➜ When requesting for characters, there's no specific limit just as long as you don't request the obviously disgusting and gross things like - minors (obviously.), animals (OBVIOUSLY.)
➜ Genres I write : angst, fluff, nsfw, suggestive, crack
➜ All of the fandoms that I write for are in my bio but I'll write them here as well :
AOT/SNK
Demon Slayer/KNY
JJK
Twisted Wonderland
Honkai Star Rail
Genshin Impact
Baldur's Gate
Haikyuu
Hazbin Hotel
➜ I mostly write for females because I, myself, am a female shockingly enough but you can make a request for a preferred gender!
I try to make my writing as inclusive as possible so I won't write something where it's clearly a single race being catered to. Sorry not sorry.
➜ I don't cover topics such as rape, suicide, self harm, abuse. I just don't. No thank you.
➜ I do polyships if you really want me to! I love writing them :)
➜ I do write explicit NSFW when requested. I also write suggestive/implied sex.
➜ Kink-wise, I'm not too educated on the topic. But I won't cover the obviously bad ones.
you write Deadpool so well, and like... in a way that's not annoying and legit sounds like his character. love your marvel writing PLS DO MORE
TYYYY 🥲🥲♥️♥️
Unpopular opinion - i think the mcu deadpool has definitely given people the wrong perception of him like he isn't the 'funny haha pop culture reference' character, bro is so complex i love him sm
Dw!!! I have so many drafts on Marvel, I'm just trying to get them all written well enough to post lol
Characters : frank castle, matt murdock, peter parker, kurt wagner, wade wilson, eric brooks, scott summers, remy lebeau, logan howlett, johnny storm
You wake up slowly, the first thing you register being warmth. It was solid, steady, protective.
Frank is still asleep beside you.
The room is quiet in that early-morning way, sunlight barely slipping through the blinds and casting soft lines across his bare shoulders. One of his arms is wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. His grip isn’t tight, just… certain.
You shift slightly, testing the space, and his arm tightens immediately. Instinct.
“Don’t go,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, barely conscious.
You smile to yourself.
Last night lingers in the air, not in details, but in feelings. The closeness. The way he looked at you like you were something rare. The way he stayed, instead of pulling away like he usually does.
You trace a finger over the scars on his chest, careful, reverent. He stirs again, eyes fluttering open. For a moment he looks disoriented—then he sees you.
And everything softens ever so slightly.
“Hey,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your hip. “You okay?”
You nod. “Yeah. I am.”
He studies your face like he’s committing it to memory, jaw tense, like he’s bracing for you to regret staying. When you don’t move away, when you lean in instead, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he admits.
You kiss his shoulder. “I wanted to wake up with you.”
That’s what gets him.
Frank pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. No armor. No walls. Just a man who stayed the night and woke up to someone choosing him in the morning.
He presses a gentle kiss to your hair.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
You wake up tangled in warmth, limbs lazy, sheets a mess that tells a story neither of you are pretending didn’t happen.
Remy’s half on top of you, one leg hooked over yours like he claimed you in his sleep and never let go. His hair is a disaster, eyes still closed, lips curved like he’s already amused by something.
You shift just enough to get comfortable.
He hums immediately.
“Mmm… careful, chère. Dat kinda movement’s dangerous.”
You snort and grumble a grouchy, “You’re the one crushing me.”
One eye opens, cherry red on black, bright with mischief.
“Crushing?” he repeats, offended. “Non. Dis is cuddlin’. Very affectionate.”
“Your knee is practically a weapon.”
He grins wider and adjusts — somehow making it worse on purpose, pressing intentionally against the inside of your thigh.
“Funny. Didn’t hear you complainin’ bout my knee between your legs last night.”
You swat his chest, but he catches your wrist easily, presses a kiss to your knuckles instead. The teasing fades just a notch, replaced by something softer.
“You still here,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your palm.
“Still here,” you confirm.
That earns you a slow, satisfied smile. He leans down, kisses you properly this time — unrushed, warm, smiling into it like he’s got all the time in the world. His hand traces familiar paths, unhurried, like he’s savoring the morning as much as you.
“You know,” you murmur, “most people make coffee when they wake up.”
Remy laughs low in his throat.
“Chère,” he says, voice dropping, “I got somethin’ sweeter in mind.”
He slides down under the blankets, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a crooked smile on his lips now. Pure Remy. But his gaze is soft, reverent, like this isn’t a game so much as a promise. He settles between your thighs, spreading you gently as his breath ghosts warm and slow, hitting your bare cunt, making you gulp in anticipation.
— and he looks up at you like he’s exactly where he belongs. The softness of that crooked grin sending shivers through your body.
“Bon matin,” he murmurs.
Morning comes quietly.
You’re the first to wake, tucked against Matt’s side, his arm slung loose but possessive around your waist. The city hums faintly outside, distant traffic and early footsteps filtered through the cracked window. His breathing is steady, warm against your shoulder.
You shift just a little.
“Mm,” he hums immediately. “If you’re trying to sneak away, you’re terrible at it.”
You smile. “You were asleep.”
“I was resting my eyes,” he says lightly. “Big difference.”
You roll onto your elbow, looking down at him. His head is turned toward you, looking just over your shoulder, lips curved in that knowing little smile that always makes you feel like you’ve already lost.
“You know,” you say casually, “I expected more stamina from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”
One brow lifts. Intrigue. “Oh?”
“Tapping out after four rounds?” you continue, thoughtful, “Kind of pathetic.”
He hears the lie immediately, hears the amusement threading through your pulse, the way your body gives you away even when your mouth doesn’t.
And he grins like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
“Four,” he repeats, savoring it. “That’s tapping out now?”
You shrug, trying to hide your smile so that he wouldn't be able to hear it in your voice,“I had higher expectations.”
He lets out a soft hum, deep in his chest, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
“Funny,” he says, voice warm, teasing. “Because your heart says you were very… satisfied.”
“Your hearing is overrated.” you scoffed, tugging his earlobe for emphasis, making him chuckle.
“Mm. Maybe.” He tilts his head, “But you’re smiling.”
Before you can fire back, his hands are on you — confident, gentle — sliding up your bare thighs as he pulls you easily on top of him. You barely have time to register the movement before you’re straddling his hips, his touch grounding, familiar.
His hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing slow, deliberate arcs that make it very hard to remember your argument.
Matt smiles up at you — innocent, almost angelic, like he isn’t absolutely enjoying this.
“Well,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t want you walkin’ away disappointed.”
That hum again, low and pleased.
“Go on,” he adds, brown eyes somehow finding yours as they scrunch cutely with amusement, “Prove your point.”
Your cup his cheeks and your press your lips to his for the sole purpose that he would be able to feel your smile," You asked for it, counsellor."
You wake up warm, pleasantly sore, wrapped in blue limbs and silk-soft sheets that smell faintly like incense and ozone.
Kurt is curled around you protectively, one arm tucked beneath your neck, the other resting light at your waist like he’s afraid to hold too tight. His face is peaceful in sleep, lashes dark against his skin, lips parted just enough to look tempting.
And then there’s his tail.
It’s draped lazily over your thigh — except not lazily at all. The tip twitches the moment you shift, curling, tightening, giving him away long before his eyes open.
“Kurt.” you murmur.
His eyes snap open immediately.
“Guten Morgen, Liebes,” he says, voice gentle, careful. Too careful.
You tilt your head, “You look… composed.”
He nods solemnly. “I am being very good.”
The tail flicks.
You bite back a smile. “Your tail disagrees.”
He freezes.
Slowly, he glances down. The traitorous appendage tightens around your thigh like it’s trying to make a point of its own. His ears flush a darker blue.
“…It has a mind of its own,” he says weakly.
“Uh-huh.” You stretch deliberately, enjoying the way his breath catches despite his best efforts. “You’re staring.”
“I am not,” he protests.
The tail tightens again.
He exhales, resigned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Forgive me. It is just-” He gestures vaguely, “You look very… happy.”
“Happy?”
He swallows. “Deliciously… content.”
You laugh softly, reaching out to trace the fuzzy edge of his ear. “Well... you were pretty damn good last night.”
That makes him smile — soft, shy, pleased in that uniquely Kurt way. “I tried to be restrained this morning,” he admits, “Out of respect.”
His tail betrays him by sliding higher.
You raise a brow and snort,“You’re doing a terrible job.”
He laughs quietly, giving up, pressing his forehead to yours. “Ja,” he murmurs. “I fear my self-control is… limited.”
The tail curls possessively around your waist now, and Kurt sighs like a man who has accepted his fate. His golden eyes warm, affectionate, absolutely undone by you.
“But,” he adds softly, smiling, “I regret nothing.”
Morning light cuts through the blinds in thin, pale stripes. You wake up first, tucked against a solid wall of warmth that is very much Eric Brooks pretending he isn’t awake.
His arm is heavy across your waist. Protective. Familiar.
You shift and feel him tense instantly.
“You’re awake,” you say softly.
A pause. Then a low sigh.
“…Yeah.”
You turn slightly, catching sight of the faint mark at your shoulder in the mirror across the room. Two small impressions, already fading. You touch it without thinking.
Eric notices immediately.
His jaw tightens. “ fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, quiet but firm. “I didn’t mean to—”
You roll toward him before he can spiral, smiling. “Hey. You stopped.”
He frowns grouchily, “Still shouldn’t have happened.”
“You’re half-vampire,” you point out gently, “And you were hungry.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
You reach up, thumb brushing along his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “It kind of is. And you showed a lot of control.”
That does it.
He snorts softly, shaking his head, clearly uncomfortable with praise. “You’re givin’ me too much credit.”
But you hear it — the tiny hitch in his breathing. Feel it in the way his grip tightens just a little, like the words landed somewhere deep.
You grin. “C’mon. Most people would’ve left more than a mark.”
He leans down abruptly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Right over the bite like he’s trying to erase the compliment before it sinks in. Then another, softer one. Then one to your jaw.
“You talk too damn much,” he mutters.
“And you hate being appreciated,” you shoot back.
A corner of his mouth lifts despite himself.
He pulls you closer, forehead resting against your shoulder, voice low but warm. “You scared?”
You shake your head, “Not even a little.”
That makes him pause. Then he exhales slowly, tension easing, and brushes his thumb across your waist with surprising gentleness.
“…Good,” he murmurs.
You smile, completely content, while Eric Brooks pretends he isn’t glowing inside over being trusted.
You wake up to exactly zero peace.
“Mornin’, beautiful~ wow, okay, still unfairly hot. Did I ever tell you how talented you are with your mouth?”
His mouth is everywhere. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your temple. Each kiss punctuated with commentary delivered at machine-gun speed.
“—seriously, Olympic-level effort last night, ten outta ten, would absolutely risk my life again—”
“Wade,” you mumble, trying to surface from sleep.
“And the confidence? The enthusiasm? The way you—”
You pinch his nipple.
Hard.
“YOW—!” He jerks back, eyes wide, then immediately breaks into a grin," Oh no. Oh wow. File that under unexpectedly into that.”
You roll your eyes. “Please shut up.”
“Can’t. Won’t. I am physically incapable of not praising you for-”
You cut him off by leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to his scarred cheek, softer than all the others.
“Wade,” you say sincerely, “you were really sweet last night. And you make me feel… safe. Wanted.”
Silence.
Actual, honest-to-god silence.
His grin falters. Not gone, just stunned. His eyes soften in a way that makes your chest ache. For half a second, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with something that genuine.
Then-
You blink, and suddenly he’s above you.
Pinned.
Your wrists gently but firmly held over your head, his weight settling between your legs, hips pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.
He’s grinning wildly now, unrestrained joy written all over his face.
You swear - swear - you see little cartoon hearts practically floating in his eyes.
“Well,” he says, delighted, “now I gotta reward you for how fucking cute that was.”
You groan out an amused," you slut.”
He leans down, nose brushing yours before he literally licks the tip of your nose, “And you looove me.”
You do, unfortunately.
You wake up before him, which feels rare enough to be a small miracle.
Logan is sprawled beside you, sheets tangled around his waist, broad chest rising and falling slow and steady. For once, there’s no tension etched into his face. No scowl, no clenched jaw. Just calm. Rest.
It makes your chest flutter stupidly.
You prop yourself up on one elbow, studying him like he might disappear if you look away too long. His dark hair is mussed, lashes resting against his cheeks, brow still faintly furrowed even in sleep.
You reach out carefully, smoothing your thumb over that crease.
He snaps forward without warning, teeth chomping the inside of your wrist — not hard, but just enough to make you yelp.
“Logan!” you gasp.
He doesn’t even open his eyes at first. Just smirks hotly.
“Shouldn’t poke dangerous animals,” he murmurs from having your wrist beteeen his teeth, voice rough with sleep.
“You were asleep!” you accuse with a glare.
“Was restin’,” he says with a snort, “You’re noisy.”
You glare harder at him. “I was being affectionate.”
He releases your wrist, bringing it closer to inspect like he’s deciding whether to apologise for the faint mark he had left. His thumb rubs over the spot, gentler now.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
That’s as close to soft as he’ll get, and it makes you grin.
“You looked peaceful,” you tease. “Didn’t know you were capable.”
“Careful, darlin'. ” he warns. “I got a reputation.”
You lean down and press a sweet kiss to his scarred knuckles — slow, deliberate, affectionate.
That’s all it takes.
Logan’s breath hitches immediately. His eyes darken, and in the next second he’s pulling you down against him, hand fisting lightly in your hair as he claims your mouth in a heavy kiss. All heat and hunger and unmistakable intent, tongue sliding against yours like he’s been waiting for an excuse.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, he exhales sharply.
“…You do that on purpose,” he growls.
You smile, completely smug. “Maybe.”
He snorts, already leaning back in. “Smart mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
"Well, my smart mouth made you cum three times last night, so-"
His teeth nips your bottom lip, glaring at you but the smile twitching onto his lips told you all you needed to know.
You wake slowly, cocooned in warmth and soft sheets, your body pleasantly heavy. For a moment, you don’t move. Just breathe.
until you realize the weight against you isn’t just the blankets.
Scott.
He’s curled into you, his head resting against your chest, one arm loosely draped around your waist like he belongs there. His face is relaxed in sleep, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth parted just slightly. For someone who always carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, he looks… peaceful. Safe.
Your heart does a small flip.
His hair is a complete mess, dark strands sticking up in every direction, and when your gaze drifts lower, you notice them... two faint bite marks along his collarbone, already blooming into soft bruises.
Heat rushes to your face as last night crashes back into your mind in vivid fragments.
“Oh my god,” you mumble to yourself, mortified and amused all at once. “I’m such a horny mess.”
A quiet snicker answers you.
You freeze.
Scott looks up at you, his eyes shut tight as he gives you a charming smile, “You say that like I didn’t enjoy every second.”
You groan, lifting a hand to cover your face. “You were awake.”
“Mm. For a while.” His voice is still rough with sleep, low and warm. He shifts closer, tilting his head so his lips brush your skin. “Couldn’t bring myself to move.”
You reach toward the nightstand, fingers searching blindly, and he takes that as an invitation as your body hovers over him more.
His mouth trails along your collarbone, slow and lazy, punctuated by soft kisses that linger just long enough to make you shiver. A gentle nip here, a teasing suck there - like he’s leaving reminders.
“Scott,” you laugh breathlessly, finally grabbing his glasses and nudging them toward him, “You can’t even see.”
“Minor detail,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss before slipping them on. Once his glasses are secure, he looks up at you properly, that familiar fondness settling into his expression, “Besides, I know you pretty well by now.”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “So confident for someone who uses a laser-proof sleep mask.”
“Hey,” he protests lightly, fingers tracing idle patterns along your side. “You like my sleep mask.”
“I tolerate it.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced.
The banter fades into something quieter as you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Then another. You let them trail lower, over his jaw, down his neck, across his chest, feeling his breath change beneath you.
By the time you disappear beneath the blankets, his breathing is already uneven, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as your breath ghosts against the inside of his thighs.
His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through gently - not guiding, just holding on. You were his tether.
“God,” he exhales, head tipping back with a pant, “You’re dangerous.”
You smile to yourself and take him into your greedy mouth.
You wake up warm and hazy, reaching instinctively for him—
— and finding nothing.
Your eyes blink open, frown forming immediately as your hand pats the empty space beside you. The sheets are still warm, which somehow makes it worse. You let out a quiet, dramatic huff and flop back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling like you’ve been personally wronged.
Then you hear it.
The toilet flushes.
A moment later, the bathroom door creaks open, and Peter pads back into the bedroom in nothing but soft pajama pants and a sheepish grin, chocolate brown hair still damp from splashing water on his face.
“Oh no,” he says immediately, voice amused. “That face. That’s the ‘I thought you disappeared forever’ face.”
You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowed. “You left.”
“For, like, thirty seconds,” he laughs, crossing the room. “I promise I didn’t swing off into the sunset.”
He barely gets back under the covers before you’re on him, arms and legs wrapping around his middle like a sleepy octopus. He lets out a surprised laugh, automatically curling into you, one arm snug around your back.
“Missed me that much, huh?”
You mumble something incoherent into his chest, fingers clutching his shirt. He smiles softly, pressing a kiss into the top of your head, lingering there. His hand drifts lazily over your side, warm and familiar, tracing over your hip and down your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
“My legs are sore,” you mumble, half-asleep.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Peter stiffens just slightly.
“Oh,” he says, flushing instantly. He clears his throat, ears definitely red now. “Uh— I mean— I can— I can carry you? Today. Around the apartment. If you need. Like, totally heroic bridal carry situation.”
You snort, lifting your head to look at him. “You’d do that?”
He nods earnestly, trying very hard not to think about why your legs are sore. He needs to remember you're not as flexible as he is. You seriously were put through the ringer last night, your legs being manhandled in every which direction.
“Absolutely. Doctor’s orders. I’m the doctor. Of… being your boyfriend.”
You laugh, settling back against him as he relaxes again, pressing another gentle kiss to your hair.
“Stay,” you whisper.
He tightens his hold just a little. “Wasn’t going anywhere.”
You wake to friction and heat, your body responding before your thoughts can form. Johnny is behind you, breath ragged against your ear, every exhale hot enough to make you shiver. There’s a slow, deliberate pressure as he moves, unhurried, like he’s savoring the way you melt beneath him.
You groan, half protest, half invitation.
“Easy,” you mumble, trying to sound annoyed.
He laughs softly, low and dangerous, and shifts closer. One of your legs is lifted with effortless confidence, opening you to him, fitting you exactly where he wants you. The contact sends a spark straight through your core, your back arching without permission.
“Funny,” he murmurs into your ear, voice rough with memory, “you weren’t saying that last night. Pretty sure you were the one pulling me closer.”
Your breath stutters. The words do things to you— do things with him pressed so close, heat radiating off his skin. Johnny always runs warm, but this is different. Sweat gathers along your spine, the air thick, charged. He’s a heater, coiled and barely contained.
A faint flare ripples along his shoulders, light licking through his hair. He swears under his breath and moves quickly, smoothly, rolling you onto your back before the fire can get out of hand. The mattress dips as he settles between your legs, bracing himself above you.
“Hold on,” he mutters, grin flashing as the glow fades. “Don’t need to set the place on fire.”
His hands slide to your hips, firm and grounding. He leans in, forehead resting briefly against yours, breath mingling with yours, the tension unbearable.
Then he shifts — just a fraction — and the world narrows to sensation. There’s a slow, steady press, a shared inhale, the unmistakable feeling of being filled as your cunt welcomes him again. A sound slips from your throat as he stills, eyes locked on yours, heat humming between you.
Johnny exhales, satisfied, reverent. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Just like last night.”
Just wanna say that I LOVEEE your fics, like how do you write so GOOD!? Keep it up!
Anyways, I was wondering if you could possibly make a scenario in which fem!reader and Alastor are both married, and have been married for years (you can choose if they were married in life too idc), but since they are both on the aroace spectrum people usually assume they're friends, and when they do feel like being romantic people simply get shocked, like, I imagine everyone at the hotel just staring at the both of you because you decided to give Alastor a little kiss today since you were feeling more romantic than normal
I just think it'd be cute 😙
Anyways, I hope you have a great day! And thank you for reading my request!
( ^-^)ノ∠※。.:*:・'°☆
LOVEEEE THIS IDEA!!! I need a full fanfic of this right now bro. I hope I did your request justice!! So happy you're enjoying my fics as well you're so sweet thank you for reading ❤️🥺
⌖ " this love of mine "
Alastor x f!reader
Genre : fluff
Warnings : there's a brief sexual connotation from Angel because it's Angel but it's nothing too drastic.
A/n : Kasane Teto to the rescue once again. She invokes something deep within me that makes my fingers type at super speed. There may be spelling errors in this, I apologise if so, my eyes haven't been the best lately my keyboard gets blurry when I'm staring at a screen for too long :/ i'll be getting new contacts soon them bitches are expensive. This is a shorter post because it's more dialogue heavy, I'm trying to practice not describing characters actions so much because I feel like it clutters my writing a lot and ruins pacing. I love and hate writing sm grr
The funny thing about being married to Alastor is that nobody ever believes you.
Not because it's a secret - no no no, the rings are right there. His polished red band with antique etching, yours something elegant he picked because "it suits you my dear!" - but because neither of you behave the way people expect married couples to.
No clinging.
No pet names.
No public displays of affection.
Just... proximity. Familiarity. A shared understanding so seamless it borders on eerie.
Most days, you and Alastor function like old friends who simply happen to share a room, a routine, and an eternal partnership forged in life or death depending on who you ask (and Alastor never gives a straight answer).
So naturally, when you woke up that morning feeling... different - softer, warmer, a little more romantic than usual - it didn't feel like a big thing.
It just felt like one of those rare days.
Breakfast as the hotel was business as usual. Charlie chatting brightly, Vaggie observing, Angel was applying makeup whilst eating pancakes, Husk nursing a drink far too early. Alastor sat next to you, hands folded politely, legs crossed, his smile fixed pleasant as ever.
You reached for your tea, he reached for sugar at the same time and your fingers happen to brush. When you paused, there was a flicker - brief, fond - behind his eyes.
"Sugar, dear?" He hummed out lightly, suddenly brighter than he was as he grabbed your cup and the sugar, setting your tea down in front of you kindly.
You smile at him affectionately, resting your face in the palm of your hand," always the gentleman."
"It's simple ettiquette," he took a spoonful of sugar," how many teaspoons?"
"Mmm... guess."
His ear flicked, amusement in his gaze," Oh?"
You grin at him cheekily," you should know this information!" You laughed out at his reaction.
Alastor’s smile curves, unhurried. He doesn’t even glance at the sugar, “Two and a half,” he says, already measuring it out. “Any more and you claim it overwhelms the tea. Any less and you drink it politely while resenting me.”
He stirs once. Twice. Exact.
You watch, fond, chin in your palm. “Predictable.”
“Attentive,” he corrects lightly, sliding the cup back toward you.
Your fingers brush again as you take it. Neither of you reacts this time. There’s no need.
You take a sip. Perfect.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
“Of course.”
Something in you softens. It isn’t dramatic. It never is. Just one of those moments where affection feels close to the surface instead of tucked neatly away.
You lean closer and press a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth.
That’s all.
There’s a pause - not shock, not outrage. Just a subtle break in the rhythm of the room.
Charlie falters mid-sentence, then recovers, smiling quietly to herself.
Vaggie’s brows lift, then settle. Not surprised - just reassessing.
Husk glances over the rim of his glass, snorts softly, and goes back to his drink.
Angel’s eyes narrow a fraction, thoughtful rather than stunned, pausing it chewing his pancakes.
No one says anything right away.
Alastor’s hand comes to rest at your lower back, familiar and light, “My dear,” he says pleasantly, “you’re feeling bold today.”
You laugh lightly," It was a 'thank you' kiss.”
He accepts that without question.
It’s only then that you notice the looks. They were not gawking, just… puzzled.
You frown slightly at them all, “what.”
Angel is the first to speak, raising a brow with a sharp grin," didn't realise you two were... y'know..." He made an 'O' and then put a finger in and out of it. Mimicking sex. Childishly.
"Hah." You merely deadpanned out at him before you blink in realisation. You turn, gaze sweeping the room. “hold on, did you all think we were just friends?”
There’s a beat.
Angel shrugs. “I mean. Kinda?”
Husk grunts. “Figured you were close.”
“Close?” you repeat, incredulous.
Charlie tilts her head, thoughtful. “You’re always together, but you don’t… you know. Act like most couples.”
Alastor chuckles, clearly amused, “How disappointing we must be.” he reaches over to your tea and took a sip of it now that you were distracted.
You blink, shaking your head at the others, “I thought it was rather obvious.”
“Obvious how?” Angel asks with a haughty snort, legs crossing over one another as he looks over the two of you like you were his new favourite reality show.
You gesture between yourself and Alastor with puffed-out cheeks like the answer was right in front of them, “The way he always knows what I want before I say it? The way we gravitate toward each other in a room?? The fact that he never touches anyone but somehow always finds a way to be near me???”
Alastor’s smile sharpens, very pleased, “You flatter me.”
“I’m serious,” you groan to the man, genuinely baffled before turning back to the group of demons with slumped shoulders,“ Did none of you notice?”
Husk snorts again. “Guess we just didn’t wanna assume.”
Alastor leans in slightly, voice warm and faintly teasing. “It seems, my dear, that our chemistry is… understated.”
You glance up at him,“ You’re telling me people didn’t clock us?”
“Apparently not.”
You sigh, mock-offended. “All these years.”
He squeezes your hand once. “Tragic.”
Vaggie rolls her eyes as she went back to picking at her breakfast as she shrugged casually," you two keep it private. It's none of our business."
Charlie nodded enthusastically with a sunny smile," Yeah!! It's nice to know you guys are married! I always thought it was weird that Y/n would come out of the same bedroom every morning with Alastor so now I at least know she's not sneaking into his room at night like a creep-"
"Oh my god..." your fingers come to your temple and began to rub at Charlie's description, Angel's amused cackles making a headache begin to build up.
You felt the familiar pat to the top of your head, it was sympathetic. But you could sense Alastor's amusement from a mile away.
"Maybe telegraphing our affection once in a while wouldn't hurt." You hear him say, the unmistakable grin to his voice making you have to fight back a smile of your own," just to prevent the assumptions that you're my stalker, of course!"
I just LOVED your last post SOOOOO much, would it be possible, maybe, potentially, to also get one with other characters like Adam, Abel, Husk, Angel, etc.?
Maybe?! No pressure at all! I just love your writing sooooo much 😭
Of course! The last post was a female reader tho so i'm not gonna include Angeldust. I may do a seperate post for him if people want :)
⚝ " How much i feel "
Hazbin boys when they have a crush pt.2
Hazbin Hotel x f!reader
Characters : Abel, Adam, Husk
Warnings : Adam can be a warning lol. If you guys find anything that should be a warning please point it out to me!
A/n : i love abel so much so i'm happy people are asking me to write for him, my account will be full of abel posts soon enough don't worry lol was listening to Kasane Teto and was able to fire these out so quickly vocaloid has so much power. Do you think abel is a vocaloid listener he gives off the vibes
▢ abel ✧
Abel is noticeably nervous around you, but he does everything in his power to appear as chill as he can. He wants to come off as easygoing and relaxed, even if his heart is racing.
He's got that "I swear I'm laid-back" attitude whilst his hands are shaking like leaves and he's staring at you like you're the sun.
"Abel, you okay?"
"Yeah! Totally! I'm-... chill. Very chill. The chillest."
"... your nose is bleeding."
"Aw man."
He's always been a soft speaker, but his voice is a lot softer around you. He chooses his words more carefully so he doesn't say something embarassing.
Dude tries his hardest not to figet when he's with you and he tends to stand a little straighter. He just likes to put an effort into acting confident.
If you compliment him ONCE he will replay it in his head for at least a week and that will be his dopamine boost for whenever he's stressed out.
He tries to practice flirting in the mirror. And it's the most awkward shit ever :
"Hey y/n... cool shirt."
"Yoooo y/n... wanna like hang out?... that sucked."
".... Y/n, how do you feel about marriage - NO NO TOO FAST-"
Then the second he sees you he forgets everything he practiced. Stumbles over his words, not even a coherent sentence. But you're so patient with him, giving him a friendly smile and an encouraging pat to the back and a warm "chill out man, I'm not gonna bite ya." The casualness brings him back to earth and he's able to form proper sentences now.
He's naturally thoughtful. If you mention liking something once, he remembers it. He's got a whole archive in his brain of just you.
Abel prefers subtle, gentle expressions of affection : walking beside you, offering help, sharing shy eye contact with you from across a room. Loves intamacy 100% but is far too shy to act upon it.
He'd love to hold your hand, hug you, kiss you on the cheek, share a snack - but the idea of asking for something cute makes him malfunction.
He definitely gets nosebleeds a lot when he's around you. It's not a pervy thing it's a literally on the verge of a panic attack thing.
He just doesn't want to mess anything up!! He'll try his best to flirt or compliment you but it'll always end badly.
Abel : "You're cute."
You: "Huh?"
Abel: "No wait i didnt mean - well I did mean it but - uhhhh - just like... forget I said anything."
Y/n: "Dude, I didn't hear what you said."
Abel: "Oh thank God."
Abel remembers small things you say and acts on them quietly. He doesn't announce it or want fanfare for it, he just... does it.
If you mention liking something, he'll keep it in mind and bring it to you later like it was no big deal. And it truly wasn't to him, making you happy is just a casual everyday task for him.
Abel: "I remembered you said you liked this."
Y/n:"That's... so incredibly kind of you what the hell?"
Abel: "I-... I mean it's just a plushie, Y/n no big dea-"
Y/n: "IT'S A BIG DEAL!"
Abel: "oh okay then!"
He's deeply loyal. Your opinion matters a lot to him. If you're upset he'll be so serious and gentle, always reaching out and leaving himself open for when you want to talk.
The thought of confessing to you is terrifying. One day, if he ever does say it, it will be simple and sincere... until he inevitibly gets a nosebleed afterwards.
▢ adam ✦
Adam is immediately drawn to you and immediately annoyed by that fact. He hates that someone can distract him from his own ego.
He tells himself it’s just physical at first. That lie lasts about five minutes.
“I’m not catching feelings. I don’t do feelings.”
The moment you don’t fawn over him like everyone else does, he’s hooked. The lack of instant validation flips a switch in his brain.
He gets louder around you. More dramatic. More obnoxious. He wants your attention and does not know how to ask for it normally.
Adam constantly positions himself in your line of sight. leaning, lounging, spreading out like he owns the room.
He flexes. A lot.
“Y’know, not everyone can pull this off,” he says, gesturing vaguely at himself.
He flirts aggressively and expects you to fold. When you don’t, it confuses him deeply.
“C’mon, you’re telling me you’re not impressed?”
You shrug.
“Wow. Okay. Rude bitch.”
He loves banter but hates losing it. If you get the upper hand, he immediately escalates:
“Watch it, tits. I’m hot and important. I deserve respect.”
If you tease him back too well, he sputters for half a second before doubling down, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You still want me though.”
Adam is catastrophically jealous. He doesn’t hide it, doesn’t process it - he reacts.
someone else talks to you for too long, he inserts himself into the conversation : “Sooo what are we talking about? Bet it’s fuckin' boring.”
He claims he doesn’t care while doing everything in his power to prove he does.
“I’m not jealous you fucker. I'm protecting others from you actually."
Physical closeness is constant and possessive, even before anything is defined.
He drapes an arm over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Touch is his unspoken way of staking a claim. Hand on your lower back, fingers hooked in your sleeve, casual but deliberate.
Your praise hits him harder than he expects. He plays it off, but it lingers.
“You did good today.”
He scoffs, but his posture straightens.
"Pffft fucking duh. Statin' the obvious babe.”
If you defend him when someone criticizes him, he goes strangely quiet afterward. That loyalty sticks with him.
He doesn’t know how to be vulnerable, so when feelings get real, he masks them with humor and bravado.
When he’s tired or frustrated, he seeks you out instinctively, even if he pretends it’s coincidence:
“You busy? No? Awesome. Sit.”
He hates that you see through him. He will rant to you about his day and you give him some freaky psychoanalysis on why he feels like that and then offer him something to make him feel better. The second he feels his heart skip a beat at your care for him, he deflects immediately : "Boooo, you're boring, man. You're suppose to agree with me and be all 'yesss king' not fuckin' psycho-analyse me. Sheesh."
Adam is aggressively protective but frames it as irritation. He positions himself between you and danger without thinking, even when it’s unnecessary.
The moment he realises he's down bad for you is when something bad happens and his first thought is you, not himself. He hates that you matter. Hates that you can affect his mood so easily. “This is bullshit,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t fall for people.”
But when you smile at him like you chose him - even briefly - he’s done for.
▢ husk 🂱
Husk doesn’t realize it’s a crush at first. He tells himself you’re just “good company” and that he “doesn’t mind you hanging around.”
That turns into noticing when you don’t come by the bar.
“…Huh. Haven’t seen her tonight.”
He likes that you’re a Hotel resident because you’re familiar, constant - something stable in a place that isn’t.
He finds comfort in you sitting at the bar, even in silence. He starts pouring your drink without asking. Every time. Perfect ratio. Never wrong.
If someone else tries to serve you, maybe Angel Dust wants to prove a point about making drinks being 'easy', but Husk corrects him without looking up : “Nah. That’s not how she likes it.”
He values the slow moments with you most. Late nights after the chaos dies down, lights dim, radio humming quietly in the background. You perched at the bar, feet swinging. Him wiping the same glass he’s already cleaned twice.
He lets you stay after hours, long after he’s closed the bar to everyone else.
“You don’t gotta go. I ain't busy.”
That’s his version of I want you here.
He listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it matters. You vent? He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t judge. Just nods, ears twitching slightly, eyes soft.
His advice is thoughtful, grounded, and painfully sincere.
“You ain’t wrong for feelin’ that way. But don’t let it eat you alive, either.”
Husk doesn’t hand out compliments easily. So when he does, they land heavy.
"You’re… good. Y’know that?”
Simple. Genuine. No bullshit.
He praises your resilience quietly, “You’ve been through a lot. Still show up every day. That counts for somethin’.”
When you doubt yourself, he’s steady, “You’re not a burden. Don’t say that shit.” Firm. Protective. Certain.
If you compliment him back, he deflects - but it sticks.
You: “You’re good at what you do.”
Husk, raising a brow at you: "…Yeah. Guess I am.”
(He thinks about that interaction for hours.)
His flirting is extremely understated but constant. Lingering eye contact. A quiet chuckle at your jokes. Sliding your drink closer to you with two fingers.
He matches your energy once he’s comfortable. If you tease him, he deadpans back.
You: “You gonna smile or is that illegal?”
Husk, snorting, amusement swimming in his eyes," costs extra.”
If you lean on the bar closer to him, he leans too - never first, always second. Like he doesn’t want to crowd you, but doesn’t want distance either.
When you laugh, he smiles without realizing it.
He keeps an eye on your intake without being controlling. Slows the pours. Slips you water if you want it.
If you get drunk, he switches into caretaker mode immediately. Calm. Focused. Gentle.
He walks you to your room every time. Arm steady at your back, slow steps so you don’t stumble, “Easy… gotcha.”
He won’t leave until you’re safely inside. Makes sure you’ve got water. Shoes off the floor so you don’t trip later. Tucks a blanket around you if you let him.
If you thank him, especially soft and sleepy, he looks away to hide his blush,“ yeah yeah, don't make a habit of this." (This is the third time he's done this for you.)
You’re one of the few people he opens up to. About his past, his regrets, the things he wishes he’d done differently.
He trusts you with his silences. No pressure to fill them. Just existing together.
He remembers the small things. Your favorite drink. The way you like your glass chilled. The nights you need quiet more than conversation.
He wants you—but doesn’t think he deserves you. That’s the core of it.
He’ll sit there, watching you, heart heavy and hopeful all at once. He’s slow to act, not out of disinterest, but fear of ruining something good.
“Don’t wanna screw this up.”
And once he knows you feel the same?
He’s all in.
Loyal. Warm. Constant. The kind of love that stays and you take a gamble for.
hello! im genuinely in love with ur hazbin stuff, i think they’re lovely xx
i was js wondering if u could do individual hazbin characters (specifically thinking of vox, alastor and lucifer… idm if you’d like to do others) x fem! reader: where they basically just have an infatuation with the reader and aren’t dating yet.
i’d love to see them try to gain her attention (and attraction) in any way, js doing whatever (maybe by trying to impress the reader, giving her gifts… kind of also including their love languages i think like what would they do with someone they have a crush on 😭)
thanks for considering and take care <3
This is such a cute request :,) thank you for taking the time to write that all out lol i'll try to do your request justice
⌑ " hopelessly devoted to you "
The hazbin men when they have a crush
Hazbin men x f!reader
Characters : lucifer, vox, alastor
Warnings : mentions of val. Swearing i guess? I think this is actually one of my more tame posts but if you guys find anything i need to put in the warnings let me know in the comments :)
A/n : it was very difficult to characterise Alastor's part i'll be honest so I hope i did my guy justice. I'm deffo gonna start writing for human vox and alastor soon, because Alastor was so fine when he was alive bro. Also is anyone getting tired of just working constantly? Feels like i have had zero time to myself lately, shit sucks. My only interactions with people have been with coworkers and I hate all of their guts like bro let me have time to hang out with my actual friends type shift 🙏
▢ vox ᯤ
This man acts like he's above having a crush on you but the second you walk into his office he turns into 10% flustered glitching, 40% panic that he hides beneath jokes, and 50% smug peacocking.
His screen brightness auto-adjusts whenever you compliment him, the blue more vibrant. Like you literally light this man up
Competitive flirting!!! If you're chaotic, he's more chaotic. If you're witty, he's faster. If you lean in close, he presses his screen so close to your face you can feel the heat radiating off of it. Sometimes he'll slip up and he'll short-circuit, but he pretends it's just a glitch claiming smoothly - "that was intentional, sweetheart. Artistic effect, y'know?"
His love languages : Gift-giving + physical affection. He leaves tech gifts on your desk every morning - WON'T admit they're gifts, though - "They're not gifts you idiot. They're corporate perks. Completely professional."
Like Alastor once pointed out bluntly, Vox almost always is touching your shoulders. It's usual a weird power-play thing with others but with you? It's complete affection.
He'll come up behind you when you're working, shoulders immediately captured by his claws as he talks you through the email he had sent you. When yapping, he's absentmindedly just start massaging your shoulders. Like bro is not subtle with his feelings at all.
Adjusts your tie, picks off fluff or lint from your blazer, and guides you by the waist.
Talks shit about everyone else around you. This man is a fucking gossip gremlin. Loves that you match his energy as well -
"Im so goddamn sick of Katie's weird fuckin' flirting but she's one of my best news anchors so I can't do shit about it."
"She's literally drenched in perfume everytime she comes in here, Vox. Like - she'll walk passed my desk in the morning and it will fucking linger until the end of my shift. I work for 12 hours."
"Oh shit I'll install an air-freshener in your desk, sweetheart. that sounds like torture."
Pretends he doesnt crave your approval but starts malfunctioning when your praise him.
"Is that a new suit? You look hot."
The background of his face literally turns into hearts and he's quick to throw his arms across his face to hide it," Fuck - ignore that."
The most pettiest jealous man in hell. If one of the other Vees mentions you too fondly, he malfunctions.
Velvette : " I need Y/n to model for me-"
Vox : " WHY. YOU HAVE YOUR OWN STAFF FUCK OFF."
If Valentino flirts with you? Vox actually becomes visibly angry. He knows the nature with why Valentino flirts, so he'll always sweet talk the moth into shutting his trap and walking his ass away.
He purposefully calls you into his office to watch him do something impressive, always seeks your approval for the littlest things. Your approval was important to him.
"Look, sweetheart, I upgraded our entire network firewall in 10 seconds. I'm literally the shit."
"Sir, you could have just emailed thi-"
"Nope. I needed you as a witness. Now tell me that I'm the shit."
"... You're the shit."
"I fucking know, right?"
Will play music from his speakers when you walk into his office, or play soundbites of an audience clapping and cheering. He claims it's meant to "empower" you as a woman.
Becomes weirdly soft when he sees that you're visibly tired or stressed. One time you fell asleep at your desk and he stops his typing to just admire you for a moment, definitely not taking a photo from the webcam of his screen of your sleeping face, and then takes off his blazer to wrap around your shoulders. You wake up surrounded in the smell of his expensive cologne and him sitting at his desk, casually greeting you with a - "finally awake, sleeping beauty?" Isn't mad in the slightest.
He loves making you laugh. He tries so fucking hard. Not even subtle. When you laugh at something he says, he stands taller, voice drops and his screen brightens - he's basically preening. Then he promptly brags about making you laugh.
"Did you hear that, Val? She laughed at MY bit. MY comedic timing. Don't fucking talk to me like I'm not funny as shit."
"Ay, dios mío..."
▢ alastor ⌖
He does NOT fall easily. So the first flicker of interest towards you genuinely just irritates him more than anything. Why is it that you catch his attention more than the chaos of the hotel? It makes no sense to him.
He tries to observe you from afar like you're an oddly fascinating wildlife specimen. He's not sneaky about it in the slightest - he stares unabashedly and smiles sharpy like he's plotting your death, which, to be clear, he isn't.
Probably.
He likes to be a witness to your hobbies and routines. He enjoys knowing things that he's not supposed to know.
"Oh, you're having mint tea today? I thought your favourite was jasmine. Curious."
"Are you stalking me??"
His love languages : Words of affirmations + acts of service. He compliments you in old-fashioned, theatrical ways that make everyone else in the room uncomfortable, but you? You fire right back.
"And you're looking like a man who rehearsed that line in the mirror."
"... Perhaps I did."
He likes when you challenge his compliments, or make him work harder to get a reaction. Like bro is delighted when you straight up reject his compliments.
He "coincidentally" handles tasks and chores before you get to them. Dishes? Done. A stuck window he saw you struggling with earlier? Fixed. A resident being too flirty and touchy with you? Silenced.
This guy loves making your life easier. When you notice what he's doing, he merely laughs like he's been caught in the middle of a murder he's proud of - "whatever do you mean, my dear? I only wish for your days to be smooth and your spirit unburdened!"
He'll engage in chores he normally finds beneath him just to hear you say," Wow... thanks, Al."
That single phrase could power him for a week.
Teasing is his favourite form of flirting. He loves someone who not only receives his taunt but also throws the knife back.
"You keep hovering around me, dear. Are you smitten?"
"Don't flatter yourself. The only thing I'm smitten with is cold hard cash."
"Ah! A fair point!"
He pushes your buttons deliberately, trying to see how far he can go before you snap or blush. But loves it when you land a good hit on him with your words, his cold dead heart would be thumping away like the wings of a butterfly if it could. It makes him lean in, grin sharp, voice dropping just for you - "Hmm... aren't you deliciously bold today."
You fluster him rarely. He flusters you constantly. It becomes his daily enrichment activity. He literally keeps mental score :
If you blush? +10 points.
If you stumble over your words? +50 points.
If you glare at him, trying to fight back a smile? He's just won at that point.
▢ lucifer 𖤐
He falls hard and embarassingly fast for you. One day you're organising his paperwork, the next he's privately composing sonnets about the way you handed him a pen.
He sticks his tongue out in concentration as he's writing in a sparkly diary - "Her grace... her poise... the divine elegance with which she passed me that pen.... I need her. Carnally."
He's the king of hell, and yet one (1) compliment from you and he crumbles like wet paper.
"Nice job today, Lu."
"Oh uh- thanks! You too!" He's internally imagining how he's going to propose to you and where you should go to for your honeymoon.
This man is PAINFULLY transparent. Bro isnt even trying to hide his crush. He gets all twitchy when you enter a room and he absentmindedly tap a love song on the handle of his cane. He glows around you, smile permanently etched onto his face.
His love languages : Physical affection + gift-giving. He finds excuses to be near you at all times. Standing too close? Absolutely. Touching your elbow to guide you? Constantly. Accidentally brushing your hand? Commonly.
He loves hugging you. LOVES. Oh, you're in a professional setting? Doesn't matter to him, he always requires a hug after such a tough and tiring meeting.
"Y/n, I require emotional refueling. Talking to Michael for a full hour has bummed me the fuck out."
His gifts are either wildly over the top or painfully sentimental. No in-between.
A diamond-encrusted pin of your favourite TV show character.
A hand-sketched portrait he stayed up all night drawing because he thought you looked particularly lovely that day.
A personalised planner that he's left little notes on every page for you.
He just loves seeing your face light up when he hands you something. He gives your little daily offerings. Fresh tea. A bouquet. A single shing trinket. Manifesting fireworks for you when you finish a task because you called them pretty one time.
"Just a token of appreciation for my radiant, brilliant assisstant keeping my kingdom from falling apart, y'know, no biggie."
He is shamelessly dramatic about how much he adores you. This man yearns like it's a full time job, one that he is fully committed to.
Stares longingly when you're focused on something else. Sighs wistfully when you leave the room.
Sometimes he'll drop the dramatics and lean in close, his voice silky sweet - " take a brake from work, yeah? I want your full attention."
Leaves you flustered from the random and sudden smooth flirting.
He loves being the cause of your smile. Will literally risk his image to hear your laughter, no care in the world if he's embarassed himself. You make him forget about his pride, even for a brief and peaceful moment.
insanely good writing, really good hooks. really detailed — smut writing
@6esiree
i love their blurbs. like, really, so much thought put into hcs and the stories. wondrous.
@9kaytor7
more into dialogue-writing! au readers will definitely love ‘em. also very detailed, and i really appreciate the amount of facts and research put into their works!
@wysteria-bloom
my gosh their fics make me laugh out of pure joy, especially during dialogues. fav line is definitely ‘flashbang your ass into next week’. descriptive, but more with writing actions.
@duratschka
adam fics. period. if you’re a kinky one, you’ll be in love. trust me.
co-anchor!y/n having to watch Vincent strut into the studio every morning wearing the exact same goddamn outfit your last two anchors were wearing the week they were murdered
A/n : Alastor's part is not sexual for obvious reasons, that man is an ace in the hole. I've been listening to a capitalism playlist when writing these idk why the songs are always so catchy despite the depressing messages behind them lol
▢ lucifer ⚝
you wake up to the sensation of someone drumming their claws against your bare ribs like they were testing a new instrument. A very smug, self-satisfied someone.
"Goooood morning, love," Lucifer purrs directly into your ear, far too awake for someone who didn't get a single wink of sleep," You ready for some breakfast? I was thinking a pancake stack with some-"
You interrupt him with a groan, pulling the blanket over your head. It's quickly yanked away by your pouting partner, however.
"Okay that was very rude, first of all." He murmured before giving you a shit-eating grin," second of all, you don't get to hide after last night." his grin was all sharp teeth, sharp enough to cut class probably. No wonder your shoulder was hurting from the amount of times he bit into your skin the night before.
"Lu, it's too early." You grumbled, blinking up at him grouchily.
"Honey, I'm owed my morning gloating, alright?"
He doesn't wait for permission - he draped himself half across your torso like a cat with boundary issues. His hands slide up your sides and he presses a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. The one to your shoulder, this one more of an apologetic kiss as he got a good glimpse of the interesting artwork he left on your skin.
"You know-" He began with a soft grin curled to his lips, eyes full of warmth as he just admired you below him," For someone who kept insisting they were 'not that flexible', you certainly proved yourself wrong-"
you slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him with burning cheeks," Don't fuckin' finish that sentence."
He laughs against your palm, wicked and delighted, before pulling your hand away gently so he could kiss your knuckles," Fine. I'll save it for breakfast conversation."
You deadpan," Lu."
"Fiiiine." He groaned dramatically as he stretches, sprawling over your more, smiling with content," It can be an in-bed conversation, then."
Your fingers ran through his softly tousled hair," I'd prefer, y'know, not to talk about it."
"Stop treating me like a one night stand. We're literally engaged."
You pinch a strand of his hair," Blah, blah, blah."
▢ vox ᯤ
You wake to the gentle hum of cooling fans and the faint static-purr of your partner’s chest. Vox has already powered on... well, barely.
His screen glows a sleepy blue beside you, brightness dialed down to a soft dim so he doesn’t “flashbang your ass into next week,” as he once put it.
An arm made of warm, humming circuitry tightens around your waist the moment you try to shift.
“Don’t even think about it,” he mutters, voice still glitching with sleep. “You move, and m' gonna electrocute you.”
You snort, trying to pry his hand off. “Vox, we have work. You especially.”
He buries his face in your neck... well, as much as a man with a screen for a head can. The speakers by his jaw emit a soft, low static that vibrates warmly against your skin. It's almost… affectionate.
“Work can eat shit,” he grumbles. “I’m busy.”
His screen fuzzes briefly, a little morning distortion, before settling again. You can feel the whir of his internal fans shift, the white noise deepening into a rhythmic lull that threatens to drag you right back to sleep.
“Are you doing that on purpose?” you mumble, eyes slipping half-closed.
“Maybe,” he says, smugness creeping into his tone. “Maybe I just naturally produce comforting and seductive audio frequencies. I’m a multi-talented man.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I'm fuckin' hot.”
You scrunch your nose at his egotistical answer, but didn't deny his claim.
He trails a hand lazily up your spine, fingertips buzzing with soft static that makes you shiver. “C’mon,” he coaxes, voice dropping to a warm hum. “What’s the point of being the most powerful overlord in the digital era if I can’t take a damn morning off?”
His claws buzz a little too much, making you flinch from the static shock he nipped to your side.
“Hey. behave.” you grumble, trying to bite back the grin threatening to break across your face.
“I am behaving,” he argues. “This is extremely well-behaved for me. I haven’t even tried to film us yet.”
You swat his arm. “Vox.”
“Kidding. Mostly.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, each one a little more self-satisfied than the last. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just stay. Five more minutes.”
You blink tiredly before sighing and leaning your whole body back into his warmth.
He grinned crookedly before dragging you further into him, his chest pressing against your bare back," there we gooo..."
▢ alastor ⍋
You surface from sleep to the faint clink of porcelain and the warm scent of steeped tea. His favorite blend, and yours. Alastor hums lightly under his breath, that old-timey radio-tune warmth filling the room as he sets two cups on the bedside table with care bordering on ceremony.
“Ah, awake already, my dear?” he says, turning with one of his rare, soft smiles. It sits differently on him than the usual sharp grin; warmer, less rehearsed. He reaches out and lightly boops your nose with a claw-tipped finger. “Good morning!”
You mumble something that vaguely resembles “five more minutes,” and tug the blankets over your head.
He chuckles - quiet, sincere. “Come now. I did brew your favorite. At a frankly ungodly hour, I might add.”
“…Then get back in bed,” you manage, voice muffled. “Tea can wait.”
“Oh-ho! Can it?” he teases, hands folding neatly behind his back. “And here I thought you’d leap at the chance for a cup prepared by yours truly. How tragic.”
You peek out from under the blanket just enough to glare at him. “Alastor.”
“Yes?” he says, far too pleased.
“Get in the bed.”
He tilts his head, giving that faux-pondering smirk he knows drives you insane.
You frown at him, eyes tired, you already knew what he wanted from you,"... Please?"
The word “please” does something to him. it softens him noticeably, like you’ve reached in and dimmed the dial on his performative energy.
He sighs, dramatically but fondly. He's always had a soft spot for good manners.
“Oh, very well. Twist my arm, why don’t you?” He climbs onto the bed with exaggerated delicacy, settling first on your side as you roll over. “Scoot, my dear. Scoot, scoot-"
“You’re the one invading my side,” you grumble, but you shift anyway.
“Semantics,” he says cheerfully as his long arms loop around you.
The moment you’re within reach, he pulls you back toward him, settling your head just beneath his chin. His cheek rests against the top of your head, warm and pleasantly squishy against your hair.
You mumble sleepily against him," you're warm... so stop gettin' out of the bed so early... I prefer you over tea..."
There's a long pause before you feel his claws brushing through your hair, his mouth pressing to the top of your head," duly noted, cher."
a/n : season 2 was amazing, sooo happy vox was the main villain because we got to hear his amazing voice basically the whole season. lucifer didn't really have a song tho which im a bit disappointed about, when he was singing at the start of VOX POPULI bro he sounded glorious, he should have been singing the whole song 😔 I loved abel so much as well he was just a chill guy bro stole my heart
▢ adam ✦
- full of laughter -
Adam leans towards you with that usual cocky grin. It was wide, smug and so stupidly charismatic you kind of wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time.
... he would be into that.
"Babe, you look at me any longer yer gonna burn holes into my face." He hums out, very aware of why you were staring at him. His hot looks, of course.
Rolling your eyes you reach out and flick his forehead, biting back the grin that threatened to spread when he cursed at you as he rubs his forehead with a glare.
"If only your dick was the size of your ego." You reply casually as you crawl closer to him on the couch.
"You're so fuckin' rude to me. Me. The man who loves your bitch ass." He grumbled out, hands immeditely finding their place on your hips the closer you got, amber eyes still narrowed at you pettily," be more grateful to the only person in the world who could love a face like yours, kay?"
You finally snorted in amusement, hands cupping each side of his face, his stubble scratching the skin of your palms," what are you talking about? I'm a fucking stud. I have multiple bad bitches lined up for when I break up with your clingy ass." You joke with a cheeky little grin.
Adam merely pouted at your words," man, fuck you." His hands squeeze your hips," the only way you're breaking up with me is when i die, by the way. You're fuckin stuck with me for eternity, babe. So your bad bitches will have to wait their turn, alright?"
A warm grin curled to your lips as your forehead presses to his, his words filing you with just pure adoration. Your lips gently brushed his," Ah, what a shame..." you hum lowly. Adam's patience seems to have waned because next thing you knew, your lips are molded together perfectly.
The moment your lips touch his, he makes a noise - half-laugh, half-choke, all dramatics - like you just caught him off guard despite the fact he leaned in first.
His hands slide around your waist with confidence and an extremely quiet ounce of care, fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of your shirt. Then they began to tap against the little patch of skin he manages to expose with his figeting. Didn't take you long before you realised he was tapping a song against your skin.
It's stupid. It's sweet. It's him.
You feel the smile against your mouth, that wide, shit-eating grin he always gets when he's enjoying something a little too much.
"What are you smiling like an idiot for?" you mutter against his lips before pulling back, hand brushing some of his brown hair from his face.
"Oh, you know," he says, voice dropping into something annoyingly soft for a guy who practically yells every word he speaks," just kissing my extremely sexy, extremely lucky partner - who, might I add, is definitely getting the better end of this whole arrangement."
A laugh escapes you, because of course he would say that.
"You're so dumb."
"Babe, I'm the first man. I'm literally historically significant."
You kiss him just to shut him up, but he merely makes a pleased hum like you just rewarded him for good behaviour.
▢ abel ✧
- honeyed and lazy -
"You good?" You asked Abel, giving him a small grin.
He blinked those yellow eyes at you, they were half-lidded but you could see the deer-in-headlights look within them," Im-... Yeah, totally. Extremely good." He gave you a cute grin, showing off the gap in his teeth," like premium-level good. Why wouldn't I be good?"
You raise a brow," Abel, you're talking like you just drank six espressos."
"Maybe I did."
"Dude, you can't even handle one espresso."
He groaned and rubbed his face with both hands," okay yeah fine. Im just... not great at being suave, alright?" He gestured his hands around before resting his cute face in the palm of his hand," Dad didn't exactly give me 'romantic charm' lessons growing up."
Laughing softly, bumping your shoulder against his," Good. Sauve isnt really my type, anyways."
His posture relaxed as he smiled at you lazily, his hand moving to poke your cheek," yeah? Then what is your type?"
You didn't have to answer that, he could see it in the way you looked at him. No judgement. No expectations. Just there, grounding him.
It made his chest all warm and fuzzy.
You merely exageratedly give your boyfriend an up-down before raising your eyebrows with that cheeky grin. That was the perfect answer.
He couldnt stop the flush from dusting pink across his round cheeks. He swallowed, eyes flitting to your lips before crossing over your entire face quickly.
You tilt your chin slightly, and invitingly as you hum out a gentle," you're thinkin' too hard~..."
"I think exactly the right amount." He pouted before he leaned in, cupping your cheeks the way he always kissed - with the unsure, soft reverance of someone who hadn't yet realised he was allowed to have nice things.
His thumbs gently brush your skin, his hands warm. His lips press to your cheek slowly, lazily. Then he dragged his mouth to your forehead, then along your jaw in an unhurried sweep. A smile ghosts against your skin at the way you shivered.
"You're doing that on purpose," you accused lightly.
"Hmm," he pretends to contemplate before smiling cutely," yeah, I am."
He finally found your lips, it was the kind of kiss that felt warm and syrupy. Gentle but deep enough that your breathing caught. Honeyed, slow, and absolutely intoxicating, the kind that left the both of you blushing.
He pulled back an inch, just a little dazed," hey... thanks for letting me be like this."
"You mean sweet?" You teased.
He snorts," I meant hopeless," he corrected, cheeks turning from pink to red," but... yeah. Sweet too, I guess."
You kiss his lips again before bumping your nose against his, whispering your next words like it was some world-ending secret," That's my type~"
He nearly combusted.
▢ sir pentious 𓆙
- coiling and yearning -
Pentious had always kissed you like he was rediscovering the concept each time—like every brush of his lips proved a theory he’d been working on for centuries. Even in his gleaming heaven form, that excitable brilliance of his remained, burning behind his eyes with every fluttering thought he never quite managed to keep inside.
You barely made it through the doorway of his workshop before he was on you. His gloves were still smudged with gold dust from whatever contraption he’d been building, and the second he saw you, his whole posture straightened with that endearing, overly-dramatic flare he never truly lost.
“Ah! My dearest!” he exclaimed as if he hadn’t seen you in years. “Perfect timing! I’ve just nearly perfected my- oh, come here—”
He tugged you forward by the waist, almost forgetting what he meant to say the moment his lips touched yours. Pentious kissed like a man starved for affection and overfed on emotion: warm, eager, and absolutely incapable of pacing himself. His mouth molded against yours in a slow, enamored pull, but he kept making soft, delighted noises every few seconds, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him.
One of his hands slid up your back, drawing you impossibly closer, while his tail, still long and expressive even with its new divine sheen, coiled around your ankle in a possessive, absent-minded loop. He never seemed aware he did that. It was simply instinct, the way he anchored himself to you.
“Oh right uuuh,” he mumbled against your lips, as if the intensity was shocking him. “You have no idea how - mm - how distracting you are! I was just about to finalize the recalibration of the luminary coils-”
You laughed quietly, which only encouraged him. He tilted your chin up, kissing you again, more purposeful this time, like he was sealing a promise. Pentious always kissed you like you were the first variable that had ever gone right in his life.
You kissed him back, steady and grounding, matching his enthusiasm with your own kind of gentle firmness, the one thing capable of keeping him from spiraling into ten simultaneous thoughts. He melted into it instantly. He always did. For all his dramatics, he responded best to someone patient, someone who understood his momentum without letting it fling him into orbit.
His tail tightened in excitement. “Right, right, the invention!” he blurted suddenly, pulling back only half an inch, his nose still brushing yours. “You see, I-oh, you’re very distracting - hold on- just...just one more-”
He kissed you again before he even finished the sentence, hands cupping your jaw, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as if he was trying to memorize their texture through sheer devotion.
Eventually he forced himself to stop, chest heaving slightly, eyes bright behind his goggles. “I had a point, I swear I did.”
“You were talking about your luminary coils,” you reminded gently.
“YESSS! Exactly!” he said, triumphant as if he hadn’t just forgotten his entire train of thought because he liked the shape of your mouth too much.
▢ husk 🂱
- every kiss is a gamble -
Husk always kissed like every second might be his last. like he was betting his entire damn soul on the outcome.
Which, considering Hell, wasn’t exactly a stretch.
You found him hunched over the bar after closing, wings drooped, tail flicking in that irritated-but-trying-not-to-show-it way he did whenever he missed you but refused to say it out loud.
“Y’know,” you drawled, leaning on the counter beside him, “if you glare any harder at that glass, it’s gonna evaporate.”
He snorted without looking up. “Maybe that’d save me some money.”
“You don’t pay for drinks.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
You laughed, sliding into his space because you knew he wouldn’t move away - he always pretended to be bothered, but his feathers puffed the second you got close. “Rough day?”
“Every day’s rough. I’m surrounded by moronic dipshits.” He paused, one ear flicking toward you, “Present company excluded… mostly.”
You bumped your shoulder against his. “Wooow, so sweet.” you cooed, fingers playing with the tufts of fur on his chest teasingly," do you have a crush on me or somethin'?"
“Don’t fuckin' start.” He rolled his eyes.
You leaned even closer, letting your breath tickle his ear. “Missed me?”
Husk stiffened. Then grumbled. Then stiffened again.
“Why’re you like this?”
“Suave charm. Can’t help it.”
He shot you a sideways look - narrowed eyes, half-smirk tugging at his lip. “You keep talkin’ like that, doll, and I’m gonna-”
“What?” you teased, cheeky grin curling to your lips, “Fold?"
He growled. Actually growled.
“Hell no. I don’t lose.”
And then he kissed you.
Fast. Decisive. Like you’d hit some hidden switch and he was done pretending he didn’t want you right then and there.
His hands were on you immediately. One gripping your hip, the other curling around the back of your neck, dragging you in until your knees bumped the barstool he’d abandoned. Husk kissed like someone starved, desperate, impatient in that addictive way that made your stomach flip. His lips moved against yours with a messy kind of hunger, like he was trying to kiss every thought out of your head before you could fire off another sarcastic jab.
You laughed into his mouth, which only made him kiss harder.
“Quit distractin’ me,” he muttered between breaths, biting your bottom lip just sharp enough to make your pulse spark.
“You started it.”
“And I’ll finish it.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, but deeper. Like once he got that first rush, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to devour you or savor you. His tail curled around your calf, tugging you even closer. His feathers brushed your cheek, trembling with the effort of looking cool while absolutely failing.
His tongue slid against yours and he let out a low, helpless grunt - one that made your entire body flush.
You smirked against his lips. “You’re cute when you get all grabby.”
He pulled back just enough to glare, cheeks burning. “fuckin' cute? Seriously?” he sounded so unimpressed
“You’re adorable.”
“Shut up.”
He grabbed your chin and kissed you again, rougher. Every kiss was like spinning the wheel at a roulette table and whatever it landed on would be the way he kissed you.
You melted into him, hand sliding up to cup the side of his face. The moment your thumb brushed his cheekbone, he faltered. Just a little.
That tiny hesitation - soft, vulnerable, absolutely gone in a second - was your favorite part of him.
When you finally separated, both gasping, both flushed like you’d downed half a bottle of whatever he’d been drinking, Husk kept his forehead pressed to yours.
“You’re trouble,” he muttered.
“And you love me.”
He huffed, wings ruffling.
“…Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Wanna kiss me again?” you asked innocently.
His blush deepened. “Doll... darlin’ - if you don’t stop, I’m gonna carry you to the back and-”
You grinned. “So that’s a yes.”
He pulled you in again. That's the only answer you needed.
DC men react to you sending an embarrassing photo of them
DC characters x f!reader
Genre : SMAU, fluff, suggestive
Warnings : Very suggestive - MINORS DNI.
A/n : I haven't posted in a while ik, my inspiration for working has really went out the window ngl. I have so many ideas but everytime I write them I feel like they just suck so - I'm just doing something easy but fun to write rn and that's SMAU. Plus my fav superhero of all time just had one of the greatest movies I've ever seen come out and now I really wanna write for him so here we are. Thank you James Gunn for Superman🙏🙏
Reactions to Durge getting lost in the sauce during a battle
Warnings : Dark Urge storyline spoilers !! visceral descriptions of gore, blood, just general human suffering and pain. Minsc and Jaheira being added is purely platonic.
A/n : I still haven't finished my durge playthrough but I'm loving it so much. Astarion being romanced by durge is just canon like the interactions are amazingly written. I love Orin so much more now she's really just irredeemable but in a way where you feel so horrible for her because of her backstory. UGHH I LOVE THIS GAME
Astarion watches as you just completely desecrate a corpse with an almost scholarly fascination. Limbs flying, skin tearing, blood everywhere, and you’re just staring on with a sharpness to your eyes, watching every shiver of pain, every twist of agony you elicit from your victi- enemies. Enemies.
Subtly, a smile of pleasure curls to your lips as you twist a guy’s head in a way it definitely shouldn’t twist.
"My dear, you really do know how to put on a show!" He claps, a ruby red of just pure and utter delught swirling in his eyes, "The way that spine cracked? Exquisite. And the scream? A bit drawn-out, but it had character."
He leans in, lowering his voice with a smirk. "All that to protect little old me?" He reached out, smearing a drop of blood that landed on your cheek and licking it off his thumb with a little hum of delight," Darling, I'm honoured."
He's kind of turned on. But only kind of.
Not that he'd admit it to your cute face.
▢ shadowheart
Shadowheart watches, aghast, as you brutalize some poor fool—ripping off limbs, carving symbols into their chest for fun. She's even more horrified when she hears the light chuckle that falls from your lips as you do it, pinching the bridge of her nose as yet another body part hits the ground with a sickening thump.
"Do you… have to do all of that?" she asks, pretty green eyes squeezed shut like she’s trying to erase the image from her mind. "Like, really. Was any of that necessary?"
When you shrug and tell her, "It’s art, Shadowheart," she lets out the longest, most exhausted sigh known to mortals. One would think she's dealing with a child and not the person she unfortunately, foolishly fell in love with.
"Thank the Gods that you love me. I don't think I would appreciate you using my intestines as a necklace." she mutters, stepping over a severed head with a grimace and ignoring when you laugh out an amused 'but that sounds romantic!'
▢ gale
Gale barely has time to process what just happened. One moment, you’re fighting. The next? There’s viscera everywhere. He watches as you rip a man’s jaw clean off before beating another guy to death with it.
His face goes pale. "Oh my gods."
He swallows, looking from the carnage to you, who are just beaming with satisfaction, like a cat who had brought a bird to their owner.
You were cute, at least. He'd admit that much. But also... what the fuck?
"You know, there’s a certain… efficiency to combat. A finesse. A subtlety." He gestures vaguely to the massacred corpses, a displeased frown etched to his lips. "This? This is not that."
When you ask if he’s impressed, he clears his throat, "I’m... something." he mutters, deciding he’s just not going to look at the rivers of blood pooling at your feet.
▢ karlach
Karlach was cheering you on at first—because, hey, battle’s fun! But then you start sculpting with intestines and rearranging body parts like a twisted art piece, crushing heads with your bare hands like it was nothing, and she slowly lowers her weapons.
"Holy fuck."
You turn to her, absolutely dripping in blood, eyes gleaming with an unhinged joy, "Did you see that?! The way his head popped like a zit?!" You cackle," funniest shit I've ever seen!"
Karlach forces a grin. "Haha… Hells yeah! That was… a thing you did!"
She pats your shoulder (hesitantly, because wow, that’s a lot of organs just... covering you), "Uh… y’know, if you ever wanna, like, talk about stuff—just saying! No judgment! Totally normal to, uh… enjoy your work no matter how bloody it gets!"
She loves you with all her mechanical heart but she's definitely gonna have a few nightmares.
At least you'll be there to scare them away!
▢ lae'zel
Lae’zel stands there, arms crossed, watching you brutalize an enemy into an unrecognizable pulp. You rip a guy’s throat out with your teeth, and she just nods approvingly.
"Efficient," she comments.
You stab a man so many times that it’s unclear where his torso ends and his legs begin. She raises an eyebrow. "A bit excessive."
Finally, you tear out someone’s heart and crush it in your bare hands, laughing as their blood splatters across your face. Lae’zel blinks.
"... I want you." she says simply.
▢ wyll
Wyll watches in abject horror as you pulverize a man into paste. There’s nothing left. Just chunks.
"Gods above!" he yells, visibly shaken. "What in the Nine Hells was that?"
You wipe some stray blood from your cheek and raise a brow at him like he was overreacting, "Just some creative problem-solving."
"Creative—?!" He rubs his temples, taking a deep breath. "Look, I know you’ve got… impulses… but we could try, I don’t know, leaving people with their limbs attached?"
When you respond with, "Why? They weren’t using them well enough," he just walks away, shaking his head and muttering 'how am I in love with you.'
He needs a drink. Maybe a godsdamned priest.
Preferably not a Bhaalist priest.
▢ minthara
Minthara watches as you brutalize an enemy beyond recognition, her expression unreadable. The slimy sounds of organs being played with. The gross thuds of limbs dropping from being torn off. You finish your grotesque display, turning to her expectantly.
She steps forward, her voice dangerously low. "That," she murmurs, "was magnificent."
A smirk tugs at her lips as she looks over the carnage. "A true artist," she purrs. Then, she leans in, lowering her voice so only you can hear:
"Next time, let me join in. I love a good partnered project."
▢ halsin
Halsin is visibly struggling. He’s seen nature’s brutality—seen beasts devour their prey, seen the circle of life in all its rawness. But this? This is excessive.
You stand proudly amid the wreckage of what were once people, now just a pathetic meat pile of limbs and organs, wiping the blood off your hands like it’s just another day. Halsin exhales, rubbing his temples.
"Violence is sometimes necessary," he says, "but must you… revel in it?"
You just grin. "It’s fun."
He gives you the most disapproving dad stare possible, "You and I," he mutters, "are going to have a long talk about balance."
▢ raphael
Raphael watches with rapt attention as you utterly annihilate your enemies. Like it was some grotesque stageplay.
Blood fountains, bones splinter, and you don’t just kill—you obliterate.
As the last body falls, you look over and see him giving you a slow, deliberate golf clap.
"My, my," he purrs, stepping closer. "You, my dear, are a symphony of destruction." His grin is all teeth. "Have you considered putting such… passion to better use?"
You raise an eyebrow," You offering me a job?"
He chuckles, eyes gleaming. "I’m saying, my sweet, that I do so love a person who enjoys their work." He winks. "Offering a job? No. A place next to me on a vastly comfortable throne? Yes."
▢ rolan
Rolan was ready to be impressed. But then you turned a fight into a goddamn horror show, and now he’s just staring.
"What in the name of Mystra’s left tit was that?!" he exclaims, gesturing wildly at the pile of human confetti you just created.
You shrug. "Enthusiasm."
He rubs his face. "That was not enthusiasm. That was anatomical experimentation. That was gleeful carnage."
A pause. Then he crosses his arms, eyes narrowing in scholarly thought, "why in the hells do I find it so hot??"
▢ gortash
Gortash observes, arms crossed, as you pulverize an enemy into an unrecognizable pile of gore. Blood drips from your fingertips as you step back to admire your handiwork—organs strewn about, bones shattered, a severed head still twitching.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, he exhales sharply through his nose, a chuckle.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," he muses, sounding almost… fond. His eyes flicker over the carnage before returning to you, sharp and calculating,"No hesitation. No mercy. Just raw, brutal efficiency."
He steps forward, voice lowering, amusement curling at the edges, "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me."
When you give him an irratted expression—blood still smeared across your lips—he grins slyly, slow and knowing. "Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t even have to try."
He looks over the battlefield, a mixture of admiration and something else lurking beneath the surface—nostalgia, maybe? Pride?
"This? This is the monster I remember." His smirk widens and he leaned close to your face, thumb brushing over the blood splattered on your bottom lip, "And oh, how I have missed them."
▢ minsc
The man watches as you annihilate an enemy in the most grotesque, unnecessarily brutal way possible. Limbs flying, blood everywhere, a head soaring through the air like it’s auditioning for a circus act. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then looks down at Boo.
"Boo, avert your tiny eyes!" He quickly cups the little hamster in his massive hands.
When the carnage finally settles, he peers at you with an expression torn between admiration and slight concern,"You fight with the strength of a berserker and the creativity of a very enthusiastic butcher!" He pats you on the back—hard enough to nearly knock the wind out of you, "It is good! But maybe… less good for keeping friends with weak stomachs!"
Then he grins. "But do not worry! Boo and I have seen worse. Probably." he frowns," Maybe." Then he shakes his head, giving you an apologetic look," Actually, no, we have not, but that is what makes adventure exciting!"
▢ jaheira
Watches you rip through an enemy like a rabid beast. There’s nothing left intact by the time you’re finished—just bits and pieces, flung in every direction like you got bored and decided to redecorate with viscera.
She slowly raises an eyebrow, scolding and preparing herself to lecture you, arms crossed, waiting for you to be done. When you finally turn to her, grinning, she sighs.
"Are you finished, or do you need to desecrate the remains a little longer?" She gestures to the raining blood, "Perhaps a little interpretive dance in the entrails?"
You just shrug. "They deserved it."
Jaheira pinches the bridge of her nose. "I am far too old for this." Then she mutters something about "damn bloodthirsty children" and starts walking away—because if she stands there any longer, she might have to tell you off for battlefield inefficiency.
But as she leaves, she throws one last glance over her shoulder and smirks,"Next time? Try to at least leave a body for looting. Otherwise, what’s the point?"
I have a funny little request, How do you think the baldur's gate 3 companions would react or respond to Tav talking to someone and who ever they are talking to asks them something about a husband/Wife and they point to one of the companions say “Yeah that’s my Husband/Wife right here”, Or Tav greeting the bg3 companions and saying “Hello my beautiful Wife or Handsome Husband how are you today?” Idk I think it would be funny you can either do all the companions or just a few and whoever else you want.
P.S One of the companions has to Karlach pls and thank you. Have a good day/night
↪"Say that again?"
Bg3 companions x reader
Warnings : none that I can think of, if there anything triggering please let me know
A/n : this is such a cute idea !!! Thank you so much for the request and ofc I'll include Karlach it's a literal crime if I don't
Astarion is mid-sip of his wine when he hears it. You’re chatting with a bartender, mentioning offhandedly, "Oh, my husband enjoys that brand of wine!" The words seem to hang in the air. A moment later, he chokes, coughing as he hurriedly sets his glass down.
"Sorry, darling, did I just hallucinate, or did you actually call me your husband?" He grins, sharp and playful, but there’s something else lurking in his ruby eyes—something softer. "How bold of you. I don’t recall signing any vows, though if they involve more pet names and adoration, I might be convinced."
Despite his teasing, there’s an undeniable smirk of satisfaction on his lips, and later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you catch him whispering his name with your last name attatched—testing the sound of it with a chuckle.
▢ shadowheart
Shadowheart stiffens, her hand momentarily pausing over the clasp of her pack as you effortlessly refer to her as your wife in conversation. She recovers quickly, a well-trained mask slipping into place, but you catch the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tighten just a bit.
When the conversation is over, she turns to you, arms crossed, voice a delicate mix of amusement and hesitancy. "Wife, huh? That’s...a rather serious word, don’t you think?" There’s no irritation in her voice, just a quiet wariness.
You lean in and reassure her—tell her it just felt natural—she exhales, her stance softening. "I suppose... it doesn’t sound terrible coming from you." She smirks faintly, then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she murmurs, "Say it again. Just once."
▢ gale
Gale practically beams. He was in the middle of explaining some grand magical theory when you casually referred to him as your husband, and the conversation might as well have ceased to exist. He turns to you with wide, delighted eyes, as if you just handed him the crown jewel of Mystra herself.
"You—you truly think of me that way?" His voice is filled with genuine wonder, his hands twitching as if resisting the urge to pull you into an embrace right there. "I must admit, I rather like the sound of it."
For the rest of the day, he finds ways to bring it up—entirely coincidentally, of course. "Ah, yes, my spouse and I were just discussing that," he’ll say to a trader. Or, "Well, as my beloved has so kindly pointed out..." He’s positively radiant, and when the two of you are alone, he holds you close, murmuring, "One day, perhaps, we could make it more than just words."
▢ karlach
Karlach lets out the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. One moment, she’s hauling a crate of supplies, and the next, she’s throwing an arm around you, laughing loud enough to startle a nearby bard.
"Wife? You think I’m wife material?" She practically lifts you off the ground in a hug, her infernal engine humming warmly. "Oh, babe, you really know how to make a girl’s heart melt."
For the rest of the day, she won’t stop teasing you. "Hey, love, your wife could use a back rub after all that heavy lifting." Or "Shouldn't a wife get extra rations? I think that’s fair." But underneath the playful exterior, there’s a warmth in her gaze every time she looks at you—like you just gave her something precious she never thought she could have.
▢ lae'zel
The moment the word leaves your mouth—wife—Lae’zel halts. Her expression sharpens, golden eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable intensity. The person you were speaking to wisely excuses themselves, sensing the tension crackling in the air.
She steps closer, head tilting, her voice a low rumble. "You claim me as a wife?" It isn’t anger, but a challenge. Prove it, her tone demands.
You meet her gaze unwaveringly and confirm it without hesitation, she exhales, something pleased flashing across her face. "Hmph. Among my kin, such a title is not spoken lightly. If you speak it, you must own it."
Later, when camp is quiet and you were walking towards your tent, she pulls you aside, her hand gripping your wrist—possessive, firm but there was a softness to it that couldn't be denied. She looked flustered, frowning at you with a twitch of her brow," As your... wife. I demand we sleep in the same tent."
▢ wyll
Wyll is in the middle of charming a noble when you casually refer to him as your husband. The words slip from your lips without hesitation, and at first, he doesn’t react—so well-trained in maintaining composure. Only until the noble left did something warm flicker in his bi-coloured eyes, his confident smile faltering for just a heartbeat.
"Ah—your what?" He turns to you, and for the first time in a long while, the Blade of Frontiers looks genuinely caught off guard.
When you confirm it with an easy smile, he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to suppress the warmth creeping up his face. "Well, now you’ve gone and made a man blush," he teases, but there’s a softness to it. A part of him that seems to hold onto the word like a cherished melody.
Later that evening, when the two of you have a rare quiet moment, he leans in, his voice lower, more earnest. "You really see me that way?" His hand finds yours, thumb tracing circles against your palm. "Because I could get used to that."
▢ halsin
Halsin is kneeling by a wounded animal, murmuring a quiet spell of healing, when the word husband leaves your lips. It’s said so casually—to another druid, in passing—that at first, he doesn’t seem to react.
But then, as the spell finishes, he turns to you, golden eyes warm with something deeply affectionate. A slow smile spreads across his face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "Husband," he repeats, testing the weight of it, his voice rich with amusement. "That is… a title of great commitment. And yet, hearing it from you, it feels as though it has always been true."
There’s no teasing, no hesitation—only an earnest kind of joy. He steps closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch feather-light. "If this is how you see me, then I will wear the title with pride." His voice drops to a low murmur, meant only for you. "And should you ever wish to make it more than words, I will answer gladly."
From that moment on, he often refers to you in kind—my heart, my love, and, on particularly affectionate days, even my wife/husband/mate. It is not just a title to him; it is a promise.
▢ minthara
Minthara doesn’t react at first. Not outwardly. She merely continues sharpening her blade, her red eyes cold and unreadable as you casually refer to her as your wife in conversation.
The person you were speaking to quickly departs, sensing the weight of silence that follows. Then, without looking up, Minthara speaks, her voice dangerously low. "You called me wife."
It isn’t a question. It’s an evaluation. A test.
You confirm it, she finally lifts her gaze to meet yours, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "How bold of you," she muses, setting her blade aside. "Amongst lolth-sworn drow, such words are not spoken lightly. They are a claim. A promise."
She stands, stepping into your space, her presence as commanding as ever. A hand grips your chin—not harsh, but firm. Possessive. "If you call me wife, then you had best mean it."
And yet, later that night, when the camp is quiet and she believes no one is watching, she lingers at your side a little longer. A rare softness flickers in her eyes before she turns away, murmuring to you just loud enough for you to hear—"Hmph. It does have a certain... power to it."
▢ raphael
The moment the word husband leaves your lips, Raphael goes completely still. The conversation you were having with an unfortunate merchant screeches to a halt as the cambion turns his attention fully on you. The air crackles with something dangerous—something deeply, intensely amused.
A slow smirk stretches across his lips. "My dear, I do believe I misheard you," he purrs, voice as smooth as velvet. "Did you just call me your husband? How delightfully bold of you."
He steps closer, red eyes gleaming with something unreadable—pleasure? Possession? The thrill of a game he suddenly must win? He takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. Never breaking eye contact as his lips were curved in that usual salacious smirk of his,"Now, if you are to call me husband, I expect proper treatment. Gifts. Devotion. Perhaps a throne befitting a devil of my caliber."
There’s teasing in his tone, but beneath it? Oh, there’s something else entirely. Later, when no one is around, he murmurs against your ear, "let me hear it again... it sounds so terribly tempting when it falls from those lips of yours."
▢ rolan
Rolan is mid-rant—complaining about some idiot who failed to organise the library books the right way—when you absentmindedly refer to him as your husband. He stops talking. Completely.
His mouth opens. Closes. His tail flicks rapidly behind him, betraying his internal spiral.
"Wha—wait—what did you just call me?" His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, straightening his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain his dignity.
When you repeat it, casual as ever, he stares at you like you just cast Wish in front of him. "That’s… I mean, I am an impressive partner, but—" He crosses his arms, looking away, his cheeks burning a darker, unmistakable shade of red. "You can’t just say things like that without warning someone!"
But for the rest of the day, he’s noticeably smug—standing taller, magic practically crackling at his fingertips. And if you listen closely, you might hear him muttering under his breath: "Husband. Hah... obviously."
