I Feel Silly Making Posts Where Im Just Talking Bc My Account Is Small Enough That I Just Feel Like Im

I feel silly making posts where I’m just talking bc my account is small enough that I just feel like I’m shouting into a void.

But - the fact that I am simultaneously becoming all-consumingly obsessed with HxH (Hunter x Hunter) and HH (Hazbin Hotel) is very funny to me and I think the void deserves to know

I am a whore

Pairing: Illumi x Fem!Reader

NSFW

Word Count: 946

Warnings: Noncon, Implied past noncon, Overstimulation, Implied kidnapping, Forced relationship, Punishments, Broken bone mention (past, brief)

You could count on a single hand the amount of times you’d seen Illumi angry.

Some would argue you could say the same for any other emotion, but you would say differently.

He was incredibly reserved, and admittedly his stone mask of complete nothingness still frightened you to some degree, but you noticed - in the few times he would allow you around other people - that he seemed more… relaxed when it was just the two of you; if you could call it that. While you didn’t allow that to give you a false sense of security, the moments where it seemed like his guard was down were the times you either tried to learn as much from his micro-expressions as possible, or to use those moments to your advantage.

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Hazbin Hotel yandere Alastor imagine

note: discussions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, afab reader, misogny

Oh, to be in Hell and working for Valentino, who uses and abuses you, who goes from hot to cold depending on his moods, whims, and whatever might be pissing him off or propping him up at the moment.

It's not the living you wanted to be making. It's not the life--or afterlife--that you envisioned for yourself. But you owe him so much money (he fed you, and clothed you, and kept a roof over your ungrateful head, didn't he?) and you don't know how else you could pay him back.

But one day you happen to catch someone whispering about this new Hotel where you might be able to get better? Where life might be able to get better? Where you might get, and the word refuses to even catch on your tongue despite it dancing in your ears, redeemed?

You want that. All of it. Even it means risking getting the (after) life beaten out of you.

And on a rare free morning you sneak out and make your way to the front door and a tiny (cute, but, horrifying) little maid answers but before she can get a word in edgewise, a blonde woman--the literal princess of Hell, you realize--jumps into the doorway and grabs your hand to shake it vigorously and welcome you in with the biggest smile you've ever seen that isn't (for once) tinged with something awful behind it.

You practically trip inside as she excitedly pulls you into the foyer where a gaggle of people are sitting on a velvet couch and oh, shit, you know one of them.

Angel. You knew he was here--Val would not stop bitching about it--but it's different hearing about him being involved in this little project and actually seeing him out of the studio.

When Angel sees you, he freezes, his eyebrows shoot practically to the sky. And you're about to beg him not to tell Val, please-please-please, Angel might get away with being here but you don't have that kind of sway, when someone slides in front of you.

Red hair, pointy teeth, a fantastically red coat.

Alastor, of course.

You're not supposed to talk to him. Val and Vox made it clear to everyone in the studio. The Radio Demon is an "old timey fuck" who needs to fuck off and any one caught fraternizing with him might as well be fucking dead (or they'd wish they were) so stay away.

And his reputation wasn't any better with what you'd heard on the street.

But... he doesn't seem all that bad. And you were already taking a Big Fucking Risk by coming here, it's not like Val would go easier on you if you pleaded that sure, you snuck out, sure you came here when you knew you shouldn't, but you clamped your mouth shut and didn't talk to Alastor, you swear!

"Greetings," he says, and you want to smile a little. Because he really does sound like a radio, the kind your mom used to listen to when you were young, even though they were going out of style. Sometimes you missed that, sitting around the table while the radio played, tinny voices and music playing.

"Hi," you manage, voice quiet. "I mean, greetings," you say, stupidly, really.

But he doesn't call you a moron (like Val might) or ignore you (like Vox might)--instead he dips and picks up your wrist gently and he actually kisses your hand, a perfunctory gentlemanly peck of a greeting, instead of licking a slimy trail up your arm like Val is prone to do.

Can you help the little "oh!" that escapes your lips? No. Can you help the heated flush that creeps up your chest? No.

And if he, to everyone's surprise, winds up taking you under his wing--can you complain? No.

He doesn't tell you, like Val did, that you'll pay him back every red cent when he conjures up a closet full of clothes to replace your scant wardrobe. The clothes are modest and lovely and again, your mom springs to mind. The stuff she'd pull out of her closet and hold to her chest sometimes, because they no longer fit.

You wish you'd worn those clothes, when you got old enough to fit into them. But they were moth eaten and out of style and you'd look at her aghast when she asked if you wanted them when you were moving out.

So you didn't. But now... well, they don't fit so bad, do they? You even look nice in them. Alastor says "you're a vision of loveliness, dear," when you wear one of the outfits he's picked out. And you're not sure if it's a pun on his name or a genuine compliment, but you thank him all the same.

Charlie agrees to set up a room for you and Alastor helps with that, too. Although his help mostly involved changing out the standard linens for something nicer, stocking your closet and dresser with old fashioned clothes, and removing the TV.

You almost protested, but he reminded you that "your old friend Vox just might pop in and see you" and ah, it all made sense.

Alastor was looking out for you. Like he did with the clothes. Like he does with the way he helps you navigate the vague, ever-changing lessons that Charlie tries to teach.

Everyone here is nice, all things considered, for Hell.

It's not perfect.

Sometimes you would like to wear something more flashy and stylish, but what outfits Charlie manages to procure never seem to make it into your wardrobe.

Angel always looks like he's going to vomit when Val calls because at this point you are considered "missing" and Val does not like it when his "whores try to ghost him," as you'd once heard him screeching on Angel's phone.

Angel always denies that you're here, denies that he's seen you, and for once, you're glad he can act well when it really matters.

And if Alastor gets a little too clingy... if he gets a little too controlling? If sometimes he reminds you of Val, pushing and pulling you in the directions he wants, you just remind yourself that he's not as bad.

He doesn't ever, ever hit you. He doesn't yell at you or even raise his voice, really!

He corrects, that's all.

Steers you to the right outfits, reminds you how to act like a lady (something he never seems to do with anyone else, to your embarrassment); gently grabs your wrist and brings you along with him around the Hotel, into the shadows of the streets where you won't be seen when he thinks you need some good old fashioned exercised or fresh air. (If the air in hell could be considered "fresh" is another thing entirely.)

So yes.

He might be a little controlling. You can admit that. Even if he has your best interest in mind.

But every time that little thought creeps into your head, you just remind yourself. He's not as bad as Val.

And when you're in Hell, "he's not as bad" might as well mean that he's good.

Gum Line [Yandere Mahito x Reader[

Title: Gum Line [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You need to get your teeth cleaned and Mahito wants to watch.

Word count: 1740

notes: yandere, mentions of death and violence, mentions of past injury on reader, reader is getting their teeth cleaned, Mahito

“You really don’t need to come,” you hissed lowly. “It’s fine. Really. It’s just a quick cleaning.”

Mahito puffed out his cheeks and peered through the glass door into the waiting room. “But I want to come. I’ve never been to a dentist. I want to see what they do to you.”

The receptionist was, at this point, staring at you and made a come-in gesture with her hands. You were standing out there too long for it to be normal. So you sighed and put your hand on the knob.

“Fine.” You bit out the words and regretted them as soon as they left your lips, but there was no taking it back. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was going to come in with or without your agreement.

“You can watch, just… just try to stay out of the way, okay? Please? I really need this cleaning.”

“Yay!” His cheer was too loud and too close, but he never cared about that, did he? Mahito wrapped his arm around yours and flung the door open with his other, only to pull you into the office with a giddy delight. To everyone else, it must have looked like you accidentally almost-tripped over the threshold after entering too quickly. 

“S-Sorry,” you said, breathless, smiling, to the receptionist. “I’m a bit clumsy today.”

She smiled back, all prim and professional. But you wondered what she must be thinking.  You were standing up far too straight, sweat on your forehead, and you’d just been standing there at the door muttering to yourself before you stumbled inside like a drunkard. 

“You know,” Mahito said, as you signed your name on the sign-in sheet, “you’ve gotten really good at making up lies on the spot!” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, and gritted your teeth instead. 

Why did Mahito make even the most everyday things in your life so complicated?

—

He pouted. Honest-to-goodness pouted. 

“You never open your mouth so nicely like that for me.” He rested his chin in his hand and furrowed his eyebrows. “I always gotta fight you for it." He pointed an accusatory finger at your chin. And you’re not even trying to bite her! No fair!” 

You choked a little on your spit. Couldn’t he just shut up–

“Are you doing all right?” She asked, pulling the tools out of your mouth for the moment. 

You closed your mouth and smiled tightly. “Mm-hmm. Sorry, I just have um, some dental anxiety, so…”

She wiped the scaler on your bib and moved the light up a little. Mahito followed the movement and began poking the bulbs.

“Do you think she’d mind if I broke this?” You almost said something, but he shrugged. “Ah, but the pieces would get into your mouth, and we’d be stuck here longer.”

The hygienist continued, not knowing that a curse which could end her life in a moment was hovering over her shoulder, pouting like a damn child.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry. Just raise your hand if you need me to take a break, okay?”

“Thank you,” you said, and opened your mouth wide to encourage her to continue. She did, returning to examine your teeth with the little mirror, poke here and there, get a good idea of what she needed to tackle first.

Good. The faster she worked, the sooner you could get out of here. The sooner you got out of here, the less likely it was that Mahito would act up.

Act up. Hah. As if his acts of violence were a toddler throwing a tantrum in the grocery store, chubby fists hitting the hard floor as he wailed because he was tired, bored, hungry, didn’t get the toy he wanted, did get the toy he wanted but now it wasn’t fun, the sky was blue and he wanted it green…

No, no, the comparison wasn’t entirely off, was it? Sure, he wasn’t throwing a fit because the store was out of strawberry milk (but he might, you thought, if he took a liking to it) but he might kill someone waiting in the congested line at the grocery store because he was tired of you running errands and wanted you back in your apartment.

And he might kill this hygienist, to have you fleeing home, away from the blood, the carnage, the screams. And because it would be amusing to him, even if you weren’t around. 

But the notion went beyond his tendency to pout, to be impulsive, to want what he wants when he wants it, didn’t it? He was always learning, always eager to learn. What he did know often felt instinctive and unfulfilled, and he was using you to stuff the gaps. Watching what you did and said.

Testing you, teasing you, seeing what he could take away from your ordinary personhood. Like someone who’d never lived among people finally making it to the big city, taking in the sights and sounds and world with eagerness. 

He was just so damn new. Sometimes you felt like he should be covered in a thin, slimy caul. Only you didn’t know if he would be better or worse if he lost it. 

Mahito waved one of his hands.

“You look like you’re thinking really hard. What are you thinking about?”

“Nuffing,” you said, with a mouthful of dental tools.

The hygienist pulled them out again.

“Sorry, you needed a break?”

Oops.

“Sorry,” you said. “I forgot to raise my hand. It’s okay now, I just got a little tense because my back tooth is a bit sore.”

“Oh, I’ll be more careful.” And the sharp tools went back inside your mouth.

Mahito was quiet for a while, which was both wonderful and terrifying. He was simply watching the hygienist work now. His eyes were intent on the repetitive movements of the scaler, the way she scraped your gum. You saw him look down at your hands–clenching the straps of your purse, as you always did at the dentist but especially so today–and back at your face.

He weaved around to the other side of the chair so that he could get in close to your face without risking knocking into the hygienist or the light fixture above your head.

“You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. “Is that normal? Is that why she keeps squirting water in your mouth? Why don't you just swallow it?” 

He ran a finger along your cheek, and you made a soft, high sound in your throat. The hygienist paused, but when you didn’t raise your hand or try to talk, she kept going. A small mercy.

“How much does it hurt? A lot? A little? Less or more than the time I broke your finger?” His pinky traced the beginning of a tear in the corner of your eye. You didn’t know if it was from the sharp pain in your gums or from the terror coursing through your veins. At his words, sure, but the very nature of this awful scenario was simply too much for you. 

In a moment, the woman who was simply doing her job to clean your teeth might be dead. The receptionist who probably gossiped with you to a coworker the second you were out of earshot might be dead. The people in the waiting room, the old man with an audiobook on tape and the little girl playing with the germ-ridden toys tucked in the corner–dead, dead, dead. Piles of pus and blood and bloated flesh.

You could be that, too. If he decided he wanted it. 

Mahito let his pinky slide delicately from your eye to your mouth. He touched the edge of your stretched lip, and when he brought it up to the light, you could see a smear of gum-blood.

A small tear finally made its way out of your eye. From the pain, that’s what the hygienist would tell herself. Maybe she would stop again, or maybe she’d be glad you were toughing it out, so she could move on to her next appointment quicker.

Mahito saw the tear and frowned. 

“Hey. Are you upset because I brought up the finger? You can’t be mad at me about that anymore, remember? It wasn’t on purpose–well, I didn’t mean to break it, anyway. And I fixed it, so...” He gazed down at your hands, clenched so hard around the strap of your purse that you had to reflexively relax them to keep them from aching. 

He looked so serious, so suddenly. It made your stomach do awful flips. 

“You’re the first person I’ve fixed, did you know that?”

You didn’t. 

“Normally I just play with humans. Take them apart. Turn them into something new. Experiment, experiment, experiment.” He sighed, almost dreamily. “It’s fun. Really! I’ve learned a lot. But with you–” 

He didn’t finish whatever thought he had. Instead, he sat down on the unused stool next to the dental chair, then, and took hold of your hands. It was nothing for him to pry your fingers away from your purse.

You hoped the hygienist wouldn’t look down–how strange would it look for your hands to be hovering in midair, like they were being held by nothing at all? 

If only he was nothing.

He squeezed your fingers.

“You don’t need to hold a bag, see?”

You raised your eyebrows.. You couldn’t ask the questions tumbling in your mind, and you’re not sure that you wanted to know the answers, anyway. 

Then the hygienist poked a particularly sensitive area behind your front teeth, and you flinched in the chair. You squeezed his hands tight. Reflexively, you told yourself. Reflexively.

Mahito glanced down at your intertwined hands. He looked serious again. Somber. Even soft, maybe? Or was that your imagination, pathetic, frightened as it was? You half-expected him to pat your hands and tell you that he was here, not to worry. Like your mom did when you were a kid and needed a root canal.

Then his gaze lifted suddenly and he grinned side enough to show you his gum line. He stuck his tongue out and poked one of his teeth, then spoke–you realized, with a bubble of sickness in your chest, that he’d given himself a second tongue. 

“I was thinking… if she has to pull out one of your teeth, do you get to keep it? Can I have it?” 

You groaned out a whimper, but the hygienist continued working.

Mahito didn’t let go of your hands.

Pairing: Yandere!Mahito x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1'745

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapped Reader, Captive Reader, Implied death and torture (not reader), Brief descriptions of blood, Possessiveness, Implied abusive behaviour.

Additional Notes: Ya girl gets chronic nightmares, so I'm being self-indulgent here.

Nights like these were always rough.

It was cold. Cold enough that you could see your breath every time you exhaled, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for an additional layer of protection against the frigid air.

The sound of the hammock’s ropes resonated throughout the empty chamber of the sewer, creaking as you rocked it back and forth. The hamstrings in your calf had begun to burn over an hour ago from the repetitive motion of pushing from the heel of your foot to the ball, but that didn’t stop you from doing it. Back and forth. Back and forth. Each motion accompanied by the sound of rope straining under weight.

At times you swore the weight of sleeplessness added onto your actual biomass.

He wasn’t there. Mahito usually wasn’t when you woke up like this. Cold. Tired. Achy. It almost made you miss him, but the sane part of you that remained was thankful for the absence.

He had already seen far too many sides of you for your liking. Him seeing another would be… well. Gut-wrenching was always a good way to describe it, but violating came closer.

Back and forth.

Part of you wondered where he went in the evenings. Curses didn’t sleep, and he typically got his fill of you during the daylight hours, so - as far as you knew - once you drifted off he was gone in favor of unleashing whatever horrors he desired to inflict that night. Sometimes you’d hear distant screams echoing along the vast expanse of the sewers, and you knew he wasn’t far.

Those nights you folded the single pillow in the hammock over your ears and muffled the sounds of suffering to the best of your ability.

But there were no screams tonight. Just the creaking of the ropes and the distant drip of water from a leaky pipe.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Mahito’s sudden voice from behind startled you so badly that you over-calculated the rocking motion of the hammock and sent yourself spiraling onto the concrete floor.

A new sound filled the air - his degrading, overzealous cackle bouncing off the walls while he held an arm over his stomach, doubling over at the sight of you.

“Look at you, you should see your face!”

The tired glare you sent him only earned another round of laughter and you sat up with most of your weight supported behind you on the palms of your hands.

“I thought you went out.”

“I did~.” He said, reaching out and pulling you back up to a standing position by your upper arm once he was finished with his laughing fit. “And now I’m back.”

You hummed lowly in acknowledgement, brushing bits of idle debris off your clothes using your free hand but stopped when his grip tightened on your bicep.

He leered closer to you, the hot rot of his breath hitting you directly in the face.

“Well?”

You swallowed. “Welcome back.”

He grinned, teeth flashing in the dim lighting before he pulled you with him, falling backward into the hammock with you between his legs, back resting against his chest.

It was deceptively domestic, especially when he ran his fingers up and down your arm absentmindedly. The additional warmth of what little body heat he provided did not help in the delusion, either.

“Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“I know that.” He poked your cheek, the nail of his finger digging into the soft skin and leaving a crescent moon shape. “I asked why.”

You shrugged, not giving a verbal answer outright, but the sigh that followed gave away far more than you intended to.

Mahito clicked his tongue and put his hand under your chin, forcing your head to tilt back so you had no choice but to look at him. It was a little awkward with the semi-upside-down positioning, but things like that were never of any concern to him.

“Details, sweetheart, stop stalling.”

You made a face at the pet name he had chosen for this week. It was tacky and tasteless, but in your opinion anything he picked was. That being said, it was better than what he had chosen the week before.

“I have nightmares, okay?”

His face filled with child-like wonderment and he let go of your chin. A small grunt of relief left you and you rubbed the back of your neck while Mahito repositioned the both of you so he could look at you better - slotting you beside him.

“Poor little thing gets nightmares…” He cooed mockingly, running a hand through your hair. “Am I in them?”

It took everything not to sneer at him. Of course, that would be the first thing he would ask. Not that you were surprised, but that didn’t lessen the near-overwhelming desire to kick him in the teeth.

You forced your feelings down and shook your head. “Not all of them.”

His smile returned, eyes gleaming at the subtext of your words. “But I have been.”

You cringed and went to look away from him, but his cool fingers wrapped around your jaw and brought your gaze back to his.

“What happens in these dreams?”

“A lot.” Your answer was clipped, not wanting to offer more, but his grip didn’t waver. Your jaw clenched. “I can’t remember all of them.”

“But you remember some.”

“Some are hard to forget.”

He pulled you closer - wrapping his arms around you so you were completely trapped against him in an embrace that made your skin crawl.

“I’m all ears~.”

Your lips formed a thin line, the silence and tension between you growing ever palpable with each second you remained quiet.

Mahito sighed, tracing patterns along your back, but his amusement never wavered. “Do I kill you, is that it?” He let his fingers slide up along the upper half of your spine, dragging them across your shoulder blade and back down again before repeating the motion. “Do you beg me for your life like you’ve heard so many do before you?”

He giggled and ran his other hand along your jaw, “You can tell me~.”

A shiver went through you, from the cold you reasoned, but you still stayed quiet - not willing to confirm the small yet horrifically accurate details of his guesses. 

Anything you feared him doing to you in the waking world, he’d done in your dreams. Killing you. Maiming you. Making you wish you were never born, but really that one was a constant even when you weren’t asleep.

He chuckled again at the silence and patted your cheek, “So predictable, I wonder if that’s what you dreamed about tonight for you to be so mousey…”

The near-hopeful curiosity of his tone had your stomach in knots and you swallowed bile.

“It wasn’t.”

“Hmm?” His expression fell, a bit of disappointment shifting onto his face but it was quickly overtaken by interest and the patterns being traced along your back came to a stop. “What was it then?”

You made a face. “Does it matter?”

“Oh, sweetheart, yes it does.” Mahito squeezed you tighter, the look on his face a little… manic. “I want to know what’s going on in that little mind of yours.”

He tapped his fingers twice against your temple in emphasis, each time making you flinch a little bit. “Spill.”

Your tongue darted out to moisten your lips, the skin already chapped and dry before you had even begun.

“It’s a reoccurring one, and it’s always the same.” You started. “I’m in a building that has endless halls and endless rooms. There’s no light coming from an obvious source, and it doesn’t illuminate everything - leaving some parts in complete black.”

Mahito raised an eyebrow, seemingly not very impressed so far, but you continued.

“There’s no exit. No way of getting out. Any emergency exit leads to another hall, and any stairs that would lead to the roof are sealed off by a wall that shouldn’t be there.

“None of the rooms are the same. Some are harder to get into than others and they don’t have a door. I have to crawl on my belly or shimmy my way between two panels that are so close together that I can’t even breathe as I move through them…”

Even the memories of the claustrophobia made you shiver.

“Sometimes the rooms are… coated. Absolutely coated in blood, but there are never any bodies. It’s thick and hot, like it had just been spilled…”

Mahito huffed, toying with a strand of your hair. “Doesn’t seem that bad, I thought you’d have thicker skin after all I’ve done to you.”

That made you both flinch and cringe, but it was quickly overtaken by a wave of anger and you shot him a look. “You asked.”

The words were bitter - doing nothing to mask the sickeningly real sting of hurt you felt.

“Now, now, don’t be like that.” He cooed, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger. “Go on.”

Your frown deepened and you shook your head. “That’s essentially all there is to it.”

Mahito sucked on his teeth and tsk’d. “‘Essentially’ isn’t everything, what are you leaving out?”

The look on his face was still one of morbid interest, but you could see the impatience starting to build behind his eyes.

Impatience meant boredom, and boredom was never good.

“...As I move through the rooms, I sometimes feel like I’m being followed by something, but when I look back there is nothing there.”

Something more serious replaced the look in his eyes in the time it took to blink. “By something or someone?”

“I don’t know!” The frustration fully bled into your tone for a moment and you cleared your throat after a beat. “I just know I can feel whatever it is watching me, sometimes so closely I can feel them breathing down my neck…”

You rubbed your neck in discomfort as if you could still feel it. “It stays that way until I wake up…”

Mahito was silent for a bit, his expression not changing and he gripped you to the point it was painful. Controlling.

Possessive.

Eventually, his grip loosened, but only enough so he could slide his hand down along your neck, the touch lingering.

“Sounds like you need different dreams, then.” He said, cold fingers wrapping around your throat, but not squeezing just yet. Goosebumps blossomed over the flesh and this time you knew it wasn’t from the cold.

“I can help with that~.”

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Imagine Dating L and rolling over in the middle of the night to ask him who orchestrated the Kennedy assassination.