Absolutely love your work, especially the darker fics.
Can I request step-sis intersex!Nat walking in on reader as she's asleep and deciding that she's finally going to take her for herself? Nat starts eating reader out to get her wet and the reader moans Nat's name in her sleep, so Nat wakes her up so she can really enjoy it.
Thinking that maybe Nat ties the readers hands above her head, as Nat forces her huge cock inside the readers tiny body, creating a belly bulge. Finishing inside her to breed her and then making the reader cock-warm her so that she can stay full. Belly rubbing because Nat is obsessed with the sight of her cock inside her innocent little step-sis.
Kinks: bondage, breeding, dub-con that turns consensual, somnophilia, belly bulge, Daddy kink and thinking cock-warming too.
Thank you!
Closer
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fem!reader x step-sis!Nat
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Having your beloved step sister back home for the summer turned more pleasant than expected.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, DUB-con, but the reader is very into it, amab!Nat, dom!Nat, sub!reader, age gap (legal), taboo relationship, kinda mean Nat, tattooed Nat (Nat is just the stereotypical bad boy), innocent!reader, Daddy!kink, alcohol use, bondage, breeding kink, somnophila, cock warming, size kink?
!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!
𝐀/𝐍: kisses from the hospital guys enjoy the first park of the 1k special I’ll post more requests soon. This request was really fun to write
𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
Natasha knew how wrong it was to feel that kind of way about her step sister, but she was only a human too. Ever since she had came to visit her father for this summer she couldn't help herself but see you in a different light.
Back when her dad first started to live with your mother, she only had eyes for the many girls tendering to her, who were in her grade or above. She never really noticed you, of course you were her annoying little step sister who could've guessed you'd turn into this?
You weren't innocent either, you were always found of Natasha. In your eyes she was the coolest person you'd know, with her blue tainted hair and fast cars, you were heart broken whenever you saw a different girl enter her room.
Natasha soon went away for college, meaning you'd only get to see her for the holidays which was still enough to keep you crushing on her. It was special that she visited this summer especially since you just turned 18.
This summer had been unusual hot for the colder climate of Ohio, but it's not like you were complaining to see Nat in all those wifebeaters and sport bras. She normally rummaged in the garden, laying at the pool, again in sports bras and swim trunks. It made your cheeks heat, your stomach feel weird, and every once in a while when you saw how she climbed out of the pool, the muscles under her wet skin flexing, it made you feel all itchy down there.
Another hot summer day, another day where you'd relax under the water sprinkler in your backyard, just like you did when you were a child. Except for a pair of eyes watching from the pool. Natasha Romanoff, your step- sister, whose eyes hid under her shades, watched every move of yours. She sat by the pool shirtless to "tan", Natasha never tanned, she had the skin colour of a porcelain doll and always used the highest sunscreen to not end up looking like a lobster. No, she was there to observe, not the local birds, or nature, no, you. How could anyone be so carless, she asked herself as she watched your white camisole top turn translucent.
Shortly after realising what she was doing she, or better what your view did to her prick, she looked back on her phone scrolling on a black screen to look less suspicious. But it's not like you would've noticed anyway, Natasha knew how innocent you were, how your mother had sheltered you in contrast to herself. God, get yourself together Natasha, she thought to herself. If she wanted she could've get a hook up here within the day, but it wouldn't help last time she tried she accidentally moaned your name while cumming. Something so utterly embarrassing the girl left immediately after.
"Natty" you ask in an innocent voice, every other person calling the other woman that wouldn't stand here today, but she let it slide. "What's up" She asked as her eyes wandered over your wet body to which your clothes clanged. Natasha never was a religious person but in this moment she thanked god for the invention of sunglasses.
"Can you get me towel from inside" you asked giving her your best bambi eyes. "Go get it yourself, I'm not your personal servant" She scoffed "Please, Tasha I'm all wet and I don't want it tripping on the floor board" She shook her head "You should've thought about that in the first place" She mumbled under her breath but still got up to get you your towel. She could never say no to one of your pleads.
"Thank you" you grinned and wrapped you up in one of this big fluffy towels. She smirked back at you her hands rubbing over your wet skin. "There you go sweetheart" She mumbled again feeling a tingle in her pants when her hands touched you.
"Where's mom?" You asked stepping into the large living area you parents had. "Out for dinner with my dad" She remarked not even looking up from the TV where some, for me, unimportant soccer game was running. "Why are you still standing there?" She asked in a dismissive tone "They'll be gone the whole night" Oh, the whole night just you and your step sister together, great. Nat chugged more of her beer side eyeing you to leave her alone, of course she wanted you close, closer than close, but you couldn't know that yet. Not to mention that with the more of the bitter liquid she had the less she could control her urges.
It wasn't that wrong, she tried to tell herself, millions of guys before her had fucked their step sisters right? Eventually you opened your mouth again "I'll head to bed now" you started and only earned a little hum from her and some mumbled words you didn't understand before slipping on her beer bottle again.
Her team lost, of course it did, Natasha turned the TV off rubbing her eyes before too going to her bed room but not without making another stop at your room. She slipped though the crack in the door closing it gently before taking a seat next you on the soft cushion of the bed. She always did that, making sure you were save and sound but tonight it was different. She was frustrated, and horney, one more than the other.
"You're so pretty" she mumbled being lost deep in the haze of the alcohol and lust, she knew you couldn't hear her nor feel but she still gently wiped some lost hair behind your ear. You squirmed under her feather like touch. You rolled onto your back the blanket slipping from your body exposing your topless body. Fuck, you had forgotten to wear a shirt to bed, or had you? Nat saw it as an invitation to taste your sweet body.
She stood up pulling her hoodie off to reveal a hard set of muscles covered in tattoos, she strangled your smaller body kissing the valley between your breasts before turning to kiss down your soft stomach. You squirmed again your hands trying to find something to grip on, Nat caught your hands bringing them above your head before using her abandoned top to tie your hands to the head board of your framed bed.
Finally she could turn to your soaked panties tugging them off your legs, your step sister placed both of your legs on her shoulders giving you better access to your sleeping form. She kissed your pubic bone before taking a deep sniff of your glossy cunt. "let my taste you baby girl" She groaned before licking over your weeping pussy, you tasted fantastic better than any girl she had before you.
Your clit was pulsing in need to be touched, standing proud from his hood Nat couldn't resist tasting the forbidden fruit. When she took your bubble of nerves in her mouth she couldn't believe her ears. "Nat" came a sob from your throat she let she teeth scrape over it just to check she wasn't completely mad "Natasha" now it was a full blown moan, she smiled getting more and more bold with her movements.
She kept on licking away on your cunt and thankfully to her many years of experience with the girls in college she had you trembling towards the edge within minutes. She took your clit in her mouth again this time biting down gently, to wake you from your slumber you thought to yourself.
"I- what" poor innocent you were to confused to even grasped what was happening to you you were lost in a haze of mind numbing pleasure until you tried to find to source of it. "Nat-?" you were interrupted by an almost pornographic moan breaking free from your throat. You winded your body on the bed tugging on the restrains before climaxing under her tongue. She made you ride out your orgasm before hushing your quiet sobs. "You're mine baby girl" she kissed your pelvis bone. "Nat we can't" you mumbled "No one needs to find out" She reassured you "Just say no and we'll forget a bout this all, but something tells me, little girl, you want me just as much as I want you"
"You’re right" you mumbled under your breath making Nat smirk she stood up again tugging off your boxers to reveal a dick of a size you had never seen before. Of course you didn't have much experience but she looked inhuman. "Nat it's not-" She hushed you "call me daddy" Instinctively you closed your legs making nat chuckle. "Too big" You mewled again "Oh bunny, I'll make it fit, daddy would never hurt her little girl" she reassured you her hands trailed down her body brushing over the small patch of her which made up her happy trail. She pried your legs open before pushing them to your chest.
She alined herself with you before slowly pushing inside your small hole, bringing tears to your eyes. It felt like her dick suffocated by your tight velvet walls, when she finally did bottom you out she knew it was heaven of earth. She admired the small bulge forming on your lower stomach rubbing over it in an awe.
She waited for you to at least try to adjust before setting a rapid pace giving you no breaks, it felt like she was trying to compare her performance with a machine. I string of moans and whispers left your throat as her hips kept pistoling into your tight heat.
"Fuck" She groaned in between thrusts "I'm gonna fucking breed this little pussy. Wouldn't you like that daddy making you a mommy?" You were too dumbed down to even comprehend her words and the self assigned title made you see stars. "Answer daddy" She commented slapping your tits which bounced with ever vigour truths of her hips. "Yes daddy" you mewl in ecstasy "make me your mommy" You moaned making your step sister grin.
With a few more truths you were both on the edge of ecstasy, especially you saw the stars already. "Cum" she commanded "Fucking cum with me" another sting of curse words left her mouth before releasing her white juices inside of you triggering your own orgasm. After leaving your high she gently rubbed your belly again not dreaming of pulling out from your walls. "mine" she mumbled upon seeing the clear bugle she had formed in your stomach. She freed your hands kissing each of your wrists which made you giggle at the romantic gesture, as if she hadn't just fucked you into oblivion.
She moved you to lay on top of her making you trace the fine lines of her tattoos, she was your step sister but from this night on she was much more than that.
:)
#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff smut#black widow x female reader#natasha romanoff x you#black widow x reader#natasha x reader#natasha x you#natasha romanoff#lesbian smut#lesbian#marvel woman x reader#marvel smut
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thinking about how much crowley and aziraphale have been getting slammed for their poor communication and on the one hand... absolutely, i agree 100%. they have so much work to do in that department, they are always missing each other when it comes to seeing what they each want from the other and expressing it clearly. but on the other hand... like... encompassing six thousand years into a conversation? six thousand years of knowing each other. six thousand years of gravitating toward one another
like... the bit that really gets me, in crowley's confession, is - "...and we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't. i mean, the last few years, not really" - this implication that like... at least on crowley's part... since they saved the world together he's allowed himself to be more open in how he feels about aziraphale. that in his mind he's already long since chosen Their Side, they've chosen their side in their behavior towards each other, and they've talked about... our car, our shop, but even before that...
we see in the minisodes, the way they already act. they're a pair that shows rather than tells all the time and it's so abundantly clear that everyone around them can see it, is constantly asking about it, assuming it, reading it on them like they're an open book - with everyone but each other.
but like how do you put into clumsy human words how much love you feel for someone who stood next to you while you created the stars? who helped you create them? how do you say openly how you feel to the one person who understands you and your nature better than anyone else, who indulges your every whim because they want to see you happy while everyone else says you were built wrong, you're too indulgent, you're too soft but you're perfect for him, specifically, because you stood at the beginning of the universe together?
like how are they supposed to talk about that? especially when it's so forbidden to talk about that?
there are so few words that truly feel like they properly encompass what love truly and genuinely means? what loving someone TRULY means? how it's giving up your onliness and entrusting yourself into the hands of another, now you're not just you, now you're you but the world is brighter and sharper and more beautiful because of another? how we're all stuck on a spinning rock in the middle of space in the middle of the universe in the middle of the galaxy in the middle of eternity just little grains of sand and then there's another little grain of sand in the scheme of things, but it's the most important one ever created because of how happy it makes you?
but multiply that by six thousand years
so like of course you fucking cry and you stare at each other with tears in your eyes like you're absolutely ESSENTIAL to one another. but like how do you make it work in words when you don't know if there are even words for the prospect of existing without one another? and you have this absolutely incandescent and fragile thing between you that everyone understands to exist, you understand it to exist too, and sometimes it is scary as fuck to admit that you need someone. it is terrifying and uncomfortable and vulnerable and we're just people who live maybe 100 years on this earth? a blink of an eye compared to six thousand years of shared existence?
like...? truthfully i don't think i could talk about it easily either because oh my god that's fucking terrifying. that six thousand years of your comfortable and beloved shared existence could go up in smoke with one misplaced word. like no fucking WONDER he can't get the words out. and no fucking wonder, it's easier to couch things in terms like group and team and everything when you're on the verge of falling apart into a million pieces because the other half of your soul wants to leave you behind. it's easier to say come with me, work with me, be my second in command, than to admit he's first in your heart and mind every second of every day since you saw him bringing light at the beginning of the universe???
just... you know? they need a fucking break. they need a vacation. they need a cottage in the south fucking downs
#aughghg hgh g hghg g ghg i am in pain#good omens#ineffable husbands#good omens 2 spoilers#go2 spoilers#spoilers#WHAT OTHER TAGS IDK i don't wanna spoil people ily <3#good omens 2
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