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#hazbin hotel vaggie x reader

mournings-stars · 1 month

Note

Hey !!

How about writing romantic head-cannons with the hazbin hotel cast where the reader (could be AFAB) and has catlike features but also has a cat like personality?? (Like the reader is grumpy , tired , always frowning etc)

Obviously take your time , but hopefully this request will reach you well :33

catlike!reader x hazbin cast

anon u literally read my mind i was just sitting down to write something like this so i got u (charlie and vaggie can go together but i made them separate) also im including angel so reader is not fem but they can still be afab if u want — also also, i only included the actual hotel cast, so if you want more characters lmk!!

charlie

you know those cats that hate everyone except one person, that would be you with charlie

charlie won’t bother you or pester you about waking up for activities because you’ll just come when you can, and once you do you’re very engaged (only because it’s her)

as soon as you lie across her lap she makes sure she does not move 1. because you’re warm and she loves cuddling with you and 2. because if you got up and made a face at her before going to sit somewhere else she’d be devastated

she knows just where to scratch, massage, and pet you to get you to fall asleep or relax — she’s put very special attention into memorizing these things and literally everything else about you

vaggie

you can be grumpy together (mostly with alastor, she values your grumpy support when it comes to the radio demon)

vaggie loves to cuddle — if you come to sit behind her legs or between them she could stay like that for hours or just fall asleep

you tend to sleep in with her, 1. because she, like charlie, would rather be still for hours than have you grumpy and moving away from her, and 2. she could use some relaxing time with you before having to work

she can’t keep up with your naps, but she will pause what she’s doing to give you a little kiss on the forehead so she can snap a picture of you stretching and curling back up

husker

husk is already a little cat like (he’s literally a cat) so yall either get along great or you’re arguing all the time then sleep together (yk those cats that are hissing and growling and shit then cuddle while they sleep… yeah)

he lets you sit on the bar, but only because if he told you to get down you’d start knocking things off the counter “accidentally”

whenever he sits on the couch, if you’re not already asleep, you’re quick to sit next to him and lie on his lap. he might grumble a little, but he’s definitely running his hands over your hair and listening to you pur as you fall sleep

loves bedtime — as soon as you’re in either of your rooms, the first thing you’re doing is cuddling up and he might not admit it to anyone, but it’s his favorite part of the day

alastor

you know those cats that, no matter how much you move, they just won’t get off of you? thats you with al

he reluctantly lets you lie on him, but in the same way he lets niffty climb all over him, he’s not going to stop you. especially because he doesn’t mind how warm you are. not that he’d say it, but he does find you lying on him very comfortable after a long day and will definitely use it as an excuse as to why he can’t get up to do whatever someone is asking for

“can’t you see i’m needed elsewhere?” “i’m very busy at the moment!” and he’s just drinking coffee, reading the paper, and sitting with your head on his lap

when you’re alone, he’ll tell you that you’re welcome to lie on his lap “if you truly need to rest”

don’t get grumpy with him though, he’ll get up every time you come to sit with him

angel dust

don’t put it past him, he will carry you around if you’ve been lying on him and he needs to get up because 1. there’s no way he’s waking you up and 2. he’s not about to have you be grumpy that he moved (though there is a chance you’ll be grumpy that he moved you, but at least you’re still warm)

loves cuddling, but his favorite thing is making you purr by massaging your ears out scratching your head while you’re lying on him — and he absolutely loves when you lie on him

yes sitting on the couch is nice, but once he’s lying in his room and you come in and lie on his chest, he’s the happiest he’s ever been. especially after a long day at the studio

if he has to leave while you’re asleep, he’ll leave you food that probably won’t get eating until he comes back and wakes you up by moving your cushion slightly, making you all pouty — which he finds absolutely adorable

he can’t take any pouty/frowning/grumpiness from your seriously when it’s so adorable

sir pentious

you definitely have a bit of similarities when it comes to finding warm spots to relax in, and that probably led to you relaxing together because you refused to move, and he needed to be warm (that’s when he found out he actually enjoyed your company)

as quickly as he let’s you into his workspace, he kicks you out because you just keep knocking shit over, but then he let’s you back in cause you’ll just sit outside the door and sneak back in when he leaves momentarily

once he figures out how to get something warm in his workspace that you’ll just sleep on, he’s happy to have you there. especially because he finds you adorable

he probably stops working to sit with you, or kiss your head, or just wake you up because he does kind of miss you knocking things over even though he can’t stand it

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chaosinyourhouse · 10 days

Text

Blood lust memes part.3

Blood lust is by Babygrillbree on ao3.

Stop looking at me like that, I'm just trying to make it through the big ass wait for the next chapter. I'm on my last fucking limb guys, I'm going to comit a hate crime if I do not see adamussy in the next update. You hear me? None of you are safe, I'm in front of you're doorstep right now. I know how to use a knife.

Off topic, but I imagine our full demon form is just a huge ass dragon bat. Kaiju ass.

334 notes · View notes

t0rturedangel · 3 months

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╭ . . . 𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ੭

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 '𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴' 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵

⿸ 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚍 ➤ ﹝𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦﹞ ⿸ 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 ➤ ﹝𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭﹞ ⿸ 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 ➤ ﹝𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦??﹞

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭- 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦

⿸ 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 ➤ ﹝𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦??﹞

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄 — 𝘢 ��𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭, 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯- 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 — 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴, … 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨- 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐊 — 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 — 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺-𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 — 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐕𝐎𝐗 — 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥 (?) 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘦𝘴

⿸ 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 ➤ ﹝𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦﹞

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐎 — 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 — 𝘛𝘩𝘦 '𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬' 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴

⿸ 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚞𝚎 ➤ ﹝𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩﹞

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄 ━ 𝘈𝘥𝘢𝘮'𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴

other characters will be added when i learn about them (also requests are open- feel free to requests anything :> )

475 notes · View notes

primrosebow · 1 month

Note

Do you draw or write for the girls? Because I would love seeing any type of Lute, Charlie or Vaggie art in your style

Also I would eat your art 20/10

Short answer: yahhh xoxo💞

Long answer:

_-->Various hazbin hotel women x reader // art

!Content warnings!:the usual nsfw, this has the gals listed in the ask🫡 a few headcannons added for flavor, gn reader cause I never specified literally anything, more words than usual.

We are SO BACK 💪💪💪 request things ‼️ My activities would get me perma banned from the vatican, I'm afraid.

Charlie //

I, unlike most other people here, believe that charlie most often tries to take the role of a dom! She's used to trying to fix everyone else's problems, but, she'll crumble if she ever gets treated like the perfect princess that she is. Call her beautiful, praise her, give her that affection she desperately needs. She's been helping her citizens for so long, she deserves to get taken care of!

Honestly, when you slowly push that vibrator inside her after what felt like an agonizing ammount of time for prepping, she was ready to cry on the spot. She can barely believe you even talked her into being in the receiving end of this -she's the one supposed to be pleasing you!- Getting this much attention and love made her brain go all fuzzy and tears well up in her eyes as her limbs felt weak; she was trembling far too much from the overwhelming pleasure she felt right then to truly care about what this whole situation did to her ego.

She doesn't realize her horns have made an appearence as she pleads with you: come on! You were giving her so much attention just a minute ago! Please! Being as close to you as possible is her only wish right now. Her pitiful tone and cries for you directly contradict how her tail is shaking at it's tip, much like that of an excited cat -she's enjoying this far more than she expected-.

If you do decide to give in and finally rub on her already overstimulated clit just as you had been doing before, she'll cling onto you for dear life- practically sobbing as you give her precisely what she needs. Maybe she can get used to being treated nicely by you. (She learns that she cannot get enough of the overwhelming passionate act of letting you be in control, it's far too good for her to only experience it once.

She'll soon get a little cocky though... she isn't the daughter of the king of pride just because of her name, if you catch what I'm throwing)

// //

Vaggie //

Vaggie has placed quite a notorious quantity of expectations on herself. She's always been this way, and, continues to be despite your affirmations of her worth. Your constant and relentless words of praise to her: how beautiful she is, how strong, how perfect, how brave, how hot- it all got to her head very quickly. Your words contradicted her thoughts on herself but the way you kiss along her neck makes any thought melt away from her brain and be replaced with pure emotion.

// //

"Mh.. please, darling- I-" she tried to form a sentence, eventually getting cut off by her own moans. Her nightgown was pushed up as she laid with her back against your bed, squirming slightly as she feels your fingers rub against her insides. She clenches around you as you drag your thumb over her swolen clit, which was begging for your attention since the very start of this. Her hips stutter as she can't pick between indulging the stimulation and running away from the pleasure.

Her eyes struggle to keep themselves open, but you had told her to look at you during this. She couldn't let you down. Not when you were saying she was "doing so good f'me". Those are some of the few words that can pierce through the thick veil of the ecstasy-like feeling of your attention and carve themselves into her very soul. She was good. Good for you. She couldn't ask for anything better, and, won't- can't be letting you down.

You.. leave her easy tasks such as looking at you and being a little quieter just so she feels like she's still, in some way, being useful to you. Slow and steady wins the race, and, soon enough you hope to remove the constant anxiety of servicing you from the act of love you want to give her.

Lute //

Lute is quite interesting because she has this weird duality between wanting approval and not being able to take said approval. Sometimes, she'll activelly attempt to rile you up enough that you'll punish her (something you have already told her is not necessary, since you can be harsher on her if she simply asks) but please don't blame her! She's just used to being treated roughly, it's "safer" for her to stay in her comfort zone of thorns and cruel words at first.

But only at first. Like I said, she really does want to feel loved. One of the first times you attempted to give her the affection she craves, after having learned that she can't deal with the purely lovey, sappy affection yet, you had to get resourceful with bringing her the love she needs.

"Awh sweetheart, you can't handle this?" You dig your fingers even deeper into her, a squelching noise arises from the action because of just how wet she already is. She groans at your words, and, if you didn't know any better, she'd have sounded like any other cheap sinner from lust with how aroused she was at your teasing. But you do know better. Your comment- it was slightly mocking, it was maddening; it was a challenge. For her to keep her composure for as long as she can. Lute grabs onto you even harder so she can regain some sense of stability, finally locking eyes with you. She moves her hips slightly against your fingers. Despite it being her own action, she groans. She says in a shaky tone

"Do your worst."

Ah, you can't deny such a request, now, can you?

// //

BONUSSSSSSSSS‼️

Velvette //

"Agh- fuck you! H-ah-" she tried to act mad, don't get her wrong. She really did. But that's astoundingly hard to do when your lover has their hand in your panties and is currently relentlessly and harshly rubbing against your clit like it was the last thing they'll ever touch.

You really could not have picked a worse time to do this; right before one of her new collection showcases? Did you want her to die? You forcefully push her thighs apart when she pressed them toguether, not letting her even attempt to get back a semblance of composure. As if that wasn't enough, you had locked her bracelets toguether behind her back, and, even if she wouldn't admit it to a single soul, it really turned her on.

She tried to think as hard as she could, try to offend you, try to play her own pleasure down, but she really couldn't. Empty remarks about your incompetence or appearence or literally anything she could get her mind around slowly melted away into moans and whines, the much too familiar shame from getting overwhelmed so easily by you also pushed aside by a desperate search for her own release.

When she finally did cum, she doesn't hold back on how loud her moan of your name was, her thighs trembled as she leaned on your body for support. She intentionally turns her head away from the mirror so she won't be faced by her own overstimulated self, and much less your self-satisfied grin as you watch her panting against you.

Oh gods... what was she doing again? Hmm.. OH YOU BASTARD YOU RUINED HER PANTIES! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EXPENSIVE THAT FABRIC WAS? FUCK YOU.

Let's just hope that the fashion gossip blogs don't catch onto how uncharacteristically out of breath she was during that showcase!

I love piracy so much RAHHHHHH‼️‼️ if buying ain't ownin, piracy ain't stealin, but I wish it were. IMAGINE‼️ you download idk ratatouille and they just don't have it anymore. "Guys they took ratatouille again..." I wish. I wish watching media through torrent sites was like taking various items from ikea.

I WOULD download a car.

@bigfatbimbo cause of the little bonus of velvette

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel charlie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel lute x reader #woah thats a lot of tags

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kurosstuff · 1 month

Note

Some preening headcanons with any of the angel girls please?

Take this for now~ hope you like it!

I'm very busy this week BUT- here's my attempt

ALSO I KINDA DID MORE HEADCANONS THEN KIST PREENING- IM SORRY I KINEA- WENT OFF

Gonna do three girls with wings- sera vaggie and lute(surpise?/j) idk how to write Emily yet-

Warning(s): some angst? Insecurities(in lute and veggies parts), fluff, wing stuff, established relationships in each ones(lovers for vaggie reader is a female, drabbles(some nsfw) slighr nsfw stuff

Never wrote vaggie. Hope she's good

ALSO I DIDNR REALIZE. LUTES IS SO FUCKING LONF.

Preening headcanons(sera, vaggie, lute)

Sera

• I'm gonna say it. Out of all three ladies? She KNOWS how to preen her wings the best. Sure with six wings its more time-consuming and a pain but she knows how important it is.

Which also means she's the most willing to accept your help. Of course, only if it's you two, and she knows you enough- cause wing preening? Is a mate/very sensitive thing for angels

• and it doesn't matter if you have wings or not- shell sit patiently guiding you through how to handle her wings. Given having six is even more work. BUT also much more sensitive

"My love~ please be careful how you touch them" Sera hummed, wings flapping from your touch one eye popping out, watching you closely making you smile at it- humming in approval she closed the eye closing her main ones at the itching pain vanishing "it feels nice~" she purred out softly feeling your hands dipping between her feathers before jolting

"My love- please- you know how sensitive my wings are-" she huffed face flushed dark turning to you huffing at your knowing smirk "guess this.. will turn into something more huh sera ~?" You hummed kissing the wing closest to you

• not all the time but every now and then does it turn into a spicy preening. (Not when her wings genuinely bring her pain) cause as she does keep good track of her preening. Sometimes, she forgets. Or gets to distracted from work. So you step in to help.

To remind her of what she needs.

• she couldn't ask for a better mate to help her preening. To help her wings in general. She's a tall woman so even though it takes a much longer time given she has more then two wings.. she's lucky you stuck around, more to help.

Bonus points if you have wings.

Cause then she'll help preen you no questions asked. Hell shed even offer the help.

Vaggie

• ok first things first. Vaggie? Is very insecure about her wings. Before falling she kinda knew how to handle preening enough so it wouldn't like- cause issues? But. She'd miss some. She'd miss the cloest ones to her middle of her back-

Only time she allowed Adam to help. Given she couldn't do it herself. Didnt trust the others too.

• but now in hell? She regrew them or- whatever.. it hurt. Like hell. Them ripping through her scared back- bur now she needs to relearn how to live with wings like she learned how to live without.

"I got it- I got it" vaggie growled out, giving you a pointed look on instinct as her wings flapped around, hitting yet another plate, sending it flying off the counter shattering as she tried to relearn how to fold them. To relax them.

"I really think-"

"I fucking Got it" she yelped out

• stubborn. She's a good lover awkward given her upbringing. But she never once meant to upset you. Never meant to take her temper out on you. But, she just didn't know how to properly react to this annoying pain again after all these years of no wings. Now it's here and she needs to preen? Again?

Asking was just as uncomfortable for her. Knowing you always offered to help? Made her upset. For two reasons- her stubbornness from her past to ask for such help pinging in anger at the suggestion she needed help. And two. Because of her snapping at you. Her girlfriend. Yet here she is doing what she was uncomfortable with.

She knew deep down as much as you could turn her away- send her off. You won't. So she? Asked

And you of course. Agreed

"Come on love~" patting in front of you, she stared. Her one good eye glancing at the cushion in front of you on the bed silent. To uncomfortable- unnerving to speak. Stepping too put od her comfort zone to ask. To allow you to touch her and know she's safe. She cant help but be uncomfortable. "When your ready? Let me see your pretty wings?" You hummed as she finally sat down. Tense infront of you.

Finally releasing her wings she allowed you to do your job. The second your hands touched her wings- touched her? She relaxed against you. Feeling safe. Which even now after all these years is..

Odd

• every time you preened her- shed be a more cuddly mess- nuzzling into you hiding into your chest or neck wings flapping puffing up.

It wasn't until you read up on wings to help her that you learned why. How it was like an intimate courting thing to do.

• didn't really understand, but. If it made her happy? You were happy. And imagine your surpise when she handed you her feather

Lute

Lute? Is not insecure about her wings. No she's very prideful of them how strong they are how soft and all the stuff she'd do to court you(despite her not needing to) she is COMPLETELY prideful of them. Showing them off all the time to you- she didn't care for anyone else's opinon..

But she is insecure. About her lack of knowledge of how to properly care for them. All executioners have this issue. Their all taught to be fighters killers. Nothing else. She's still learning to be a good lover- a gentle lover with you. But the basic stuff she knows how to preen.. but it hurts still.

She almost asked Adam for help but. She's to prideful. She can't accept help. That'd mean defeat for her. Mean she can't do it. Mean she ISNT the best. Mean.. she's not the perfect mate. Mean she isn't right for you- asking for help on anything sends her into a freak out. Makes her panic cause what If you leave her?

She can't even cook nor make nests completely right. So why would you want a mate that CANT even preen? Something all angels know. Doesn't matter executioners are.. exempt from this. Doesn't matter to her.

Lute is like vaggie. Stubborn. Unwilling to accept help even from her mate- her lover. She'll throw a fit- if you oh so mention her needed to be preened. She's just way to prideful.

Youll know when she needs to preen. Its the only time youll see her more.. phycially emotional rather then just her words. Oh, she'll yell. It's already well known how.. angry. Lute generally is other than her more... stoic persona.

If it weren't for her wings flapping or her having them at all- you'd call her a rabbit. Given how she stomps her foot like what rabbits do when angry(I know birds do as well when upset/uncomfortable)

"...lute" you cautiously called out. Watching as she stormed around your shared room wings puffing stretching as she roughly plucked herself. Glaring at you she huffed watching you closely as you swallowed

"May i help-"

"no" she cut off, snarling loudly feet stomping in that familiar way when.. she got like this. "Think I can't fucking take care of MY wings? I'm fine. I got it."

"But i- I can-"

Snarling she stormed off slamming the door roughly

"-help-"

Lute? Will stomp her feet. Wings puffing flapping in an annoyed anger cause of her wings irrating her. And that- you know you can jump in- asking yet again- cause she'll break at some point.

She always did. Always broke. Hinting for you to ask. And shell.. "reluctantly" agree and accept your help. As if you pushed her too. God heaven forbid she asks for help herself.

Stopping, you glanced up, seeing Lute again in front of you showing off her wings how it needs to be preened. Humming you blinked in thought. This.. was the third time she did such a thing

"...lute?" Her head tilting to you slightly, almost uninterested. But you saw that look. The look of panic but.. hopefully "do you need..help?" You asked once more unsure how she'd take it.

"If you insist so much. Fine, " she grumbled out, not even waiting, moving to sit in front of you. Smiling, you sighed. Of course, she wouldn't have actually asked.

She may not understand exactly how to preen but- her wings as always are like super soft- comforting as she sighed in relief as you preened her.

But if you asked? Oh, shed reject. How would she be happy for this? She is not. Nope. Nuh uh. Not at all happy her mate helped her.

She does surpise you, though. Even though she does it each time. How she piles her feathers you preened of her feathers. How she won't let you touch a single one, sending a glare your way if you so much as do.

Going through each and every feathers inspecting them as if searching for something. Then, the most acceptable ones she'll put a smaller pile wings puffing as she looks for the single best feathers.

She accepts no less than perfection after all.

Then once she finds it? She'll go to you- presenting it to you- insisting you inspect it for yourself and wait. Wait for you to accept or reject her feather.

Of course you accept-

Then she's all pridful. For getting the best feather for her mate. How you approved of her choice.

Of course if you have wings? Shell insists on preening you herself. She knows it's an intimate thing. How sometimes it does lead.. to more but. She thinks it's more special if she herself does it for you... ironic since she hardly accepts your help but. She does her best

You do have to show her- tell her if she's being to rough. After all? She doesn't know how to be gentle with anything much less wings

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #lute x reader #hazbin hotel lute #sera seraphim #hazbin hotel sera #sera x reader #vaggie #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie

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rubra-wav · 2 months

Text

Butterfly demon reader pt. 2 - Wing care group hc/drabble-y

Cw: SFW, total fluff, gn!reader - in which Vaggie, Husk, and reader preen each other's wings

< Part 1

- In the beginning, Vaggie is hesitant to let you or Husk touch her wings. She just got them back, she doesn't want them to get harmed at all.

- However, not letting anyone help with upkeep would be leaving her wings even more vulnerable to damage. So she agrees to it eventually.

- The topic originally came up because Vaggie was concerned about your wings

- They are so delicate and prone to being damaged by so many things. If you even just brushed up against things accidentally and had too much of your scales come off it could be bad!

- Assuring her you had a lot and could replenish them after a certain amount of time didn't do much either.

- After the Angel's attacked the hotel, your wings were left tattered in places, and she had absolutely fretted over it. Helping you take care of them until they healed up.

- She was taken aback when you asked if you could help preen her own wings, but after some convincing let you.

- After she got over her initial hesitance and slight discomfort with having them touched, she couldn't lie that after so long, having delicate touches gently correcting her feathers and brushing them out felt incredible.

- That's how wing care group began.

- Every Monday at 8pm, you and Vaggie meet up for an hour (or more if it turns out that way) to help one-another clean and maintain one-another's wings.

- In these sessions you usually just talk about random stuff and gossip a bit.

- You make tea and snacks, and essentially just chill out together doing whatever.

- Sometimes other members of the hotel will join you two to do whatnot while you work on each other.

- One of these times is how you two rope Husk into it.

- You'd set up in the TV room (you usually met for it in your hotel room) because you saw a movie you thought Vaggie may have liked, and Husk was there watching you two go about stuff with disgust on his face from behind the bar.

- "Do you two have to do that shit here?" Husk asks with clear distaste.

- A remark he'd regret making because next thing he knows, you and Vaggie are picking him up by either arm guiding him into the seat of wing attentionTM and are sitting him down in it.

- He of course tries to get out of it, but you end up convincing him to stay miraculously.

- By the end of you two working to groom his wings, he's purring begrudgingly with the bitterest look on his face, trying to say he doesn't like it.

- You call his bullshit and he goes quiet with an even more sour look on his face.

- Despite 'not liking it', he ends up showing up next Monday again.

- He flips you off as you grin at him and say you were glad he was joining you two again.

- And that's how the three of you as your strange trio begin to weekly preen one-another. All the while getting in some great shit-talking and bitching sessions about stuff that's been going on in each of your lives.

- Other members of the hotel sometimes join in, but they don't ever get in as deep into the bond from it as you three share.

- Charlie often comes in to gawk and join in on your discussions, but usually doesn't consistently show as although she wants to be part of the stuff she sees this as really important bonding time just for the three of you (which is true)

- Angel sometimes comes in to the meetings while he's bored and wanting to bitch or asking Husk about the location of different booze in the bar.

- Pentious keeps trying to join you three saying you can help him with his tail and he'll help you with your wings, but it doesn't work as he isn't gentle enough with your wings the first time and ends up tearing one.

- The other two are extremely protective of you and your wings in particular, knowing first hand how easily they are harmed, so even with you saying it was fine with your wing slightly torn, the other two chuck him out.

- Niffty sometimes tries to crash the meeting to try get pieces of you, but the other two keep her from getting to you. You placate her with the excess feathers from the other two's wings and things your scales have brushed off onto. You don't tell the others about this.

- Alastor comes in to watch you all to make you uncomfortable even though he thinks it's gross.

- Especially Husk.

- You and Vaggie usually throw him out of there as soon as he randomly materialises in there without warning to be an asshole.

- It's an odd sight to see a fallen angel, an avian cat demon, and a butterfly demon preening each other, but the three of you become rather close due to it and you all would not have it any other way.

- You are all very protective of one-another after everything - especially Vaggie and Husk of you. If anything ever happens to you now, there's gonna be absolute hell to pay.

- You three all love the time you spend together every Monday night.

- Even if some people (Husk) would never admit it.

Rare fluff content from me 💀

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk headcanons #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #vaggie headcanons #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel pentious #hazbin hotel headcanon

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randoimago · 2 months

Note

Perhaps Charlie/Vaggie/Cherri Bomb x nb!reader?

Scenario is where r! accidentally breaks something sentimental to them (something r! gave them) so r! leaves for a bit of time and comes back after fixing it to the best of their ability

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Character(s): Vaggie, Charlie, Cherri Bomb

Note(s): So I don't know if you meant for this to be a poly with reader and all the characters, but I wrote it separately just in case.

Charlie

She is definitely upset that it broke, but she knows it's an accident. What makes her more upset is you leaving because she'd prefer to talk to you about it.

When you come back after fixing it, she's immediately pulling you into a hug (rather you're touch adverse or not). Charlie scolds you for leaving for so long just to fix it. She missed you a lot and was worried about you.

But she does appreciate the gesture so much. There's tears in her eyes at the fact you took so much time to fix it. Honestly, if there's still a crack or something to show it was damaged, then she ends up loving the item more.

Cherri

Definitely a bit bummed out that you broke it, but whatever, she breaks things all the time (accidentally and on purpose). She still has you so she's not too upset about the item being broke.

Cherri doesn't worry too much about you when you leave. She's given you plenty of bombs just in case some dickhead does try to mess with you while you're away. When you come back, she states that you owe her more than just the thing you fixed.

More being kisses or hopping in bed together. She'll take the item back from you and put it where it was originally, but then she'll take your hand and drag you out to have a date because you've been gone too long for her liking.

Vaggie

While she's definitely upset that you broke something sentimental, she knows it was an accident and won't hold it against you. Might try to stop you from leaving because you really don't need to go out of your way to fix it, but you're already out the door before she can.

Vaggie is worried that you're gone for so long, but she also knows you can take care of yourself. You just better send her a postcard or something so she doesn't start stomping around Hell to find you.

When you do come back, she is unbelievably touched that you actually managed to fix the item. She tells you that you really didn't need to go through all that trouble, but it won't stop her from hugging you and softly thanking you.

Taglist: @unhelpfulnpc

#Anonymous #hazbin hotel x reader #vaggie x reader #charlie x reader #charlie morningstar x reader #cherri bomb x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel charlie x reader #hazbin hotel cherri bomb x reader

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serene-destruction · 3 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel x Reader (Request rules)

Characters I Write For:

Alastor (I mostly do queer platonic for him but it can sometimes be read as romantic if that's what you're into)

Lucifer

Husk

Angel dust

Charlie

Vaggie

Vox

General info:

All fics are gender neutral unless it's smut or otherwise important to the story.

The better the request the more likely it is to be written. It's not first come first serve here.

Stuff I Will Do:

Darker themes (all of the angst, give it to me)

Platonic relationships (in any shape or form)

Yandere/obsessive relationships (only if the prompt is good enough. I'm very picky with them since this trope can be a bit much)

Smut on rare occasions. I like my porn with plot and unfortunately not a lot of stories I write end in sex.

Stuff I Won't do:

Non/dub con, incest, underage romantic or sexual relationships, ect. You all get the point. (Please don't make me edit this later because someone didn't get the point)

Smut with Alastor. You all do what you want and have fun, but personally I'm not interested.

Request away!

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mimicmimikyuwrites · 2 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

Lucifer Morningstar

A New Beginning - Fem!Reader

Summary: The birth of your daughter with Lucifer brings some of his fears to the surface as he meets her for the first time, but you're there to help him.

Jealousy - Fem!Sinner!Reader (SMUT)(MDNI)

Summary: Lucifer's jealousy emerges when your Ex from when you were alive enters the hotel in search of you. Lucifer makes sure to claim you as his.

The Sin of Lust - Fem!Reader (SMUT)(MDNI)

Summary: You confide in Lucifer about just how unsatisfied your husband, Adam, is leaving you. Lucifer decides to show you a whole new, much more pleasurable side of things, a side that leaves you wanting even more of it.

Charlie Morningstar

None yet!

Vaggie

None yet!

Adam

The First "I Love You" - Fem!Reader (SMUT)(MDNI)

Summary: You tell Adam that you love him for the first time, the first of any of his wives to tell him that. Your confession of love leads to Adam showing you just how much he loves you back.

Loyalty Is Hot - Fem!Reader (SMUT)(MDNI)

Summary: After Lucifer suggests to Adam that he might just steal you away during a meeting, you put Hell's king in his place; something your husband finds very attractive.

Lute

Angel Wings - GN!Angel!Reader

Summary: Angels have always wrapped their wings around the ones they love in a display of the highest form of admiration and affection. Lute's yet to do it to you, until the most recent extermination, that is.

Before-Work Quickie - Fem!Angel!Reader (SMUT) (MDNI)

Summary: You and Lute have a quickie before she leaves for work.

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chaosinyourhouse · 18 days

Text

Blood lust on ao3

Created by Babygrillbree

Yandere!hazbin hotel x bat sinner y/n memes

Some of this has all ready happened, or there just what I feel like the characters would act like towards y/n. Super excited to see Adam and Lucifer! (Mainly Adam) But I digress. I recommend it to everyone who hasn't read it yet! Addicted to it, been checking everyday to check if it updated. So, if Babygrillbree has a account here and sees this, hello! :)

But in all seriousness, in fucking love with this story.

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mournings-stars · 2 months

Note

Can I request something? It's your choice, of course, but if you want to, can you do a Vaggie x Partially Reptile Gn reader? So, like the reader gets cold during the night and Vaggie wraps her wings around them?

WAIT THIS IS SO CUTE i lovelovelove reptiles so here u go!! (it can either be set in heaven or hell)

so like reader would be maybe a snake demon or leopard gecko idk something adorable that is always looking for somewhere warm — leaning snake cus then vaggie would find it adorable when you curl up in a warm spot

you’re constantly looking for somewhere warm, but you’re not a fan of the fireplace so it’s usually on the couch, under several very specifically arranged blankets if not in your room — which was basically a vivarium with all the humidity and plants you had

vaggie cannot stand your room. its basically a sauna on one side, with the basking lights and heat lamps in every space that’s not obnoxiously humid, and freezing fucking cold on the other. and still humid! the place is practically suffocating so she hardly spends time in there with you — and since that’s the only place you’re super comfortable that means you don’t get too much alone time

its a lot cooler at night in your room, and the humidity goes down (especially when you turn off the heat lamps) so you compromise with vaggie and turn the basking lights and heat lamps off earlier in the evening than you have scheduled so she can come sleep in your room at night

obviously she notices you’re not as comfortable without them so she sheepishly suggests using her wings

now even if you’re not a burrowing reptile, a warm, tight space is something you can’t pass up — every reptile loves a good hide, and her wings are the perfect one. if you curl up, you’re barely covered, but it feels safe, warm, and secure, which is enough for you

plus vaggie thinks its the cutest thing ever and lets you lie under her wings whenever you want — finding out you also need to have a cool hide to regulate your temperature and taking advantage of your preference for her wings whenever you need to cool down, regulate, or relax

needless to say vaggie loves coming to and staying in your room now. maybe she’ll even sit in there with you during the day if it means she gets to see you all curled up under her wings

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ephemeralxv · 2 months

Note

If I may request, could you write a headcanon or short story of a gn reader wishing to train under Vaggie to learn to fight?

of course!! thank you for the request, honorable anon, and sorry for the wait 🫡

Combat lessons || Vaggie x gn!reader

tw: death mentions?? really mild though.

You were never a type of person to start fights, or take part in them. Back in your alive days, you weren't aggressive at all. You didn't care about learning some martial arts. You considered such skills sort of useless. If a guy twice your frame attacked you all of a sudden, there'd be no point in fighting back, since he'd be stronger than you anyway. No matter if you knew how to defend yourself or not. You were just careful everywhere you went and tried not to go out when it was already dark outside. That was your self-defense. Precaution.

Now, there were a lot of factors that made you change your mind about learning to fight.

First one was when you were still alive. You and your friends went out to have some fun in the town. One of many places you visited that time was an old arcade downtown.

You know those boxing machines? Your friends encouraged you to try that one out. And your protests were futile. So for the sake of peace and quiet, you agreed.

A miserable failure.

You missed the punching bag almost entirely.

Your score? 1.

Not even 10.

One point.

That made you consider the thought of taking combat lessons.

But only consider.

Another one of those factors was a guy who mugged you when you were just coming back home from work. The one time when you took overtime and finished after midnight. Only then you regretted having no skills in self-defense as you drew your last breath, seeing the man running off.

If you had to rate your behavior, you didn't think of yourself as a sinner. You thought you were a good person while alive.

Keyword, thought.

Apparently, God, Angels, or whoever was in charge of letting people through the purgatory considered cheating on one single test and a little pickpocketing back from being a teenager were enough to send you to hell.

Some party-poopers they are.

Hell was a living nightmare when you had nowhere to go and had to put up with other sinners and demons, who weren't very friendly towards you.

Except one.

Charlie Morningstar, the Princess of Hell herself. She decided to let you stay in a 'Hazbin Hotel' as she named it. A place for unholy people— demons? who wish to change their ways and become better. A place for those who wish to get redemption and go up to heaven.

Isn't it basically the same as going on a rehab as a mortal?

Either way, you were grateful that someone out there didn't want you dead... Double dead? Whatever.

There were a lot of other people at the Hotel too. Well, 'a lot' is a bit of an exaggaration, but what mattered was that you weren't alone!

And there was this girl, Vaggie, if you remembered correctly. She was... Feisty, to say the least.

Didn't seem to like you very much. At first.

And you couldn't say the same about her.

When you and Charlie passed through the threshold, she greeted you with a spear at your neck and a harsh look.

She only calmed down after the blonde princess explained that you were a new resident of the Hotel.

She even apologized for being so aggressive at the beginning.

You'd never admit it, but you weren't mad at all. If anything, you were impressed by that.

You often saw her practice her fighting style. And you'd stay in the doorway quietly staring at this in admiration.

Oh, how you wished she taught you something. Anything.

But you never said a word.

...Not voluntarily, at the very least.

But what were you supposed to say when she caught you watching her tear another dummy to shreds?

So you stood there. Vaggie in front of you with a raised eyebrow, as you held your head down low in embarrassment.

She sighed and you felt a hand pat your hair gently.

It moved to cup your cheek, making you look up at her. The features on her face soft as never before.

"Fine, I'll try to teach you everything I know."

This made you beam as you hugged her tightly, repeating thank you's happily.

You started your first lesson the same day. Vaggie placed a clean dummy in front of you.

"Alright, [Y/N]. I want you to hit it as hard as you can."

Remember the boxing machine? This time you did even worse than then.

You took a swing and tried to punch the dummy in its head.

And you slipped.

A hit not even worth one point.

Vaggie sighed heavily.

Seems like there's a long way ahead of you before you learn anything...

Thank you again for being my first request ^^ Hope you enjoyed it <3

#Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin vaggie #vaggie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #headcanons #vaggie headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanons

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kurosstuff · 20 days

Note

Feel free to ignore this if it's too confusing, I myself got a lil confused while writing this.

A'ight so.

✨siren!vaggie x human!fisherman!reader x siren!charlie✨

One of the two gets overly curious and gets caught in one of readers nets, maybe charlie (sounds like smth she would do) and reader finds her and vaggie trying to get her out. Reader pulls out her fish knife to cut the net but vaggie gets the wrong idea and tries to stubornly fight her on land with her bare hands while the reader is franticaly trying to explain that she just wants to help. Just some silly first meeting shenanigans.

OMG Y3S- THIS IS SUCU A GOOD IDEA HELLOz

Also Idk anything fishing. I went fishing once when I was a little kid also short fic♡♡

LIKE UH- Charlie being a siren which? Are cruel creatures the counterpart to mermaids who are innocent(in a human aspect) kind? Like she actually is? He'll y3ah.

Siren! Charlie x fisherman!reader x Siren!Vaggie: unexpected meeting

Being a fisherman is fun- you don't have to worry about other humans stealing from you. Not usually- nor interacting with them. Just can sit back on a your deck waiting for something to catch in your net.

But there's a huge downside. You'll have encounters with other monsters. Land or sea doesn't matter. But- the one you've always hoped to never encounter. The one you like all over fisherman were warned about.

Sirens.

As beautiful as they are- just like mermaids yet oh so different. Known for luring any human to crash or to get into the water. To eat. Hell apparently- they don't always need to eat. They hunt for sport.

They hunt humans for fun

Shivering at the thought, you hummed, having to be more cautious as you set a net out into the ocean humming softly. Apparently, more monsters have been spotted - blinking, you turned hearing your name be called seeing the grumpy old man go up to you huffing. "You be careful, ok, kid?" The man grumbled the as usual Beer in his hand, making you frown - raising an eyebrow, he grunted "you don't know do you?"

"Know what-"

"The fucking siren sightings" he cut you off growling glaring in the water "twos been spotted near the town. You gotta be careful. You know the rules with handling them, right?" Seeing you nod, he hummed, patting your shoulder "after you're done. Come to my bar. I'll get you a drink. On the house. Owe you one anyways-" without waiting, he walked off.

Sighing, you nodded, slowly moving to set out your net. Never was a fan of using the pole. Making sure it was ready, you cast it into the water moving to sit on the chair you brought along sighing.

Now. You wait.

It was uneventful. Hours you waited. Nothing- it usually didn't take this long to get a pull from any fish. It was always active. Now? It wasn't. Like the fishes weren't around.

It was weird.

You almost gave up abour to pull the net in calling it a day- wasn't unrare of getting nor good pulls. Just rare to get none.

Before a pull from the net making you grin, "YES!" You cheerer pulling the net in- needing to use more force "fuck big catch today huh-" taking so much longer to pull in then usual.

You wondered what fish you caught' or like your luck. What trash did you bring in

But the second you pulled the net our. You stared at the being in the net. "What the fuck" you choked out confused at what you were even looking at.

A siren.

A fucking siren is in your net.

"H-hi, my names Charlie-" the siren spoke speaking, but you didn't really hear her as you stared. Confused. "So uh.. can you.. let me go?"

"But.. your.. a siren. You'll know?" Gesturing to her claws making her look down yelping looking up at you like a kicked puppy. As if you just told her a horrifying thing

"I'd never hurt a human!" She stuttered out, shaking her hands,"not intentionally - accidentally yeah sure their like super fragile, but.. no- no- sorry i -" she rambled. Blinking, the more you watched, the more you sighed. She - wasn't actually that dangerous. Well. She is. All sirens are

But she was like- a puppy? A sea puppy,

"Ok"

She froze, looking up at you, confused, her rambling cut short "ok I'll get you free-... need to get my knife to cut you free. That's the only way ok?" Seeing her nod, you hummed, pulling out your large knife walking to her

A bubbling noise was heard as you cut the net freeing her- not seeing her panicked face. As she watched the water. "Hey, you ok -" you were cut off by a blur jumping out of the water snarling loudly with a deep hiss charging right at you

"VAGGIE! NO-" the one siren from the net screamed out as another jumped onto you cutting your arm making you kick her off scared- terrified.

Is this how you die? From helping a siren? To be killed by another?

How unlucky can you be?

Holding your cut arm from the grumpy snarling siren- apparently named Vaggie as Charlie? You think - rushed forward, smiling, acting as if she was a mermaid. But - she's a siren, right? "Oh! Yes! I am a siren! But uh.. don't worry, me and Vaggie won't hurt you well... not again!" Charlie laughed awkwardly, rubbing her neck making you flush in embarrassment.

You said that aloud.

Sighing, glancing at vaggie, kicking the knife you used to free the taller siren for from you praying. That wasn't a mistake the snarling slowed, calming down "no no- i- sorry I was just trying to get some food- I uh- didnt mean to trap you.. didn't know sirens like- came here?"

Charlie grinned, nodding excited "oh! Me and my girlfriend Vaggie-" gesturing to the grumpy siren who glared you down "were cutting through were to meet with some mermaids-!" Smiling happy ad you hummed

"Mermaids? Seriously. Ok- Charlie, right?" Seeing her nod in agreement, making you hum softly "the mermaids aren't here. Well not now. Their off doing some hunting and what not. But careful you two. People know your here and not everyone will be nice like I am to you two"

That caused Vaggie to be on edge more so then she was already while Charlie? Didn't look worried at all.

Which concerned you.

"Wait' Charlie- don't tell me are you still gonna continu-" you were cut off by Charlie jumping into the lake. Swimming off as Vaggie stared at you. Unreadable

"I'm sorry" she spoke for the first time Grunting it out as if she never- or hardly spoke or apologied "Charlie does this. Jumps into things without much thought" making you nod slowly trying to understand- before you could reply to her.

She was gone. Following Charlie.

Staring off watching them both disappear you sighed. "..that's it I quit" you grumbled turning to pack up

#hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie #MONSTER AU

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rel124c41 · 2 months

Text

MASS ANESTHESIA. vaggie

You cannot leave her to die. Down one eye, down two wings, defenseless. She spared your nephew’s life. Her blood smells divine.

tags: developing relationship, angelic lore, moral dilemmas, cannibalism, sad with a happy ending, masturbation, phantom wounds, eye trauma, fruit symbolism, the erotism of tasting the divine

word count: 8,335

IF an exorcist angel does not kill you, you will do the job yourself.

How could you have been so careless? Despite hearing the sound of glass breaking, you just assumed that it did not affect the matchbox home you had hidden yourself and your nephew in. You knew that boy got scared of loud noises, Satan, glass breaking? You should have been smart enough to know he would run out of fear. Now you rush out in streets of discord, looking for a boy not even up to your hip yet in height. Yes, you will definitely end yourself after all is said and done.

You are fortunate to be hellborn. Your nephew is not. And if only your fucking dead, deluded sister did not fall in love with a Sinner man who already had a child! Pushing a scrambling Sinner out of your way and into the waiting spear of an exorcist, you continue rushing through the current of chaos and feverishly search for him.

The world is so horribly vast. You never ventured out of Cannibal Town. Planning to keep yourself in one place, you and your relatives would be safe until you all died of old age.

You fucked it all up as always.

Pentagram City is alien – the reflective surfaces of VoxTek technology so foreign to you who lived in a place paused in the earliest part of the twentieth century, 1910s. Even cars are a cultural whiplash to you. Though, you are a quarter-worth certain that functioning automobiles are not typically upturned on their bellies, distorting with the fire that burns out of them, glass shattered.

You do not know where to even begin searching for him. Somewhere quiet is where he would mouse himself away but the earth tonight until dawn will be a cacophony of screams and cries. You book it down a left corner, calling out your nephew’s name.

Then, you catch the sight of him. Him running down the street, tearful, as an angel whips around the corner, hot on his tail and a few feet off the ground. Then he bolts in a dead-end alley. NO! You rip into the scene desperately, jumping sidewalk to sidewalk. Curses on your tongue and legs burning with effort, you follow after them.

The wings of an angel, front or back, are always an odious image. Known for their speed, there is something horrible that rises up inside you upon seeing them, unfurled and blocking your nephew from your view. You prepare yourself, readying to latch onto her back and feast down to her spine, to buy him time to escape. Surely you would die in your effort but –

“Go. Run, now.”

You freeze, staring at the back of the angel in disbelief. Huh? Your nephew is in more of an active state, taking his opportunity and rushing past the opening. His eyes find you and he jumps into your arms. You waste no time. Picking him up, you run just as another presence takes over your spot.

It is a ten second exchange. It happens in the blinks of an eye.

You can feel the heartbeat and presence of something ranking higher in piety than the angel who spared your nephew life, two heartbeats, puissant pulses.

As you book it down the street, you hear a woman scream, her cry of pain billowing out of her and from the same alley you just stood in the mouth of.

The world tonight until dawn will be a cacophony of screams and cries, you have no reason to check upon one woman when you hold your only living family member in your trembling grip.

CHARLOTTE Morningstar sends up bursts of fireworks just as you finish puking. An hour ago, you tucked your nephew into bed and left, ruminating in your mind. Your head is a cauldron of rotten and soured ingredients. You take one look at indigestible contents of your mind and stomach spilled on the ground and peel yourself from the scene.

Out of Cannibal Town, you have no direction of where to go so you wander purposeless. You thought you could clear yourself of this weight. Vomiting and walking until you reach the edge of the Pride Ring. If you reach the bottom of the earth, can you finally be free of this heavy, hanging weight?

Then, you smell it. Something that washes out all the putrescence sitting in the bowl of your stomach, cleanses it with soap and sponge, and makes you feel better again. Forgetting the bottom of the earth, you trail after that scent.

Pitching your nose up like a bloodhound, you let the aroma guide your feet in stumbling steps.

Thump!

Saliva fills your mouth, eager. You know the sound of a meal before you even set your eyes upon it. Turning the corner, you watch the injured person slip down the dumpster they had just thump-ed into. Exhausted, not going to put up much of a fight. Honestly, after this Extermination day, you thought your appetite would evermore remain a water soaked log, unable to spark into a flame again. How pleasurable to find that is not the case, you think, licking your lips.

The demon is panting feverishly, body quivering against the chilled dumpster’s surface. It twitches and murmurs. You never knew that Sinner smelt this good before. Then, your eyes land on the armored clothes thrown carelessly into a garbage can. Because that is what smells so divine – the blood laying on the clothes and the metal sides of the bin.

That stricken sensation returns to your stomach and your whet appetite quiets down. Your humane intelligence returns to you, reminding you of factors such as emotion and logic. You take in the sight of the body at a much slower pace.

A woman is panting feverishly, body quivering against the chilled dumpster’s surface. That uniform peeking out the garbage can is all the confirmation you need. You can connect the two linking smells coming from there, then from her. This is not something you should concern yourself with but –

You cannot leave her to die. Down one eye, down two wings, defenseless. She spared your nephew’s life. Her blood smells divine.

Making up your mind, you move forward, incredibly hungry and incredibly nauseous.

Before you even make a plan, you find yourself kneeling down in front of her. Kneeling, what an evangelical act to bend yourself and your strength down. Your blood races warm in your veins. The angel blinks disoriented and moves her cheek off the dumpster. Her mouth is open in tiny pants. And oh dear — when she turns to look at you, she only looks with one eye. Her left eye is a concave hole of pink tissue muscle which thuds with her veins which thuds with her heartbeat. You only catch a glimpse of it before she reels back, pressing herself into the dumpster.

“Wait, please,” you startle, showing her your empty hands. Displaying all the claws that could tear her apart.

What to do? You walked over to her with absolutely no plan. You do not have any medicinal supplies or bandages. And there is sincere doubt that an angel is going to waltz to a second location with a hellborn. What do you do —

Your stomach growls. The angel stares.

Without second hesitation, you take your hands and grip onto your skirt. The thick fabric weeps in your hands. Scrunching up your nose, you tear a long strip off your dead mother’s dress and turn motivated back to the angel.

“Please, let me.”

She flinches but stays still as you wrap the fabric in a mediocre tourniquet around the left side of her face. Best to avoid infection from alien viruses.

Neither of you smile at each other. She still looks ready to run. You still feel an unwavering hunger in you.

“If — If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name? You let my nephew live, um. I just would like to know your name.”

That seems to calm her down, shoulders relaxing, and she even gives you her name. “Vaggie.”

“(Name).” You can feel sweat run down from the crook of your arm to your inner elbow. Nervous that this is working. You haven’t fucked up yet. “My name is (Name).”

“COUCH. My bedroom. Kitchen. Bathroom. Off limits.” You point at each designated spot or room with a clawed finger. You deposit the blankets on the first item you pointed out, the couch.

For some reason, you feel uncomfortable at home. Bones and flesh too big for the apartment you have always lived in. You called it your matchbox apartment because of how little space it had, as much space as a matchbox to hold only matches, any other invader too large and ill-fitting. Now, you are trying to squeeze someone in and find yourself feeling unshapely.

You sniff when Vaggie sits on the couch, wary and small. Her single eye is unfocused as if she is trying to squint at everything through a sandstorm. You had to pull her from tripping over the limbs in the street four times.

“I serve lunch at 12 and dinner at 6.”

“Your nephew … is he?” She looks around the matchbox apartment, searching.

“Lunch at 12 and dinner at 6.”

TODAY, you take on a simple task. Cushion all the sharp corners in your home with bubble-wrap.

Vaggie watches you from her designated corner, single eye wide and full of caution. Ignoring her, you smooth the foam block onto the corner of your coffee table. The duct-tape croaks as you tear off a stripe. Let her look with all the abhorrence in her soul, it would not change that you needed to do this, if not for her safety then the safety of your furniture.

You doubt she noticed that you noticed. When she moved, she moved as if her Achilles tendons were sliced open. She had little coordination. You were tired of hearing pained groans accompanied by the wail of wood against the floor. It was bothersome.

“There,” you remark absentmindedly, standing up. With the living room and bathroom done, all that was left was the kitchen. You glance at where the angel is curled up, shivering. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

You know she will not eat any meat you serve. She must recognize Cannibal Town from past flights and recognize what your appearance means. You do not blame her for moving into the corners of rooms when you enter. It has only been two days with her in your home.

“Okay.”

You march into the kitchen to finish your task.

ONE random night, you stand above the angel in your living room. Dead light filled your windows and slept onto all your furniture. It is a calculated move on your part, making sure that the angel is in such a deep sleep that even the moon itself sleeps with her, translucent beams dull and tired.

Standing over the angel, you huff and puff like a wolf. Your chest billows in quick bursts, heart and lungs both erratic. You are like a starved animal whose metal leash is just a foot short of allowing you a meal. A rope of drool falls from your mouth, gelatinous and slippery.

The angel sleeps with her most vulnerable parts exposed like a puppy wanting belly-scratches. Neck. Stomach. Chest. Wrist and ankle. All part of her unarmored.

The second time drool pools over your quivering, snarling bottom lip, you take heed to wipe it with your wrist so it does not land on the angel and wake her up. You know rationally that one bite will lead to a gluttonous and greedy feast. As soon as you get to taste an angel, you doubt that you will ever want to eat anything else. All of your previous foods will lose color and taste, extinguishing your taste-buds in the presence of such delicious piety. Still, that alluring smell washes out a majority of your worry that other meals would be dull in comparison. Getting to taste Heaven just once … your mouth salivates at the thought.

Then, Vaggie rolls onto her side and snuggles into the duvet. A content smile on her face, happy that the duvet is warm.

Your mouth dries; you pull back physically and mentally, pulling back up your more merciful façade, sheep skin pulled over a mongrel mouth, blanketing yourself in your fake humanitarianism. You return to bed with an empty stomach.

OUT of nowhere, some arbitrary day, Vaggie aims a question at you like aiming a crossbow at a bird. The day was silent otherwise until she pierced it and ripped it apart. Her voice is soft and winsome, almost making you wish she indulged more in conversation with you. “Did the boy live?”

You freeze, body disconnecting from your raging mind. The knife in your hand stills, a centimeter of the way inside the lady apple you were slicing up for the roast. You can see the mountains of goosebumps rise on your foreheads, sleeves rolled up when cooking.

“No.”

No. His body laid in the off limits room, headless and torn at.

The squelch of the apple and bang of your knife meeting the cutting board is a horrid sound. You position your knife for the next cut.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

You do not think you can keep cooking. Trembling, you grip the countertop and hunch over your work. You do not know how you can survive with an angel in your vicinity especially when she says words like that, kind words that burn you.

Forcing a steady voice, you say, “It’s okay. You did more for my nephew than I did.” You continue cutting, even though your measured, straight apple slices turn unsymmetrical.

IT is a begrudging stay but it is a stay nonetheless. You can tell by looking at her that she does not want to be here but has no place else to go. She would much rather be picked up by someone kind that bleeding-heart princess, Charlotte Morningstar, or anyone in Cannibal Town without your issues. A lone woman grieving her nephew in a shitty matchbox apartment. A host less monstrous than you.

“HERE.” You place down the apple and knife. “Pick it up,” you instruct, sitting criss-cross across from Vaggie.

She grabs the knife and ignores the apple.

You deflate a tiny bit at that, then remind yourself that she is at least halfway there. Conceding, you turn to your own apple and knife. Precisely, you start to cut at your fruit, lecturing. “Your coordination is poor. You can barely walk around my house. You need to learn to live with a single eye now; so, start out small and learn basic life skills like how to cut an apple. Cut it into wedges, that isn’t so hard.”

To be frank, a small part of you did expect that your explanation would usher her into picking up the apple. Instead, she holds her newly acquired weapon to her breast. You mourn that you will likely never get that knife back.

Down, your eyes and attention shift to the apple slices in hand. What to do? What to do?

You do not want to work with her like she is some animal in your barn that you are trying to coax out, but how can you gain her trust besides in medicating steps like those? Your knife works slowly to make the bunny ears on the apple slice, skinning off a long triangle. Nature 101 says you allow animals to approach you in their own time.

“You must know this, that everything started with an apple. You and me, hellborn and heavenborn. Sinners and winners. All one tiny piece of fruit: knowledge, temptation, mortality.” You start plate-ing your army of rabbits, whittling with the fourth one to perfect his ears. “Our entire existence bloomed from one bite. This entire situation, from one woman’s hunger.”

Vaggie’s one eye flickers from your face to the apple on the ground, cautious. With your best efforts, you try to appear as timid as the animal you are craving from the fruit of life. It is a considerable task with your teeth and your claws. Hopefully, she reads well-meaningness in your pitch black eyes.

You keep the grin off your face when she picks up the apple, testing her visual perception and cutting wobbly wedges from fruit, because you know your teeth are not the best encouragement for her right now.

KNEELING, you try to repent.

The open maw of your refrigerator casts an evangelical light upon you. Holy light undulates on you in hypnotic heartbeat lines like underwater shadows. In the mouth of the refrigerator lies only one item: a single, air-sealed container of red meat.

Tired hand clasped around the handle, it shakes with violent tremors. You had attempted to submerge the volume of your cries but were fruitless. Out of your own mouth grief spills from. It is a wrecked, horrid sound. You gasp out a little speech around your heavy cries – tears and drool cascading down onto your knees – but all that comes out are broken vowels and smashed consonants. What comes out of you is the unknown torment of a mother losing their child. The image of Extermination night walks back into your mind and you wail louder.

You know you have to eat it. You know you have to swallow it. But the only taste you are able to plate is the bile rising in the back of your throat.

Eventually, your noise calls and beckons out your guest in the dead of the night. Vaggie stands in the kitchen doorway, watching you collapse into yourself underneath the pious glow of fluorescent bulbs. She cradles a fist up to her chest, running through all her options.

You are knocked out of your crying when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Mouth drying, you turn wide eyed to meet a sympathetic ivory eye, slanted down. Incredulous, you start to bristle away from her touch but stop when she starts to rub circles in your back.

Like an autumn leaf that puts up a valiant effort to stay tethered to its branch, you tremble wildly in her caring, angelic gesture. Then, you curl into her shoulder, sobbing anew.

It takes a while for you to come back to the house of your mind, sit back in the loveseat and understand what is happening. Thick webs of snot make a horrid noise as you sniffle. Your flustered cheeks are warm to the touch. Water has flooded your face, reaching down to your chin and neck. Vaggie’s hand on your back has still not stopped, circling and circling. The weight of her hand feels good on your spine – selfishly, you wish she would never stop.

Into her shoulder, you say with a damp voice, “As a cannibal, the tradition is that when a loved one dies, you prepare them into your favorite meals and eat them. So they stay with you forever.”

You are relieved that Vaggie neither flinches or stops in her motions. Saying something so monstrous like that, how careless of you. But needing to get the weight off your chest –

“When my parents died, my sister and I ate them. When my brother-in-law died in an Extermination six years ago, my sister and nephew ate him. When my sister committed suicide, her son and I ate. Now, it’s just me. He wasn’t supposed to—.” You choke on your words. I don't want to do this alone.

“You don’t want to do this alone?”

You tremble at how easily you are seen through. The intent in your flesh picked apart by a vulture’s beak. Shivering, you lean deeper into Vaggie’s hold and nod listless. You reel back when she asks: “Do you want me to join you?”

“I could never ask that of you!”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

“No.” You stare up into your fridge. There are multiple times in it, not solely the air-sealed container of red meat, but that one has the most hold over you. Hugging tiny arms and hands around your waist. So you stare at it in the pit of clerical light. You have to do this alone –

You do not realize you are crying again until Vaggie brings a hand up to your face, wiping tears.

“Tomorrow. You don’t have to tell me if you put it in the dinner. Just tomorrow.”

YOU stand outside of your apartment like you are a waiting guest. In your tight grip is a single box, wrapped in black and red bows. Walking down the street, you fought twice with the temptation to throw the box into an open dumpster.

This isn’t crossing a line right?

Lines are being crossed and cut already.

You stare once more at your apartment door, hard contemplation on your face. Keying it open, you walk in. And there is always the living room trash-can.

She needs an eyepatch.

“I like to make myself useful.”

You suppose anyone is like that, seeking a purpose to make themselves less bored. Vaggie has not done much besides sit on your couch, staring out at the street until the dead of the night, and flipping through books she does not read.

You did catch her one morning using the architrave of your kitchen door to do pull-ups. She dropped flustered to the ground at your gaze and hid in the bathroom, which you had crawled out of bed to use. So that is how calluses came to be on her fingertips instead of palms.

“Yeah, but –” You send a glance to all the ingredients on your countertop. Cooking was sacred to you, a realm entirely your own. Maybe you should buy plants for Vaggie so she can find something else to occupy herself with.

“Please.”

You wilt at her sad look, only half as good as anyone else’s but surprisingly more effective than anyone else’s. Maybe you can trust her with cutting the garlic cloves but nothing more. The knife you raise is the only answer you give.

“WHY do birds suddenly appear

Every time you are near?

Just like me, they long to be close to you”

Radios were very popular in Cannibal Town. Popular synonymous with mandatory in this special case. Rosie made acquaintances with a young, upstart gentleman around 1940, his name spoken by either amorous voices calling “Alastor” or spoken by recreant voices calling “Radio Demon”. Since then, radios popped up in every house in Cannibal Town like weeds in a garden. You still remember the lovelier days where your older sister sat blushing by the radio’s warm glow, giggling happily when voodoo sigils floated up from the wires, and swooning over the rare moments when Alastor sang in his transatlantic timbre. She was wholly mournful when you did not share her enthusiasm like the ladies down the streets. You admitted that he had a decent voice once then went back to cooking your father.

After the Radio Demon’s disappearance four years ago, there was little left to listen to on the radios besides a stray music station. You cannot find yourself to part with the relic. It is one of the only items in your matchbox apartment that resurrects eroded blithe emotions.

Today, at dinnertime, the radio plays Close to You by The Carpenters. Trying to remain with some antiquity despite the fact it was the twentieth-first century. You appreciate it though: a soft, tranquil melody so antonymous with how life is down below.

Plus, you love pianos. They were so romantic.

What you prepare is called lomo saltado. Your culinary skills are really being tested by having to cook tofu saltado, as tofu is a medium you are unfamiliar with. The challenge is enjoyable though. Under the circumstances that your life two months ago had not changed so extremely on Extermination night, you would have never glanced in the direction of tofu when grocery shopping.

Now you dip tofu into a mixture of cornstarch and salt, listening to a radio play a love song, as the angelic guest in your matchbox apartment finishes her last set of military push-ups before she joins you to help cut produce.

“On the day you were born the angels got together

And decided to create a dream come true

So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue.”

You are arm deep into a cabinet when you hear Vaggie walk in. Grabbing the cutting board, you praise, “perfect timing.” and move to allow her space to work. Her coordination has improved vastly in the time you spent together. You no longer eat one paper thin strip of tomato only to go for another and almost choke on the enormous size of it.

“Sorry for the delay, I wanted to –” Vaggie stops upon seeing your face. She forgets that you do not really like apologies. Playfully, she takes her fingers and zips her lips.

“Beat any personal records,” you ask, just trying to make conversation.

“Added an extra fifty pullups.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, can’t you tell?” She impressively flexes her arm. You laugh happily, handing her the kitchen knife. She picks up the parsley first and sets it down on the cutting board.

“I don’t know, you have a pretty lithe frame. Makes me doubt.”

“We can arm wrestle again if you need a third reminder.”

You fluster and tap her knee with your foot. “No, thank you. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to cook after the first incident. You acted like you wanted to be down a chef, left hungry and miserable.”

“Hey, I could cook if I ever needed to.”

“Yes, and you would just have to choke on it.”

This time she taps your knee with her foot. You two laugh as she adds the parsley in the bowl of ingredients. Fondly, you think of how much you enjoy how easily your conversations come when cooking and eating together, nothing like how it was not too long ago.

“That is why all the girls in town

Follow you all around

Just like me, they long to be

Close to you.”

It is nearing the end of that certain song, but you cannot stop yourself from asking: “Do you know how to dance?”

“Uh … I.” Vaggie stutters. Her Roman nose turns away from your peripheral, glancing around your kitchen as if you locked up her answer in a cupboard. “I.”

“It would be a good test for your coordination.” You point your own knife down at the cutting board when she has begun to cut the tomatoes. “Which could still use some work.” Still cutting a bit unevenly.

Vaggie is quite beautiful, hiding behind the silver overarching bang she is growing out. Her voice is winsome and she is something you do not deserve to keep. On the radio, a melody you have not had the pleasure of hearing before starts to fill the space of your kitchen. Unburdened by the evil of the probably dead Radio Demon, a woman sings: “So many cars, queuing in line. Such a sight just fills my heart with awe. Silent sadness fills my heart.”

“Do they dance in Heaven? They must, it is Heaven.”

“They do.”

“What about you? Do you like dancing?”

“As an … as an exorcist, I was not really allowed the time to learn anything about dancing. I just trained.”

Vaggie always waits for you to get hateful or vengeful at the mention of her being an exorcist. You should be, she thinks, risking a glance beyond her hairdo. Yet, you never shy away from her or the mention of Heaven. It is inane of you.

“Well, let’s train your body to dance. For your coordination of course.” Then you push her hands off the tomatoes and knife, dragging her into the center of your kitchen.

“Who should call us off?

Such a sight just fills my heart with awe

It’s some mysterious mass anesthesia.”

It is a learning process. Vaggie tries to follow your lead but you have no plan when dancing. She tries to take up the helm but finds herself nervous and backs off. So, you two just clash together, unexpectedly dancing a pretty dance despite your various differences.

When she rests her head on your shoulder, closing her single eye and thus ending the purpose of following coordination with her eye, you do not chide her on it.

IN the dead of the night, a scream floods your matchbox apartment. The waves of it crash into your bedroom, soaking your pillows and chilling the soles of your feet. Graceless, you push against it and catch just the last droplets of Vaggie’s piercing cry as she falls off the couch to the ground.

“What’s wrong!” Your mind flies to a hungry cannibal intruder who smelt an angel or perhaps one of those exorcists has flown down to finish the job. Your hand slams up the light switch. “Vaggie!”

Electric lighting in the 1910s is still spotty. Rosie has not found another decade she is fond of, thus leaving her town underneath the belt of many technological upgrades. It takes a few coughing flickers of dark and light before you can see clearly. Inside that momentary spasm, you think you catch the silhouette of someone standing over Vaggie.

“Hey! Leave her ALONE!” Your teeth flash solicitous in the light.

You blink in surprise to find no one but Vaggie in the living room; your anxiety birthing a figure who was never there. Your stupor is broken when Vaggie screams again, loud and pained, in a fetal position on the carpet. Falling to your knees, your eyes fly across her body. No visible injuries.

“Vaggie – Vaggie, what’s wr–”

“Para, duele!” She cries at the ground, panting, between her belts of agony. “Mis alas!”

“What? – I don’t – Vaggie!” Unequipped with bilingualism, you can only tell she is pleading with you about something painful. But there are no visible wounds and you do not smell blood! You cry her name again, grabbing her hands when she starts to dig them into her back. “Vag –” You wince as you get an elbow to the face. “Vaggie!” She twists volatile in your grip. “Vag–,” this time she misses her mark, “cut it–!” You hug her tightly in your grip as she starts kicking, forceful limbs punching your couch’s side. “Stop that! Please!”

“Mi – my wings!” Vaggie cries in your hold, still trying to twist out your grasp. Those words chill you down to the marrowbone; she takes the chance to explode out your arms. She curls back up on the ground and squeezes herself into the carpet, sobbing. She makes a mad grab for her own bare spine.

Her wings? Huh? You watch bewildered as she stabs her nails into the meat of her trapezius, gray muscles straining under her iron grip. Her hair has grown an inch longer than her bob. Wisps of it just barely brush against her shoulders yet you see the tension of her fingers digging into her muscular back … no … do not draw blood. I can’t –

Panicking, you seize her wrist as her openly vulnerable scream turns into something rageful. Vaggie twists in your grasp, trying to get her autonomy back. You slap her, praying she will not bite her tongue or cheek.

“Huh? What?”

You allow her to say that much before you drag her back into your hugging, bruising embrace. Taking your hand, you run it up and down vertically across the ridges and grooves of her muscles, feeling the protruding bones of where her wings were severed, two sliced mountains on her back. You keep rubbing, delirious and feeling out of body. To be honest, you have no tact when comforting anyone so your pressure on her back is too harsh like you are trying to scrub out a stain. Wincing in shame, you gently put your face onto the top of Vaggie’s head and just continue circling your hand on her spine.

She falls placated after a few moments. Previous rapid breathes even out second by second. Her hands lying down on your carpet slowly rise up to your shoulders and she folds herself into your ribcage.

“It’s okay. I got you. I got you.” You slowly lose your harsh pressure, trying to mimic what Vaggie did before. “It’s okay. You’re here. I got you.” Delirious, you keep whispering, worrying you are fucking it all up despite that way Vaggie relaxes in your hold.

FRANKLIN and Rosie’s Emporium is especially busy today. A part of you judges that is why you chose today instead of yesterday or tomorrow to attend one of her welfare/check-up sessions she hosts. They were always crowded when Love Doctor Rosie came down from her tower like Hell’s own Mother Teresa – but today is especially crowded.

Leaves you with the hope that Rosie will run out of time before the line burns down to the wick, leaving you and her standing face to face. Hoping she will send away the line before she reaches you.

You remember bitterly how your older sister stood like how you are once upon a time. She was worrying herself to the bone about marrying a Sinner man. Complications of him having a son, getting them to change Cannibal Town’s rigid appearance, the funds for even fostering a relationship. She had eaten her nails and even the top layer of flesh on her finger, truthfully worrying herself down to the bone. Your older sister had so many questions for Rosie, but you only had two:

What do you do when you want to devour the one you love?

And what do you do when you know this act of courting would not be appreciated but shunned?

You are a fuck-up. You know that you are a bite made of ingredients on the shelf past expirations. Nothing you have planned has gone the way it is supposed. The fact that you are even considering – feet shuffling closer and closer to the front desk – trying to foster a relationship is testament to how much you are fucking it up. Vaggie deserved better.

How do you even breach this topic of conversation with her! “I want to send you away. Yes, I know others might try to eat up and kill you, but those are infinitely better options than staying with me, Vaggie. So go. I set you free.” You wince visibly, trying to disappear into your handheld fan. Is she really going to be stuck with you … she must have ambitions of her own … why do you not ask her?

Because if she went, I’d waste away. I’m the one without ambitions. I lived only to keep my nephew safe. I failed there. Now I live fleetingly like a fly. You shuffle up in the line.

What to do? What to do?

When the distance between you and Rosie is only four people, you peel out of the line, unnoticed and hiding behind your fan.

WARM hand on your cold navel, you lie supine in bed and imagine a fake dream. The fake dream goes like this:

“Granulated sugar, not cane sugar, and black pepper in a fine grind, not a coarse grind.” You correct Vaggie, pointing at your shared grocery shopping list.

“What is even is the difference” Vaggie murmurs. When she is confused, she always gets a bit hotheaded. Her anger defrosts slightly at the sight of you smiling. “Not cane, granulate,” she sighs, “got it.” She turns her head to lightly peck you on the lips.

“Not coarse, fine,” you tease before she wanders out of your hold to venture down the produce section.

She is still adapting to your more sophisticated, specific tastes for food. Nowhere near ready to shop on her lonesome, you and her take your shopping trips together. You do not mind, you think with a candied smile. The domesticity of harvesting food together means a lot to you. Sharing food was a love language of yours, nurturing the one you love with the meals you slaved over. How your skin shivers watching her tongue wrap around the end of a fork.

While I cannot trust her with most of those items, she has an excellent eye for ripe produce, better than my own, you celebrate, watching lovingly as Vaggie stands by the slanted wall of apples. She is like an angel … Why … She is an angel.

Her evening dress stops at her ankles, elegant and only contemplating its wearer. Three little black bows line up at her waist, a fetching characteristic of the outfit, and match with her black lace eyepatch. Her fingers dance over luminous surfaces of red and green apples. She has adopted the aesthetic Rosie forces on Cannibal Town excellently and adapted to this domesticity too.

You return to browsing rack upon rack of celery. In your mornings, you have been licking the tantalizing taste of osso buco off your lips when you wake, chasing after something you can never fully sink your teeth into. They say the more expensive and elusive, the better it tastes. It hounds at you, tempting and delicious. You can almost smell it in the air.

Heavenly, osso buco smells heavenly. Picking up your celery, you go to ask the maitresse of produce her opinions on the selection when your eyes widen considerably. Gold ichor is spilled over the surface of a handful of apples, filling the air with the smell of evangelical blood. Your heart stops.

“(Name)?”

Vaggie’s single eye stares at you, nebulous and shining in her skull. Your name bleeds over her lips as she holds her arm, closing up this mysterious injury with pressure. “I can’t stop the bleeding.”

You should expect it but it still catches you by surprise when some other cannibal grabs your girlfriend. She shrieks, spun around by unknown arms. You launch into the rescue. Fist connecting with a jaw, you bare your teeth at the random attacker. As they stumble, you grab their neck and throw them. An apple avalanche rolls onto the ground. Mouth open with a hundred pin-sharp teeth, you unhinge your own jaw and feast.

It takes a few good bites. Twisting and drilling your attacking teeth down, you chop into a fighting nervous system. You spit out the thick chunks that you collect, disgusted by the taste. Red honey floods over your face and – finally the body stops moving.

Rising up, you pant like a dog. The blood on your face is sticky warm, slathered generously on your cheeks and neck like vinegar oil. Shaking with spent energy, you run a hand over your mouth and search for Vaggie. You blink in surprise when she holds out her arm to you, golden blood racing down her wrist, and she opens her pretty mouth to say –

You cum with a firm press of your fingers. Panting like a dog, you muffle your whiny, high-pitched moan by clamping your teeth into your bottom lip. Two droplets of red tremble down your chin as your inflamed body shakes with your strong orgasm, legs shaking.

“A-Ah,” you murmur. “Agh – fuuuck.”

Needy gasps billow out. Your forehead touches the silk pillowcase and you feel your own blood fill your mouth. When your chest eventually stops pounding up and down and rises up and down naturally, you nurse on the blood you have drawn. The emptiness of removing your fingers is not such a great loss when you taste blood.

You hoped you were not too loud, fingers thrusting in and out of slick. Vaggie was in the next room over. Your stomach rolls pleasantly and nauseated at the thought.

Always so fucking monstrous. You cannot stop your tears, shame from masturbating hitting you like a truck. You only know how to love like a monster.

EVENTUALLY, you knew this would happen. You could only hold out so long. Eventually, the inevitable would happen and it would collapse on you. Vaggie had gotten sick and it was only inevitable. Alien viruses from a completely new environment were no joke for heavenborn or hellborn.

You balance the bowl of ice water on your right knee, wringing a towel carefully in your hand. The coffee table supports your weight as you watch Vaggie. She is not sneezing or coughing, rather shivering and trembling with heat.

In quite a similar state as the time you picked her up from that dumpster.

Towel finally the right degree of wet, you lean over and start to dab it against her face. She tenses up with a gasp, blind to the sight of you. She quickly turns her head towards you to stare at you with her right eye. Strangely calming down at the sight of you.

“Eggs or a banana?”

Vaggie’s bottom lip pouts childishly. When she turns away from you, you lean further off the coffee table so you can keep the cloth on her forehead. You scold her, “you need to eat something today. I let you fast yesterday. Today, you are eating.”

“Not hungry. I never get hungry when I’m sick.”

“Unfortunate. Eggs or a banana?”

She is still turned away from you. You have learned that she hates being looked at when vulnerable, hiding away when she feels powerless to any sort of attack. So you rest your cheek on your shoulder, staring at your radio in the open kitchen door.

“Apple. I want an apple.”

That sounds good. Full of antioxidants. You smile and leave her with the cloth. Just as you touch the door’s edge, she murmurs into the duvet she has cocooned herself into like moth wings, “you’re surprisingly gentle for a hellborn.”

“And you’re surprisingly gruff for a heavenborn.” Yet you say this smiling.

SCHEDULE is Vaggie’s raison d’etre. It is that soldierly engravement of her constructed soul. Her fierce protectiveness and gruffness was knitted together by heavenly threads and her clay was hardened by evangelical fire.

These parts of her you really liked. You never expected that they would eventually come back to bite you.

It is partly your fault for breaking the schedule. You should have been home five hours ago, dinner should have been on plates four hours ago, and you should have been in bed thirty minutes ago. Walking into your little matchbox, moments before it explodes into flames, you cannot find yourself to care.

The laughter of a young cannibal boy about seven years old in the streets, after four months, it gives you pause.

You tried to trudge home, body trembling and mind spinning. Then, kicked out of your mind, you gorge on the bodies on the streets, puke them back up, and repeat until the pentagram in the sky glows a calmer, lighter crimson to signal night.

The blood drenching your front gives Vaggie pause.

There must be something honest and honestly evil in your void eyes because she bristles away with a single look. She glares at your nose and questions you, “Are you going to explain?”

“Hungry.”

“That’s not much of a good explanation.”

“Did you eat?”

“For Heaven sake, (Name) —!”

“I’ll cook you something.”

“Hey.” Vaggie squeezes her hand around the wrist of your outfit, fabric wet. “Mierda. What happened? What do you mean hungry?”

“I got hungry. You must be too. I’ll cook.”

“I’m not! I ate! Why are you acting like this!”

Laughter … sweet … unburdened … alive and — You never were angry at Vaggie for who she was before until the thought passes over you like a stray breeze, coming from an unforeseen place. You remember the Extermination night where an angelic spear appeared out of nowhere, slicing off his head. Laughter … sweet … unburdened —

Before you can stop yourself, you turn violently in Vaggie’s grip and bite at her.

She is a soldier; her reflexes are excellent even when recuperating from horrid injuries. You miss her Roman nose by just a whisker of space. She must see that something still present in your eyes, honest, evil, and hellish.

She turns tail just as you strike out again, teeth meeting air.

HUNGER. HUNGER IS THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD.

It is a hole that always returns no matter how much you subdue it. A prickling sensation that rolls on the skin. It pulls all the logic of the mind like flowing sand vacuumed back up into the ocean. Never quelled, always returning.

You scream as you are thrown over your coffee table, shoulders colliding with the rough ground.

Starvation is beyond hunger. Starvation is a zenith of what hunger can accumulate into. The prickling sensation eclipses and —

Vaggie cries angrily as you grip her hair, spinning her onto the ground and baring your teeth.

Vaggie is a temptation. Her lithe body nuzzled on an out of reach tree branch, hissing out winsome songs to you, beckoning with her finger. Your Garden of Eden, your matchbox apartment, has been poisoned long ago by you and you alone. Nothing grows and nothing stays.

The smell of rich, golden ichor floods your senses as your fist connects with her cheek. Shimmering blood hits your carpet. It zaps in your attention with a succulent shine. Body pausing, you are suddenly spun around. Vaggie pins you, finality in her military motions.

It is over. You fucked it up. You do not blame her if you kills you, you will kill yourself if she does not.

Her mouth moves in a fierce, loud shout. A string of gold goes from bottom lip to chin.

“Why are you hungry!”

You stare at Vaggie as if she has grown two heads. Where did that question even come, why would she concern herself with the thought? But, anger rising back up, you bite back up verbally.

“Because I’m in love with you!”

Now, you really fucked it up.

Chest convulsing, you blink back the scorpion sting in your eyes and grit your predator teeth. “I—“ Vaggie stares at you patiently. “I eat the things I love. But I could never ask that from you.” You swallow and then concede, whimpering, “I’ve been feeling starved of you since we met.”

Vaggie’s hair has not grown much but she can still use it to hide. Peeking through the curtains of silver, she stares down at you with her sole, squinting eye. The muscles in her forehead are crinkled like abused paper. She takes her cheek and rubs it against her shoulder to smudge out the trail of blood on her lip.

“Why wait for it to happen like this?”

“I didn’t want it to ever happen. I’ve been trying to find a way to get you somewhere else to go, a charity or I don’t know—“

You fall silent, shameful. The blood on your face is still warm; the blood coating you like body wash is still warm. You should have never let yourself show her how monstrous you could be.

“I’m sorry,” you amend.

Shocked, Vaggie blinks and stares hard at you. Her grip on your blood drenched wrists eases up slightly. Her breath smells heavenly, ichor in her mouth, “yeah, I’m sorry too.”

This is the part where she leaves, so you brace yourself for just that.

What you do not brace yourself for is her running a thumb to gather up the blood on her chin, then pressing it down to your lips.

“No. Wait.”

“You’ve taken care of my needs. I need to —“

“Not like this you don’t! Vaggie.”

“You cooked all my meals for four months. Please, if you’re truly starved, you’ll accept this.”

Gradually, you stop moving your head back and forth in defiance of your hunger. Her thumb hover over your deep red lips. The smell is everything you have been craving. You are positive Vaggie feels your stomach churning like a cat’s loving purr underneath her. You still resist a glance up at her. In her ivory and pink mixed eyes is something honest and good. Tongue darting out of your mouth, you lick her thumb.

Nothing you have tasted or will taste can compare. The thought leaves you yearning yet satiated. It is otherworldly, an unknown cosmos of flavors on your pallet. One single tiny lick is not enough. Before you realize, you bite with your shark teeth, piercing the fingerprint side of your thumb like it is an apple's skin.

“Stop me before it’s too late,” you whimper, high off the taste of her, leaning in to kiss her thumb.

Generously, Vaggie does not stop you at all.

You could never describe or replicate this taste. You were like the average Joe being asked what are the fragrance notes in a certain complex perfume, clueless about where to start. It tastes heavenly and unreal.

Perhaps you are too lewd in your feast because suddenly, Vaggie moves her hands to pinch against the bloodied sides of your face. You stare, mournful of her taking away her thumb out your mouth. You stare, shocked when she pulls you in for a kiss.

Your hands find themselves back into her hair, increasingly more gentle than before.

Vaggie tilts her head to the left, pressing down into you with all her weight. Her blood from her bitten cheek causes you to push up into her with all your weight. When she moans, wanton in your mouth, you grip her hair in your claws and squeeze her down.

You will say I love you later; perhaps two to three months from now, you two will have another physical fight to breach such a heavy topic. For now? You two collide in a kiss of juxtapositions and blood.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie

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