Hazbin Hotel Emily Fanart Novels & Stories

She might be right because forever was a very long time, and I wanted to be sure before taking the leap. " Let her in," I linked uncle Bart and went to take a shower. I returned to the room, and Emily was sitting on the bed, legs crossed. Her dark hair fell Gracefully on her shoulders, and she looked beautiful. Full lips covered with a deep shade of red lipstick. She had captivating brown eyes. She was a beauty. I did not like that she wore too much make-up, but as long as it made her happy, I was okay with it. I smiled at her while I used the towel to dry my wet hair.

Emily paused trying to cool down, hesitated for a while then she continued giving it another try. "I... I'm Emily… Emily Greyson," She staggered as her heart was pounding nervously. Finally, she let out her name but she wasn’t satisfied. Emily wanted to add more so with her cutest possible look, “I am your number 1 fan.” With her eyes sparked full of excitement, Emily could not help but giggle. She smiled sweetly again showing him that she really liked him a lot. Emily could not hide her affection toward him and she didn’t plan to hide it either.

The sun shone directly to her brown face, it brightened her eyes and she enjoyed every bit of it. Distracting her from my morning routine was her door which flung open. It was her mom who walked in. She sat on Emily’s bed and looked at her with those motherly looks. She, Erica was a very beautiful woman with long hair and her skin was caramel. Emily took her mom’s skin color. Her hazel eyes were from her dad, her lashes are also from her dad with the brows. "Will you stop looking at me that way"

Ella is fidgeting with the hem of her dress, looking back and forth between her sons and the lewd. ‘My Fiance, Sugarcup. Could you not stay away for a minute?’ Juicy…ahem! Quincy immediately smiles as he stands up to receive a hazelnut-head slender vampiress. Emily, for my utmost discomfort, is a drop-dead stunning vampiress who could have walked out of a fashion and skincare magazine cover. Tall, petite, pale, high-bridge nose, big doe eyes, and plump lips—she does not look a day older than twenty-five and a granddaughter figure in the arms of the son of a blood-sucking bitch!

The right to take away her purity. Calvin fell beside Emily with sweat dripping down his entire body. The hunting breaths were still chasing each other because of the hot activity that had just ended. "Thank you," whispered Calvin, looking at Emily who was currently pulling the blanket to cover her innocent body. Calvin clearly saw red marks from his artwork on several parts of Emily's body. Calvin then also slipped into the blanket. Carrying Emily's body into his arms. Emily hopes that this is a good start for their household.

The beach house had become a living, breathing thing over the past year. Walls held crayon marks at toddler height. The porch swing creaked from daily use. The kitchen drawer was stuffed with drawings—mostly blobs of blue for the ocean and yellow suns with stick-figure families. Lila’s laughter echoed through every room like permanent music. Emily stood at the bathroom sink, staring at the small white stick on the counter. Two pink lines. Again. She exhaled—slow, shaky, a mix of joy and quiet terror.

Emilia raises her head to look at Liam who seemed to be as confused as she was if not more. “ It’s Hailey. She did this, I’m sure of it.” Emilia said as she made her way into the room. The king sized bed was covered with rose petals. The petals flowed to a door that seemed to be the door to the bathroom. Wanting to see what was behind the door, Emilia opened it. The huge bathtub was also filled with rose petals. Jesus! Emilia felt heat rise up to her face. Going back to the room, she saw that Liam was already putting the candles off. The room looked romantic, too romantic.

He gurgled sweetly, his tiny hand clutching my index finger, his mouth working rhythmically around the green pacifier I'd just slipped between his lips. His name was Liam. And despite how he came into this world, despite the confusion and bitterness that surrounded his birth, I had grown to love him. He had my dimples. Behind me, Emily stood at the dressing mirror, applying her makeup with practiced strokes. She wore a sleeveless pink dress that hugged her curves, paired with gold earrings and nude heels. Her hair was packed up neatly in a bun, and she looked as though she had stepped out of a fashion magazine. She turned to me and adjusted one of her earrings. "How do I look?"

she notes, stopping short. "What did you buy?" I ask, closing the laptop. "Spices. A blanket. Jewelry for Gianna. And this." She pulls out a small painting wrapped in brown paper. It’s a seascape...the water is impossibly blue, the brushstrokes loose and hurried. "How much?" I ask, my internal appraiser already devaluing the amateur work. "Does it matter?" She crosses her arms. "You overpaid. How much, Isabella?" A pause. "Twenty-two thousand euros."