#FanCreatorsForACause

[aneldritchfootnote]

VI The Lovers

As requested by mscaseyj on Bluesky

In honour of International Women's Day 2025 and @hellsgreatestevents's initiative to raise money for the Lilith Fund!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Innocence (Alastor/Reader NSFW)

(Hell's Greatest International Women's Day Fic #2)

We're on to fic #2! I'll personally be donating $3 for every 15 notes that the fics with this banner are receiving 💗find fic #1 (RadioStatic breeding kink fic) here!

Get more information about the event by following us on Tumblr @hellsgreatestevents and Bluesky!

Tags: coming in pants; dry humping; non-sex repulsed Alastor; inexperienced Alastor

It had started innocently enough.

It was the first time that Alastor had allowed you into his bedroom- previously he had been too aware of the ‘impropriety’ of allowing a lady friend into his personal space, until you reminded him that this was Hell and nobody gave a shit about impropriety. Still, you had behaved yourself for the most part, sticking to your own chair while you read with him by the fire, one hand clasped with his on the table between you. You got up to go get something and on your way back to your seat you dropped your face down to meet Alastor’s and gave him what was meant to be a chaste kiss on the lips.

He had pulled you fully into his lap, straddling him with your arms against the back of the chair and hovering over him. He nosed at the length of your throat before devouring your mouth in a kiss that was decidedly not chaste, tongue snaking against yours in a way that had you groaning low, the sound reverberating in your chest. 

You hadn’t even really ground your hips against him, merely settled your weight fully in his lap instead of crouching above him and he had whined into your mouth, a choked off sound echoing in the space of his room as he had come in his trousers, the hot spurt of it soaking through the fabric until you could feel it where you pressed against him. 

Alastor hadn’t shoved you off him, but it was a near thing- his hands braced on your shoulders and pulled you back from his mouth, his expression a mix between mortification and anger, though it wasn’t directed at you. He had apologized, depositing you back into your own chair before dipping into the shadows and returning a few minutes later with different pants on and an apology dripping from his lips. He had missed, apparently, the look of blatant arousal and need on your face when you realized what had happened, the knowledge that he had come to orgasm so easily making you blush and clench your thighs together as he transported you to your own room with a hurried farewell. 

You were stripped in the bed as soon as he vanished, your own orgasm only disappointing when you realized that you hadn’t gotten to see the look on his face when it happened.

It became your personal mission, then, to try to make it happen again… and again… and again. He didn’t seem to realize that you were doing it on purpose, cornering him in abandoned hallways and closets and his sheets to kiss, pressing against him in ways that could almost be considered proper if not for the subtle roll of your hips when he pulled you closer. He always hid his face from you when he came, turned away in shame like he thought you would be disappointed. To his credit, he lasts longer every time- you think if the pair of you ever opt for penetrative sex he won’t disappoint either way- but you think it’s more the mental aspect of it than anything else. That he can’t stop himself, can’t or won’t or refuses to pull away from you even knowing how it will likely end when the two of you are so close together and locked at the lips.

Now, shoved into a tiny alcove off the kitchen, his body trembles where his lower half rests against you, the strain of his erection heavy through his pants, hot even with the layers of clothing between you as he presses you into the wall. “If I didn’t know better,” he mumbles as you press your lips to his neck, his collarbone, his chest through the gap in his shirt, anywhere you can reach, “I would think you enjoy my- ahem, my tendency to finish rather quickly when we wind up in this position.”

“Oh, you’ve finally caught on to that, have you?” You know he can feel the sharp-toothed grin pressed into his skin, nipping lightly with your teeth before pulling back and giving him a fond smile. You bring a hand up that’s been clenched in the fabric of his shirt to cup his jaw, in awe, as always, of the slack-jawed wonder in his panting mouth, the burning arousal evident in the droop of his eyelids as he stares down at you. “I find it endearing- and hot as fuck.”

“Language,” he reprimands softly, but his eyelids flutter and he moans low and staticky when you grind harder into him, one leg wrapped around the back of his own to pull him closer. 

“You love it,” you snap back, and squeak in surprise when he lifts you by the thighs and wraps your legs fully around his hips. You can tell he’s close from the frantic bucking of his hips into you, his harsh panting into the scant space between your faces, and you slide your fingers into his hair to tug him down for a breathtaking kiss. You whisper your plea against his lips- “Let me see you? Please?”

“As though- as though I could deny you anything, darling,” he manages to get out before his words fail him, feedback screeching in the dim lit space as he spills against you. His eyes clench shut, mouth falling open in ecstasy as he tips over the edge, claws digging into the skin of your hips as he rides it out. And this was what you had been working for the whole time- the complete abandonment of any shame as he found his release with your body, his face open and honest while he gasped and trembled through it.

He kept you held aloft as the shaking of his body subsided, running his hands comfortingly over the tiny marks he had left on your skin. “You’re quite the deviant, scheming like this for so long,” he whispers, leaning down to give you a kiss. “I hope you realize I will not be so inexperienced forever- I hope you’re prepared for more extensive sessions.”

“I’m counting on it,” you laugh, losing the sound into his mouth as he dips his hand between your thighs to help you find your own end.

[hazelfoureyes]

Fun fact, I had an abortion after an ex removed the condom without my permission while I was in college. I take this issue really personally. I had to travel to another state and use my school money to afford it.

In the waiting room was a 13 year old girl who said her grandparents had tried everything to make her miscarry but that didn’t work and now they were almost too late to terminate. They had traveled four states away from Texas and took money from their neighbors to afford the hotel and gas money.

I’m starting prep now. Leading up to the 8th, I’ll be accepting story requests. If you can donate and show me a screenshot and just mention HLDC in it so I know it’s for my requests, I’ll write 500-700 words of what you want (smut or otherwise. No CP, no SA, you know the drill.) for a donation of at least 5$.

I’ll be releasing any requests and new things the 8th as well tagging and linking the Lillith Fund.

If you can’t donate you can always share this and @fraugwinska ‘s posts regarding it to spread the word.

At the off chance you’re in a good spot financially, I’ll send you the finale of Loss Of Decorum that I never posted for a donation of $50+. Not publicly, just straight link you to my Google docs. I also have some omega verse reader stuff I’m willing to privately offer.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[hellsgreatestevents]

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Requests are opened, limited but you get to the front of the line with proof of donation!

The catch? Unlike some of the amazing participants here, I can't promise I'll fill every request today but any that don't make it will be filled later this week. I've got homestead chores to do, drywall to hang and frankly, I'm not feeling too hot today- hence my late joining in!

I know not everyone can donate or can donate much so here is what I'm offering:

Under $5 -- I will walk my happy ass outside and take a picture of the chickens for you. Each donation gets another trip outside and another chicken picture. Why? Because idk, the chickens are cute. You can also request the cats or the dogs, idc.

$5+ -- A short request to be filled this week. We're talking under 1.5k words, more like a scene than a story. Your OC, My OC, MCU, Hiddleston, Hazbin- if you've ever seen me write for them, they're on the floor. Smut or no smut. You're at the front of the line.

$25-- You're willing to wait a bit longer but you're wanting a bit longer of a fic- Under 3k words.

$50+ -- combined donations specifically requesting just a bonus chapter for A Misdemeanor Of The Heart... gets everyone a bonus chapter. (claimed!)

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO DONATE AND REQUEST, THE LINKS TO THE CHARITY ARE BELOW. None of the money goes to me, it all goes directly to the Lilith Fund. Let's raise some money ♡

How can I donate to the Lilith Fund?

Direct donations can be done through the Lilith Fund’s Homepage (credit card required) on https://www.lilithfund.org/donate

Donations can also be made through the Lilith Fund’s charity Paypal (Paypal account required).

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Please Note: Please use this exact link as the ‘normal’ US link won’t work for international donors! If you are a creator taking requests, please be sure to share this with your followers.

[fraugwinska]

The #HGIWD2025 is in full gear now, and I wanted to say my thanks. Thank you to everyone that helped organizing this Event Thank you for everyone that shares the word Thank you everyone that donates, wheter to request a creator or just to show support and love to the cause. No matter how much we raise in terms of donations, every cent is a testament to the generosity, power and commitment of the shared fandom community of Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss that I am so very fortunate to be in. This is a gift, to all of you - no strings attached, no donations necessary. But if you are able and wish to (and only if so), you can make a small donation to the Lilith Fund and send me the donation receipt - how much or little it might be.

Your very grateful FrauGwinska <3

For the longest time, you had asked yourself what would come first: That you’d accommodate to hell or that hell accommodated to you.

Not long after the fall of the morning star, just even two generations after Cain killed his brother Abel, you followed. One of the first human souls to be damned to plunge down rather than rise above. Young you were, and a defiant little thing, your only crime your rebellion against the man you were forcefully married to, much too close in family relation, and much too insistent of where your place should be. Under him. Head bowed, demure, compliant and silent. Serving not taking. Accommodating not demanding. Molded not molding. You were meant to be clay in his hands, shaped to fit his desires as God had intended, but you had fire in your veins and iron in your spine. When you refused to yield, with your sharp tongue by day and a knife in your hands at night to keep him out of your marital bed, he made sure you were condemned for it.

A man of faith, a respected man of God and proud descendant of the first man Adam, he took your defiance as sin like first mother Lilith’s, your disobedience as wickedness unlike the right mother Eve, and not even two months after your unwanted marriage, in the dead of night, he made sure you paid for it. A stake built by the hands of the men of your righteous community, a whispered prayer spoken by unholy lips, and the words that sealed your fate: She is unholy, Lord. Take her soul from this earth, lest she bring ruin upon the righteous.

The world called it justice. Heaven might’ve called it divine will. And so, Hell opened its arms to you instead. The moment death took you the fall began. Through fire and darkness, you plunged—one of the first souls condemned in the wake of Lucifer’s rebellion. And yet, in Hell, you found something you had never been granted in life.

Freedom.

Hell had no need for silent, obedient wives. It did not demand your submission—it demanded your strength. And so, in the infernal depths where hellspawn roamed and sinners schemed, you did not break. You bloomed. You learned the language of survival, the currency of the budding power down there. And soon, the same defiance that had damned you became the very thing that kept you standing. Here, power was not given—it was taken. And so you took. You learned. You adapted. The same fire that had once marked you as a heretic now burned within you, bright and unyielding. Fueled by powers hell had granted you – to see. See hell, see the souls behind the sinners, see visions of new worlds born from darkness, songs and stardust.

Throughout the centuries, you and Lucifer Morningstar’s paths crossed a few times. Shortly after your descent, he came to you, along with his wife, Lillith. You knew about her, though erased from the scriptures, only by the whispers hushed behind hands with words of disgust and disdain. While the involuntary king of hell seemed pained to see you, his queen had been delighted, offering you protection and shelter after hearing your story and learning of your abilities, in exchange for your service to the crown. When you refused, she seemed offended and cold towards you but kept her composure. Lucifer, on the other hand, had nodded in sad understanding.

“Free will is what brought you down here, little one. And free will you’ll have – for as long as you can wield it."

They had left you to your own devices then, watching from a distance as you carved out a life—or what passed for one—in the depths of damnation. You weren’t a ruler, nor did you seek to out be one. You weren’t a warrior, though you learned how to fight back. You watched from afar as more and more sinners came, fortifying the space you held with no desire to join their increasing battles amongst them for power and control.

It was much later, after the deadly sins were born, the first overlords had risen and fallen, after Hell had shaped itself into something resembling order, that Lucifer came to you again. This time alone, and not with an offer of protection, but of purpose.

"You were one of the first," he said, standing at the threshold of your domain on the outskirts of what had been named Pentagram City, where ruined stone and ashes from the past met the modernity of a progressively growing city. "You have seen Hell change, evolve. You have watched the damned become something more, and yet, unlike the others from your time, you remain... unclaimed."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Are you here to change that, Morning Star?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No. I'm here to offer you something fitting of what you are."

You waited, silent, as he stepped closer, his golden eyes burning with the weight of eons.

"Hell was born from rebellion, from choice, from stories twisted and rewritten by those who feared the truth. And yet, we have no one to keep our history, no voice to tell it as it was rather than how others wish it to be remembered."

He met your gaze then, something almost expectant in the way he watched you.

"Be Hell’s chronicler. Not bound to me, not bound to the throne, but a witness to it all. A keeper of what was, a recorder of what will be. Not a servant—but a protégé of mine."

The fire in your veins burned hotter at the offer. Not a queen, not a soldier, not a pawn in some grander scheme. A voice. A record. A hand in carving the world that would be your home for eternity.

You let the silence stretch before finally speaking, lips curling into something like a smile.

"Where do I begin?"

Lucifer smiled, and for the first time since you met him, the sadness within it was gone. “You can start by calling me Lucifer.”

***

Years passed while you created a detailed chronic of hell. With enchanted ink you filled thousands of pages, marking dates and events that lead to hell as it was, listing sinners that came into power and were swallowed by others that were more powerful. Countless names were archived, the golden letters swallowed by the pages of the Almanac Lucifer had sent you, never running out of space to add more as time went by.

When you wrote down the words ‘Charlotte Morningstar’ next to the name of your benefactor, you had smiled – while neither Lilith nor Lucifer had visited you again, you had heard the rumors of the royal pair growing apart, the queen taking the charge of shaping hell while the king apparently retreating into the depth of their palace. It was strangely comforting to see that even though Lilith became the face of hell’s uprising in the public eye, turning Lucifer into a reclusive hermit cowering from responsibility to his people by the developing press, the family seemed to be intact and growing, with the daughter given a name meaning free man ominously foreboding.

Though, like all things in hell, it didn’t last. The vision had been clear as heavens skies and heavy like the sulfuric air of hell: The queen had left hell, her daughter and her husband behind.

And even though Lucifer came to you, broken with despair and drained by the tears fallen from his burning eyes, begging you as if he wasn’t the most powerful entity of hell, even with all your efforts you couldn’t find her. Vanished from the hellscape, the queen had disappeared without a trace.

“I wish I could do more, Lucifer. I really do.” You had said, your voice trembling as you saw the former angel fall to his knees in defeat, sobbing as he mourned the loss of his wife. Ignoring the decorum, you placed your hand gently on his shaking shoulder, and when he placed his hand on yours, the heat of a thousand dying stars almost burned through your skin.

“I know you do, my friend.”

***

Around the middle of the 1930’s a vision shook you awake, the images so vivid you much less than sprinted out of bed and opened the Almanac with trembling fingers.

A name had appeared, cutting through the darkness of your sleep like a knife and left blood-red letters behind, spelling a name that tasted like electricity on your tongue as you wrote it down.

Alastor

The writing had been neat, but extravagant. Brutality subtly hidden within flourished elegance. Charming and dangerous. You could recount only a few instances a vision had made your hair stand up and your pulse gone high, and they all stood in the shadow of this name. You stared at the word, the writing replicated from the image of your vision that you still saw before you like it was burned into your ever-seeing eyes, and you were sure that it would encounter you again soon.

And soon proved to be not too far away. Mere days after the night you wrote it into the chronicle of hell, you along all the other sinners listened to the first broadcast of the Radio Demon. Overlord after overlord disappeared, and while others almost fearfully wondered about who that mysterious force was, the crimson name flashed through your mind.

Alastor.

It didn’t take long for him to claim the infamous title. As you watched and wrote about his rise amongst the ranks of the pride ring, toppling powers that had been established and firm for decades like it was nothing, you became fascinated with the persona. As you kept track on his endeavors, you realized a pattern behind it. When it came to power, Alastor didn’t discriminate. He took souls and dealt with overlords with no regards to their gender at all, but it seemed he never punched down. No, in fact, he seemed to only turn his gaze up. Up to the cocky, the powerful, the ruthless.

Alastor wasn’t just a rising force—he was a disruptor of the Status Quo hell had established for quite some time. A force to be reckoned with. He was taking down the untouchables, toppling the high-ranking overlords, and with each victory, his name spread further across Hell. You had watched this power shift, and while many trembled, you couldn’t help but be intrigued. He played the game like a master, with finesse, and an unsettling calm that struck fear into the hearts of even those who thought themselves sure of their monopoly.

You knew there was more to him than what the others saw. His rise was not random—it was methodical, calculated. Each move he made was designed to provoke a reaction, to unsettle, to dismantle the existing order. He was carving a new path, one that seemed to call to you. His unrelenting hunger for power was matched only by his ambition to rattle and reshape the Pentagram. You had seen the glimpses of what he could become in your visions, and they made your blood run cold—and yet, you could not look away.

His charisma, his audacity, it was all too easy for others to latch onto. His fame rose akin to his power, as did his admirers and enemies alike. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting it, turning it into something that had never been seen before in Hell’s history.

And now, with the ink of his name still fresh in your chronicle, you found yourself at a crossroads. The fire that burned in his eyes whenever you saw visions of him, the confidence he exuded - he was a force that could either destroy everything you had painstakingly built or give you an opportunity to witness history in the making.

One thing was clear: Alastor was not someone to be ignored, nor someone to be underestimated. And you, the witness to Hell’s darkest stories, knew that the next chapter was only just beginning. And his name would be in the title of it.

***

It was only a matter of time before your paths would cross. You were sure of it because the more you saw and learned about the Radio Demon, the more you learned that he was a creature very insistent of maintaining the right kind of reputation. One of infamousness and one to be remembered. Captured and preserved for eternity. And although your afterlife’s work was a mostly unrecognized one, everyone knew who it was that did it.  

You had expected it to happen sooner, truth be told — maybe a shadow slinking into your domain with that ever-present, unnerving grin that had quickly become his trademark among the denizens of hell. Perhaps a flickering broadcast discreetly addressing you, daring you to acknowledge the weight of his presence over the screams of yet another foe swallowed. Instead, it happened with the quiet inevitability of a predator meeting another that had been watching from the dark.

You felt him before you saw him. A ripple in the air, like a radio frequency just barely out of tune, static brushing the edges of your mind. The scent of old vinyl records, burned wood and something richer—like the iron tang of freshly spilled blood—coiled through your study, even before his voice lilted through the silence.

"My, my," the words dripped with amusement, a song in themselves, lilting and playful in the slightly distorted transatlantic accent that had become classic during the aftermath of the fiorst world war. "The infamous Chronicler of Hell, tucked away in the shadows of a flourishing world while the same turns its pages. I must say, cher, I’ve been dying to meet you."

And there he stood, framed in the dim light of your candles – the long and slender figure of the demon you’ve watched in your visions and through the thousand eyes scattered through hell. Dressed in the color of the blood he so happily took from his victims, woven into a tattered, yet well-kept dapper ensemble. His grin a crescent moon of sharp teeth, the treacherous reveal of his true nature hidden by the softness of his deer-like features… the perfect wolf in sheeps clothing with eyes like radio dials that were turning, turning, turning — tuning in to you.

You did not startle, though the air crackled with his presence, charged with the kind of static electricity like the moment before a lightning strike. You didn’t wonder how he found his way into your tower – you were very aware that the very shadows you had hidden your space in were the ones he had managed to utilize. No, you didn’t react like any other sinner would’ve if they were in your position, preparing to flee or to fight to get away from him. Instead, you merely sat your feather back into the pot of ink and closed the Almanac before you, gently placing a blotting paper in between the pages so the golden letters shimmering in the candlelight wouldn’t smudge as you lifted your gaze to meet his.

"I’m pleased to finally meet you too, Alastor, the Radio Demon." you greeted, his name rolling off your tongue with the weight of the knowledge you had obsessively accumulated.

His grin widened, if such a thing was even possible, his fingers twitching on his microphone staff he used as a glorified walking stick — restless, eager. Like a performer, just before the curtain rises. "Oh, so you do know me! I feel positively honored!" He took a step forward into your study, the shadows stretching behind him like eager hands. "I’ve always wondered how I’d be immortalized in that little book of yours. Tell me, cher, do I make for a thrilling read?"

His words danced in the air, playful, probing, but you had read enough of him to recognize the calculation beneath. Alastor was a man of spectacle, of carefully woven narratives, of power wielded with an impenetrable smile. And now, he was watching you just as keenly as you had watched him.

"History is written by those who survive it," you mused, leaning back in your chair, fingers steepled. "The question is, will you?"

For the first time, his laughter faltered—not gone, merely shifted, deeper, richer. The frequency of it changed, static curling at the edges. And yet, the amusement never left his gaze.

"Oh, darling," he all but purred, his voice dipping into something far more dangerous. "You wound me. But I do love a good story, especially when I can get a hand on choosing the narrative.”

"Before you continue," you said smoothly, tilting your head ever so slightly. "I see that I’ve been rude in not properly introducing myself. While I have no real use for a name, you may address me as Clio." It was the name you had chosen for yourself, deciding it was best to burn it off the Almanac, like your earthly body had been. It had irked you to no end when you found out Lucifer had inspired Greek humans to name a tacky deity after you, and out of the rare letters you sent him, this one had been the most reprimanding one. The obsidian writing desk he had sent you back with his amused apology barely a consolation for the ridicule you felt whenever you were remembered of your fictional counterpart.

For a fleeting moment, there was something unreadable in his gaze, the dials in his eyes flickering through unseen frequencies before settling again into their crimson hue. Then, just as quickly, the smile returned, wide and gleaming.

"Clio, is it?" He rolled the name over his tongue, tasting it like a fine vintage. "Ah! Like the muse of history herself! How fitting!"

You arched a twitching brow. "A coincidence, I assure you."

His laughter crackled like an old radio, distorting at the edges. "Oh, my dear, nothing in Hell is ever just coincidence." He tapped a finger against his temple as if sharing some grand joke, then gestured to the grand tome before you. "But very well, Clio. If that is what you prefer, who am I to deny the Chronicler of Hell her proper title?"

You inclined your head in acknowledgment, watching him carefully.

"You see," he continued, stepping closer, the flickering candlelight casting jagged shadows across his face, "I've always had a fondness for stories. The ones spun from whispers in the dark, from screams cut short, from the rise and fall of the so-called mighty." His eyes gleamed, the dials shifting ever so slightly, tuning into something unseen, something just beyond the reach of ordinary perception. "And you, my dear, hold the quill that etches them into eternity."

You regarded him carefully, letting the weight of his words settle between you. He was playing a game, one you had come to know well. Every movement, every inflection, was deliberate—designed to entice and ensnare. But you were not a poor sinner desperate for a shady deal to secure their detrimental safety, nor were you an unwitting pawn in whatever performance he intended to stage.

"Careful, Alastor," you murmured, the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of your lips as you motioned him to sit in an Armchair near you. "History does not bow to those who seek to control it. It is an impartial thing, even to those who fancy themselves its most captivating figures."

His grin stretched impossibly wider, but there was something sharper behind it now, something edged with the thrill of challenge as he sat down, crossing his long legs suavely. "Ah, but history is written by those clever enough to shape it, wouldn’t you say?" His voice was syrup-sweet, a melody laced with static and the distant echo of long-forgotten screams. "And I do so love shaping things to my liking."

He leaned in then, just enough for you to catch the faintest trace of something beneath the scent of old vinyl and blood—something deeper, older. It was the scent of change, of something just on the cusp of rewriting itself.

You met his gaze, unflinching. "Then I suppose you’ve come to ensure your story is told the right way."

A chuckle, rich and full of knowing. "Oh, my dear Clio, it’s much more than that." he crooned, his shadow detaching itself to tap a long, black finger against the cover of the Almanac behind you. "I've come to ensure it’s a story worth remembering."

***

Despite his brave face and unyielding smile, it was more than clear he was, to say the least, disappointed that his visit didn’t pan out like he imagined. You hadn’t been the passive, easily manipulated and tired sinner he most certainly expected. Instead, Alastor had been faced with your headstrong calmness, the ease with which you faced him had both irritated and fascinated him. Realizing his initial tactic wouldn’t help his cause, he said his goodbyes. Though not without the polite threat to visit again. And visit again he did.

It took him a month of carnage and destruction to return, a bouquet of deep violet aconites in hand.

“Now, Clio, dear,” he drawled, stretching out the syllables of your name, his grin stretching when your brow twitched again in slight annoyance. “I must say, I find myself positively enchanted by your little operation here. All this history, all these secrets... It must be exhausting, keeping track of the comings and goings of Hell’s finest. Don’t you ever feel—oh, what’s the word—detached? Watching, but never taking part?”

You regarded him evenly, your fingers resting on the cover of the Almanac, feeling the pulse of its enchanted ink beneath your touch. He was prodding, testing the waters to see where the cracks might be, where you might bend. But you had spent centuries refining the art of remaining unshaken.

“You mistake my role, Alastor,” you replied smoothly. “I am not merely a passive observer. I am the ink and paper of history itself. Just because I do not wield a blade or strike a deal does not mean I do not shape what is remembered. Even the most powerful fall into obscurity when no one remains to write their name.”

His grin twitched, amusement gleaming in his crimson eyes. “Ah, now that is interesting.” He leaned forward, resting his chin upon his clasped hands, gaze intent. “So you do believe in control, after all. You may not move the chess pieces yourself, but you decide which moves are remembered.”

He let out a burst of static-laced laughter, delighted at the realization. “Why, Clio, that makes you more powerful than you let on! And here I thought you were just some reclusive little scholar.”

You tilted your head, amusement glinting in your eyes. “And here I thought you were just another snobby overlord.”

He beamed. “Touché, my dear!”

A long silence stretched between you as you and him alike sipped on the bourbon you offered after he came in, filled only with the soft rumbles of the raging sulfur storm outside. You studied him, the way he seemed so at ease yet never still, a creature of motion even when seated. A man always aware of the performance he was giving, yet never letting his mask slip. And yet… there was something else. A purpose behind his presence here, beyond mere curiosity or vanity.

“You didn’t come here again just to tell me you admire my work,” you finally said. “You seem to be very fond of using words, so tell me: What do you really want, Alastor?”

For a moment, the air shifted. The temperature of the room seemed to drop, the shadows lengthening at the edges of your study. His grin did not falter, but something in his gaze sharpened.

“My, my. Right to the point. How dreadfully efficient of you,” he hummed. “Very well, since you insist.” He spread his arms in a grand, theatrical motion. “I want a guarantee.”

You raised a brow. “A guarantee?”

“That while my story is written—oh, and I know it is already in the works for quite some time,” he chuckled darkly, “it is told in its full glory. Not just the gossip of the frightened or the meiosis of the envious. I want someone to see beyond the surface, one who understands the artistry of it all.” His eyes gleamed, eerie and bright in the dim light. “And who better than the chronicler of hell herself?”

You considered his words, the weight behind them. Alastor was many things—dangerous, unpredictable, utterly insatiable in his hunger for control—but above all, he was a performer. And a performer’s worst fear was not death. It was being forgotten.

“You want me to immortalize you,” you mused, running a finger along the edge of the Almanac. “Ensure your legacy remains the way you want it to, untainted by the gossip and slander of what you perceive lesser minds.”

His grin widened, something triumphant flashing behind his eyes. “Precisely.”

A slow smile curled on your lips, the taste of bourbon still lingering on them. “Oh, Alastor,” you said, voice velvet-smooth. “What hell presents me, I record. Whether it’s the great or the miserable… any- and everything. And most importantly…” You set down your glass, and gave him a long, analyzing glance. “…I do not write stories to please their subjects.”

To your utmost surprise and confusion, his chuckled response was rich with delight. “Clio, my dear, that’s all I want – an untainted eye with a knack for the details. I would expect nothing less.”

He stood, tapping his microphone staff against the floor, the static in the air crackling like distant thunder. “I look forward to our partnership then, my dear historian.” he crooned. “Let’s make history worth reading.”

And with that, he tipped his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and the shadows swallowed him whole. You sat there, staring at the space where he had been, fingers tracing the worn leather of the Almanac.

You sat in the stillness that followed his departure, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, as if they lingered like smoke in the corners of the study. A partnership, he’d called it. But you knew well enough by now—the Radio Demon was not someone who would truly share power, and this "partnership" was a delicate dance, one where the roles would always remain blurred depending which point of view one would look at it. He would use you, just as you would use him. The difference was, you were the one who could control the narrative.

Your fingers gently brushed over the pages of the Almanac, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself. If there was one thing that was certain in this exchange, it was that Alastor had just unknowingly relit a fire in you that had extinguished for a long time. Influence. His ambition would shape his legacy—but only if you allowed it. And while he thought he had all the strings in his hands, you weren’t sure he was aware that you were the one to weave them.

"Let’s make history worth reading," he'd said.

A chuckle escaped your lips. Oh, you would make sure Alastor would be remembered. Whether it was as a legend, a monster, a myth or something entirely different — that would be up to you, and the thought made you smile as you set out to get ready for another night of mundane visions.

[aneldritchfootnote]

XI The Justice of Lilith

In honour of International Women's Day 2025 and @hellsgreatestevents's initiative to raise money for the Lilith Fund

Please check out this post to see how you can contribute 🖤

[aneldritchfootnote]

O The Fool

As requested by strangetea6 on Bluesky

In honour of International Women's Day 2025 and @hellsgreatestevents's initiative to raise money for the Lilith Fund!

[macabr3-barbi3]

My wonderful Barbie,

My sister from another mister. How did I live life without your funny, witty, lovely presence in it? Our friendship is something I will treasure until I go to hell myself, and if I'm the first of us to go I'll get a dinky lil apartment and will wait for you to join me so we can rock eternal damnation together!

This donation is in your honor.

It's with no strings attached, just one of the ways I can try to show you how much I love you. If you wish though - You know that I would love to see you write a Vox or Alastor piece that makes the toes curl and the heart flutter.

❤️

first, please know that I have been sitting on this fic for literally MONTHS trying to get it done for a special occasion for you and never finding the fight inspiration to finish it. FINALLY I found the rest of the story and I am so happy to be sharing it in response to this beautiful ask, for a beautiful cause, from a beautiful friend ❤️

This is one of two fics that I am posting in your honor today to count notes for the final bits of the International Women's Day event and I hope everyone enjoys!

Another reminder (sorry I'm a broken record lol) that I'll personally be donating $3 for every 15 notes that the fics with this banner are receiving 💗find fic #1 (RadioStatic breeding kink fic) here and fic #2 (innocent Alastor x Reader) here! I'll stop counting around 12PM EST tomorrow so we can get our final tallys in.

Get more information about the event and future ones by following us on Tumblr @hellsgreatestevents and Bluesky!

Without any further ado, a casual not-quite-request from my darling from like July of 2024: promiscuous!reader x Alastor who thinks they have 0 attraction to him despite flirting/sleeping with literally ANYONE else

Tags: promiscuous fem reader; non sex-repulsed Alastor; possessive Alastor; fingering; handjob; 'It's just biology' logic lol

It shouldn’t bother him the way that it does.

Oh, it does.

Alastor watches you from the shadows of the hotel from the moment that you arrive- another deer, he supposes it’s mere instinct to keep an eye on you, some herd mentality that makes his eyes trail your form as you pass from one room to another, makes his ears twitch in tandem when yours flatten or stiffen in response to something. (He’s never reacted similarly to any other cervine Sinner in Hell, but it’s a comforting logic to cling to.) He sends his shadow to monitor you one time only when he catches a scent of distress coming from your bedroom, only for the blasted thing to tell him you were engaged in ‘personal matters’ that made his mind race and his normally dormant lower half twitch with interest. He throws up wards around your room to keep your scent and sounds contained, and assumes that will be the end of it.

It’s only the beginning- as soon as you acclimate to the Hotel, to Hell as a whole, the string of lovers begins. You would bring them to the hotel late in the day and send them off early the next morning; an assortment of men and women, sinners and succubi and Hellhounds, he’s even sure he may have seen an Overlord make an appearance, though no one of any real importance. Charlie and Vaggie finally catch wind of it, and politely ask that you stop bringing your parade of paramours to the doors of the Hotel; you agree to it, Alastor listening from the shadows around the corner, silently pleased that your brazen flaunting of your sexuality will be forced to come to an end.

Except… it doesn’t. You come home some nights smelling of cheap perfume and rancid cologne and what Alastor can only assume is bodily fluids before excusing yourself to your bedroom and emerging later smelling like yourself again- he can smell it on you, see the signs of your amorous hobbies, and no one else seems to notice or care, besides Angel Dust asking on occasion, “You look well taken care of, toots; who’s the lucky individual?”

Laughing when you respond, “who isn’t?” Like you were sharing your body with simply anyone.

It would be one thing if that was all he was subject to. But aside from your more promiscuous activities, you also rivaled the spider demon in terms of flirting and innuendo! At breakfast or lunch with the rest of the Hotel occupants, you would let suggestive comments fly across the table or lobby to everyone- winking at Angel as you swirled your tongue around an ice cream cone; dropping your voice to a lower register when leaning across the bar to ask Husk for a drink; ‘jokingly’ asking the Princess and Vaggie if they were looking for another participant when they mentioned going to bed one night. You weren’t as persistent or forward as the spider used to be- when Vaggie had growled in response to your question you had immediately backed off and apologized profusely- but you were very generous with your compliments and comments with everyone in the Hotel, even Niffty, going so far as to make a pass at Lucifer himself one night that he joined the group.

That, at least, had been entertaining- watching the King seem to choke on his own tongue as he flushed and tried to stammer out a response to your invitation to your bedroom, away from the ears of his daughter.

But your attention was never turned to him.

You never turned shy or demure like one would expect, but you made no pass at Alastor. No innuendos or offers like you made to the others, like you clearly made to the seemingly never ending stream of creatures and sinners that you warmed the sheets of. You chatted with him and laughed and spoke about music and literature but you never complimented him or invited him to your room as he had seen you do with countless others. And normally he wouldn’t care in the slightest- normally he would prefer it this way. When he thinks of the comments he got from the porn star that were always dismissed, the fumbled passes that Vox had made at him during their partnership that had never interested him in the slightest, the various offers and invitations that he had received over the years since arriving in Hell, he feels nothing.

You, though…

Perhaps it's the nature of his sinner form; the buck in him distraught at the idea that such a pretty, fertile doe didn’t think he was acceptable as a sexual partner when you would take on anyone else, and do so blatantly, right in front of him. But the thought of it keeps him up at night, his trousers tight and his antlers large and itchy, scratching at the bark of the trees in his bayou when he risks dropping his wards around your bedroom one night and smells that same scent from before, what he had thought was distress and could now recognize as being arousal. He refuses to lower himself as far as touching his straining erection, but the fact of you not wanting him eats him alive.

To his credit, he resists for a decent amount of time. Alastor lets the thoughts stew and thinks of you- what you’re doing with others, the ways they might be touching you, the sounds you might be making during it. He doesn’t allow himself to follow you when you step out in the evenings, keeps his shadow close to his side when you leave and come back smelling of sex.

A man can only have so much self control.

He’s down in the kitchen late in the evening when the light switches on, and your soft gasp of surprise graces his ears. When he looks over at you he wishes you had kept the lights off- you stand there in a mere slip of a nightgown, black and silky and clinging to the lines of your body like a second skin. Indecent. Alluring. Far, far too tempting, and he keeps his distance across the room, willing his antlers to stay as they are and not branch out to crowd the space at the close proximity to a potential mate.

He feels an eyebrow quirk up at that- mate was new, the word dangerous as it curls through his brain while he watches you, ears dropped low against your head and a blush tinting your face.

“Good evening, dear,” he says cordially, and resumes his earlier actions of making an evening cup of tea- like everything is normal, like the mere presence of you isn’t sending blood rushing through his body.

You seem to breathe a sigh of relief  before fully coming into the room, wrapping your arms around yourself, the motion pushing the mounds of your breasts up ever so slightly. He forces himself to look away, to stay busy as you approach and stand next to him. “Hi, Alastor. Think I could get one of those?” You gesture to the mug he holds in his hands.

“Why, of course! Allow me to-” 

When your arm drops back down he catches the scent on the air that you displace- Frustration. Arousal. There’s a second of silence before the glass he holds drops to the floor as he abandons all notion of tea in favor of reaching for you, tugging you closer so that you’re fitted against his body, tucked under his chin as he drops it down to sniff at your hair, one hand clasped around your bicep and the other coming around the back to hold you to him.

You make an alarmed squeak but don’t pull away, tilting your head up to try and look at him. The noise you make is inquisitive but not scared as he turns the pair of you, pins you between his chest and the counter and just breathes in the intoxicating cocktail of scent that you give off. He recognizes that he’s overstepping his boundaries- his mother would skin his hide if she was anywhere near Hell and knew he was behaving in such a manner- but he’s held out admirably long, and the need to know why, why, why was beating insistently at his thoughts. And after this, who knew if you would ever let him so close to you again? If you would even stay in the Hotel? The mere idea of you being anywhere else, away from his watchful eye and protection, makes his antlers ache.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs into your scalp, as eager to explain his actions away as he was to get answers from you even if he can’t bring himself to release you yet. “It’s a… biological impulse, I presume, because of our-”

“Because we’re deer?” You ask softly, the whisper of your breath tickling the skin of his chest where it pokes out of his shirt, and his erection aches where it suddenly strains against his trousers. He angles his hips back subtly, resists the urge to shove forward instead.

“Right. I’m afraid I- I was not thinking, and not myself.” He feels a flush take over his face, glad that you can’t see it where you’re held against him. “I believe if I can just- take in your scent for a moment, that should appease the instinct.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but you hum into his shirt and stay put, so he assumes it’s a passable excuse.

You stand there quietly with him for a moment before the traitorous words bubble out of his throat against his will, the curiosity overriding his logic. “Why do you show no interest in me like you do the others?”

You stiffen in his hold- and even at this sign of alarm he can’t bring himself to release you. “I don’t- I’m not sure what you mean, Alastor,” you stammer, but he can smell it on you, the nerves, the anxiety in the phrase.

“It’s not my intention to scare you- nor corner you like this,” he adds, nodding down at his arms that cage you against the counter. “Merely a curiosity, and unfortunate coincidence. You offer your compliments freely, you make advances, you have an endless stream of lovers, and yet you have never directed such attention my way. Even Niffty has been at the receiving end of your flirting, albeit in a joking manner.” You’re silent in his arms, muscles tense and face turned away from him, and he keeps his hands where they are instead of doing something stupid like brushing his fingers against your cheek and turning you to face him. “Have I offended you in some manner? Do you simply not find me to be appealing?”

“No!” Your eyes are wide when you meet his again, a sweet blush to your face as you deny. “No, I mean, you’re fine, you haven’t done anything wrong- and you’re hot, so that’s not- fuck. Fuck. It’s really nothing, Alastor-”

And there it was again- that scent that you carried with you, pheromones that broadcasted to him as clearly as a radio that you were aroused, a tinge of embarrassment tinting it now instead of the frustration from earlier and it’s simply not enough. He drops his face to your shoulder, ignoring your soft squeak of alarm in favor of inhaling deeply at the curve of your neck where it’s the strongest that he can reach. It’s heady and thick, almost feeling like it’s coating his airways as it travels through his body, cock leaking inside his trousers now. “Doesn’t smell like nothing,” he murmurs absently, and your hands come up from where they’ve been gripping the counter to fist into his shirt. An explanation, he tells himself as he meets your eyes again, dilated and wide. That’s all I need. That will sate this feeling. That will return me to normal. That will-

He’s taken off guard by your dragging him down to meet your lips, more a clash of teeth than anything else before you get the angle right, surprising him with your tongue against his teeth as you try to lick into his mouth. His noise of surprise is muffled into the kiss, and it gives you the opportunity you need to get your tongue in his mouth, stroke with the slick muscle along his own. The action makes his hips jolt forward, erection finally pressed against the warmth of your body for a blissful moment before he remembers himself and angles away again.

He tries to, anyway. Your hands leave his shirt to tug at his belt loops, bringing his hips back into alignment with yours and causing a moan to vibrate from your mouth and into his as you clumsily try to grind into him.

Alastor releases you- only for a moment, only to reposition his hands so he can hold you even closer, shift you up onto the counter to press harder against you so he can finally satisfy the instinctive craving that had been plaguing him for months- and before he can do anything further you tear away with a gasp, letting go of his hips to push at his chest and try to put distance between the two of you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, and were it not for the note of panic that now taints your delicious scent he would tease you for the calling of a being so far removed from Hell when he manages to settle his hands on your body again. “Fuck, I didn’t mean- I’m so sorry, Alastor, I wasn’t thinking,” and through your stammering your face is darkening, ears laid flat against your head.

One can only guess what sort of foolish things you’re telling yourself- that he didn’t want this, that you shouldn’t have kissed him, that this would surely result in some kind of disaster. What he was more focused on was the huff of your breath against his chest, the thrum of your heartbeat under his fingertips, the twitch of your ears. The heat of your body pressed against his as you had attempted to grind down, such an obvious display of your attraction to him that he knows he needs to cease your rampant overthinking before you do something terrible, like flee from him.

“My dear,” he says softly, and your eyes dart up, wide, trembling like your fingers against his chest. Much more like a frightened bird than the doe you were. “If you explain your hesitation, we can sort out any confusion that might linger between us, and get back to the more important matters at hand.” He brings a hand up from your hip to trace along the curve of your jaw, and the exhale that escapes you is hot against his wrist when he pulls you back against him. “Tell me your concerns.”

“You don’t actually want this,” you stutter out, your tongue darting out to wet your dry lips, and it’s all he can do not to reclaim your mouth. “It’s- you’re only reacting like this because we’re both deer, you wouldn’t normally-”

“Do you think,” he interrupts with a roll of his hips into you, “that you are the first deer demon I’ve ever come across in all my years in Hell?”

Your eyes widen. “You- but you just said-”

“Yes, in an effort to spare myself the embarrassment of clinging to a young lady that I thought had no interest in me.” He places his hands on your waist and lifts you with little effort to rest on the edge of the counter so he can step fully between your legs. “It seems that may not be the case.”

You whimper, low and broken as his thumb brushes the skin of your thighs. “It’s not,” you confess. “I’ve… it wasn’t the whole time. I mean, I like sex with other people but lately its been- killing me, wanting you. I didn’t think you would want anything.”

“You thought wrong.” He slides his hands under your nightgown, the feeling of your bare skin under his hands igniting the heat within him anew. “I want everything from you.” He clasps you to his body and grinds, his erection dragging deliciously against the soaked warmth between your legs. “You were touching yourself just moments before you entered the kitchen, weren’t you? You couldn’t reach satisfaction; that’s why you smell of frustration, or arousal. Your scent has been driving me mad, these… lovers you’ve been with have been intolerable.”

He can feel the swollen nub of your clit through your panties, wet with slick from your time spent pleasuring yourself and unable to find release. He can almost feel the folds of you molding to his shape, parting with ease to invite him in if he so wished. 

He wouldn’t take you here. Alastor had craved you for too long to be satisfied with a fumbling romp in the kitchen in the dead of night- he was a gentleman, and would take you to bed and whisper the words of praise that you were so deserving of as he entered you for the first time. He would ensure that the evening was beautiful and worthy of how long you both had waited, unknowing of how easy it all could have been.

For now, though, you were both vibrating with the tension of months of pent up frustration, and he wouldn’t make you wait any longer, his own release be damned. He would show you that none of the others you had bedded were any sort of viable substitution for him.

He asks, “may I?” As he teases his fingers along the waist of your panties, and your breathy agreement is music to his ears as he simply vanishes them away and slips his fingers into your core. You’re wet for him, the smell of your arousal overwhelming now that you’re bare before him, open for his touch, and while he has little experience in this area he’s able to read the tremble of your body in his arms well enough, the whimpers and gasps that you let out into his ears. He searches, fingers gentle in their exploration as he aches in his slacks, grinding against the counter with what little leverage he has and watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He finds the answer to his questioning touch in a pliable spot of flesh that he crooks his fingers against, and your body trembles in his arms. He hardly needs your frantic whisper of “yes, there, please,” but the feedback is encouraging anyway as he presses hard, withdrawing and adding another finger at the encouraging thrust of your hips.

He wishes he could taste you, knows that you would be just as sweet on his tongue as you felt clenched around his digits. You’re both too wound for that now, as he would want to take his time in savoring you, and so he settles for letting you come undone around his fingers. He finds a promising angle by pushing up on the tips of his hooves, and that gives him the angle he needs to rut into your thigh, hot as the rest of your body and deliciously firm against his cock. Your cunt weeps with arousal, and he swipes his thumb through it for an effortless glide against your clit as he rocks his fingers in a steady rhythm.

“Please,” you whisper, and there’s a hand shoved against his belt buckle, clawing at the clasp in the little space that exists between your bodies. “I want to touch you- please, can I?” Your eyes are wet with pleasure, every inch of your visible skin flushed and your request sweet as honey in the air as you wait for his approval. He nods, and his head drops to your shoulder with a defeated groan at the first touch of your hands to his bare erection.

Your grip is firm, hot- experienced, he thinks with a distant throb of jealousy knowing how many others you had been with to have gained such knowledge. How many others had held you against a counter or wall like this with some part of their body inside of you, your delicate hand touching them in return? What was the exact number of Sinners he would have to hunt down that became familiar with the flavor of your moans before he had been given the chance to sample you?

“Fuck, Alastor,” you cry out, and he grins sharp and dangerous into the crook of your neck at the realization that none of your previous lovers mattered now- all that existed to you in this moment was him, his fingers buried in the tight clench of your body, his cock leaking in your hand, his name on your soft lips. You were pliant and warm and perfect, and he would ensure that you never needed anyone else to satisfy you for the rest of your afterlife.

His orgasm catches him nearly by surprise, hips jerking as he spills hard and messy over your fingers. His voice catches on a desperate moan of your name, and somehow this- staticky and rough and broken- is what takes you over the edge as well, your inner walls fluttering hard around his fingers and even more slick gushing from you to coat him in the evidence of your satisfaction.

You take a moment to simply breathe, bringing a hand up to rest on his shoulder before you start laughing.

Alastor is almost offended, but when he pulls back from your shoulder your smile is fond and pleased. “To think we could have been doing this all along,” you tease, and run your thumb through the mess of his orgasm and lightly against his tip before withdrawing from his pants. You roll your hips against his fingers as he pulls them from you, and the small action is enough to have his spent cock twitching once again.

“Not all along,” he says, bringing his fingers up to inspect, delighting in your renewed blush when he pops one into his mouth for a taste and is rewarded with it being every bit as delicious as he had hoped. “I’m sure with your expertise we would have graduated to more adventurous endeavors by now.”

“My expertise?” You feign offense, your tone exaggerated and your smile genuine as you look up at him. “Why, Alastor, are you implying I’m some sort of tart?”

His eyes are dark as he growls, “not anymore, you aren’t,” and scoops you into his arms to retreat to his bedroom with the ghost of your laughter echoing in the kitchen when you’re gone.

[macabr3-barbi3]

Unexpected Attractions (Vox/Reader SFW)

(Hell's Greatest International Women's Day Fic #4)

Welcome to fic #4! Yet another reminder (sorry guys I promise this is the last one) that I'll personally be donating $3 to the Lilith Fund for every 15 notes that the fics with this banner are receiving 💗find fic #1 (RadioStatic NSFW) here, fic #2 (innocent Alastor x Reader NSFW) here, and fic #3 (promiscuous reader x Alastor NSFW) right here! I'll stop counting notes around 12PM EST on 3/10/25 so we can get our final tallys in.

Check out @hellsgreatestevents to see how we're doing so far and get updates on future events like this one for the Lilith Fund!

Tags: Lu Lu World, Vox is a businessman; he's also a simp; Meet Cute; Vox resolves other people's trauma instead of his own; Out of Character Vox? Kinda but who cares lol; Amusement park date

A huge thank you to my darling @fraugwinska for basically writing the last couple of paragraphs for me since I got stuck; I owe you my entire heart and soul 💕

One day, the lack of basic respect that he got as an Overlord would be a problem. Not for him, of course, but for the shitbags that ran establishments like Lu Lu World and thought that his time was expendable and could be wasted without so much as a ‘fuck you.’

Vox was courteous enough to arrive early for his meeting with the security team to discuss installing new cameras and sensors all over the park. They, however, couldn’t even be bothered to let his assistant know before he made the fucking trip that they would be pushing the meeting back by three and a half hours, effectively trapping him at this shitty theme park for the sake of convenience- why bother going home when he would just have to come back?

He was going to gouge their prices, he decided. Double and a half what they had initially discussed just for the fuck of it- if they wanted to play games then he would too. Let them spend exorbitant amounts of money for the sin of pissing him off; see if Vox gave a shit. Maybe he would use the extra time to take a look around the park and see what areas could be improved upon by security measures- the entrances and exits, of course, and stationed outside employee areas to keep an eye on the comings and goings of park staff. He could charge them even more for the use of his time if he was actually doing something rather than just sitting around waiting for hours.

Someone slams into his side, a giggling couple that races off without a backwards glance at the man they shoulder-checked, and static sparks between his antennae in anger as he brushes himself off. “Oh no, excuse me,” he mutters sarcastically. “People die and their fucking manners are the first to go, huh?”

“Oh, they’re always like that,” he hears, and looks over to see you seated on a bench, the heel of your hand rubbing across your eyes as you look at him. They’re rimmed in red, but still bright and interested when you meet his gaze. “I could apologize for them, but I don’t think they’d care either way- I’m supposed to be their friend and they don’t care about hurting me, why would a stranger be any different?”

“What, they blow you off or something?” He watches you roll your eyes in irritation, a frown overtaking the pretty features of your face. 

You shrug, looking past him to watch your friend's backs fade in the distance. “Yeah, but nothing new. It was supposed to be a group hang- despite saying they were fine with it before, they didn’t want a third wheel anymore. So now I’m gonna have to spend a fuckton of money to get home since, of course, they were also my ride.” You smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes, an expression he’s too familiar with. 

“You could stay- do your own thing while you wait for them to finish,” he offers, and you shoot him a look that suggests he’s a fucking idiot.

“What kind of loser hangs around an amusement park by themselves?”

He had been there when he was alive; middle and high school years spent waiting for friends that always seemed to be one seat short, one movie ticket shy of enough for the whole group. “We’ll get you next time,” and then the next time never came. Always the last one called, the first one singled out, the last minute ‘you can come if you want’ invitation until he had finished college and actually made something of himself. How many times had he sat on a bench like this watching his own friends walk away from him, without a care for how he felt having to watch them have fun as they left him behind?

Vox hadn’t thought about those feelings in years, having shoved them down deep when he grew up, came to Hell and pushed himself farther than he ever could have gone when he was alive. He had an empire now, a business not bound by morals and laws, people that respected and feared him.

He still remembered what it felt like to be where you were.

It’s a split second decision, but he had time to waste- he figured taking you with him on his personal tour wouldn’t put too much of a damper on his plans with the meeting being pushed back, and having someone to talk to, barring any punishable offense on your part, would probably make the hours pass faster.

“Why don’t you hang out with me for a while?” He asks, and extends a hand out to you. When you don’t take it, he flashes you a winning smile. “I have some stuff to do around the park- join me.”

You eye him warily, but take his hand and let him pull you to standing. “You really don’t have to do that,” you tell him, but you don’t resist when he tightens his grip against your fingers. “What would people think of the VoxTek CEO hanging around Lu Lu World with some random Sinner? What are you even doing here?”

“Business,” he says simply, gesturing around them. “Business that is lent credibility if I’m actually doing things at the park instead of just observing.” And that was mostly a lie that he had thought of on the spot, but he felt like he needed to convince you now, to make this day better for you like no one had even done for him when he was topside. “And what kind of loser hangs around an amusement park by themselves? You’d be doing me a favor, honestly.”

Your eyebrow creases in suspicion at him using your words against you. “Really- I’m fine just going home.”

“And letting your shitbag friends know that they can do this to you whenever they want? Come on- have some fun with me. Don’t let them ruin what should have been a good day.” When you frown and look again in the direction that your friends had gone, he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on. Just until I have to go to my meeting. I can get us a Fast Pass so we can cut the lines. Imagine their faces seeing you get to jump to the front. Worth it, huh?”

And with this you smile- genuine and pleased and a little mischievous. “I might be able to be persuaded for that,” you say, and let him pull you along to the entrance gate to be fitted with the bracelet that would allow the pair of you to cut the lines.

Bracelets affixed, you walked slowly through the rows of vendors and games, the silence between you not entirely uncomfortable. He hadn’t been to an amusement park in years, and between looking for security risks around the park while you walked around together and trying to decide on a ride to go on together, he wasn’t too impressed. Neither of you seemed particularly excited at the prospect of one of the huge roller coasters- not that he was scared, of course, but with his head being made up of fragile electronic components he was… reasonably cautious. He would have been down for some of the easier rides, something like the Ferris Wheel or one of those funky little spinning teacups or something that couldn’t do much harm.

Then he had seen your face drop when you noticed your friends towards the middle of the line for the largest, most popular ride in the park and, well…

That was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Hey.” He reached over and tugged at the band on your wrist. “Paid an arm and a leg for these for a reason, doll. Let’s go.”

Your smile lit up your entire face, and that was almost worth the money on its own. Watching your friends’ expressions sour when he brought you to the front of the line for the operator to let you pass for the next cycle of the coaster took it the rest of the way to ‘worth it.’

The ride itself wasn’t bad- more fun than he had anticipated, and your shriek of laughter at his side when you hit the first drop made him smile more genuinely than he had in a while. Your grip on his forearm was firm through the whole ride, still holding on when the cart eventually slowed and you exited the ride together, still holding on when you saw your friends still not at the front of the line and stuck your tongue out at them as you left together.

Your hair was windswept and wild, pieces flying into your face when you looked up at him with eyes like stars and asked, “what’s next?”

The mirror maze is dangerous with his face, but he lets you lead him through by the hand, always in front to walk into any mirrors that stand in the way. You never seriously hurt yourself, always bouncing off the glass with a laugh that echoes through the space when you look back at him to make sure he’s following.

The other roller coasters are disappointing compared to that first one, but apparently your friends were adrenaline junkies; you got to watch their excitement dwindle every time the pair of you approached one that they were in line for, cutting to the front each time and leaving them stewing in their jealousy.  Vox liked watching you look at the images after each ride, surreptitiously handing the booth attendant his credit card to pay for small copies of the photos the two of you were in so you could take them home with you when the day was over- something to remember him by, and to remember the day you got to put your friends in their places. 

The Ferris wheel is lackluster, but a necessary component for an amusement park trip to be complete. He buys a thing of popcorn and you spend the slow trip to the top and back down throwing kernels over the side at unsuspecting guests, and trying to coax a couple weird birds to eat out of your hand before one of them snagged the whole bag and dumped it on the crowd below.

When you eventually tire of rides, he takes you back down the strip to play arcade games. To his chagrin, he’s fucking awful; no amount of hypnotism has any effect on his ability to throw a couple rings over a goddamn bottle neck or blast water at a Lucifer-Duck target so he can win you the fat shark plush that dangles over your heads. Even worse, you’re scarily good with the water pistol, so solidly aimed at the center of the moving targets that the game vendor eyes you suspiciously when he reaches up to unclip the stuffed animal and hand it to you after the bell sounds to alert passersby that you’ve won.

A few feet away from the booth, you turn and shove the shark into his arms, trailing your fingers through the soft fur that covers it. “It’s customary to win the prize for your date, right?” You ask, and flush from your hairline to the neck of your shirt when he smiles wide and steps closer to you.

“Is that what this is now, sugar?” He says quietly, and the noise of the park fades away as he focuses on the way your breath catches at his proximity. “A date?”

And Satan, he has to admire how you straighten your shoulders instead of backing down. “It could be,” you tell him, and step away, removing your hands from the shark when something catches your eye. “It depends on how it ends.” And the shark joins you at the next couple of failed games, until you lead him to the final attraction, a huge, heart-shaped door under a sign that says ‘The Tunnel of Lust,’ with a caricature image of Osmodeus in the corner.

He’s a little nervous about the water that splashes at the sides of the boat as you step in together, but the sides are high enough that he thinks he’ll be okay. And he’s not ready to end your time together, if he’s being honest. He had initially just wanted to cheer you up, he thinks, as the boat starts moving and terrible romantic poetry starts playing over the speakers, animatronic cherubs dropping from the ceiling and shooting arrows on strings towards the walls before winding them back up to their bows.

Then the boat hits the darkest part of the tunnel and he looks at you, illuminated only by the glow of his screen as everything else fades away, and he thinks you look beautiful. A happy smile on your lips that meets your eyes, unlike earlier, and your shoulders are relaxed and you just look… pleased to be with him, in a way that few people ever really were.

He opens his mouth to speak, but there aren’t any words that come forth that can adequately fill the silence- none that can explain how oddly fulfilling his time with you had been, healing something inside of him that he had thought he was over after all this time. How could he have known that in helping you give a satisfying ‘fuck you’  to your shitty friends that he would feel this sense of relief? Of satisfaction?

You tilt your head in wonder as he stares at you and he slides closer, removing the shark from his lap to place it on the bench next to him. He lets a hand come up to card gently into your hair, and you suck in a breath but don’t pull away as he leans in, breath ghosting across his screen as your lips part-

Music fills the tunnel- not the cheesy, romantic shit that was playing through the ride, but the EDM ringtone he had set for his assistant that he had left back at Vee Tower when he came out here today. He’s tempted to ignore it, but you’ve already seen the call flash across his screen and you’re pulling away from him, putting a couple inches between your bodies as his hand falls limply from where he had been holding you.

“Go ahead,” you whisper, “it seems important,” and he sighs and turns away to answer.

“What do you want?”

“I’m sorry, sir, you know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency- but the Lu Lu World team called and said you had never arrived for the meeting. You’re twenty minutes late.”

Fuck. He had completely forgotten about the meeting in favor of spending time with you- he hadn’t even done any of the surveillance he had planned on doing while you went around to the different rides, played arcade games, gave him that sweet fucking smile. He should have set an alarm or something to remind himself of his goddamn obligations today, instead of letting himself get swept up in some impromptu date with a random sinner because they reminded him a little too much of himself.

“Mister Vox, sir?”

“Chill the fuck out, okay? Tell them they’re lucky I’m even still coming after the shit they pulled today and I’ll get there when I get there. Give me, uhhhh…” He wasn’t actually sure how much longer this ride would be but he didn’t imagine the park runners would make something called the Tunnel of Lust too long of a ride and risk people making good on the name. “Ten minutes, tops.”

His assistant starts to agree as Vox ends the call, and when he looks back over to you you’re watching the decor of the ride pass in silence. Smiling still, but you’ve reverted back to how you were earlier- it didn’t light up your face the same way, more polite than anything else, and he longed for the comfortable silence and contentment of a few mere minutes before. He thought about apologizing, but he wasn’t really sure for what, exactly- fulfilling his goal of staying with you until his meeting? Taking you on rides and to games on his dime? Not kissing you in a dark tunnel as a virtual stranger?

He let the silence reign until the ride was over a few minutes later, grabbing his shark by the fin with one hand and offering the other to you to help you out of the boat, walking behind you as you stepped back out into the crowded day.

“I apologize-”

“I’m so sorry-”

You both try to speak at the same time, and the blank looks you give each other when you stop talking at the same time breaks the awkward silence like glass, your laughter once again gracing his audio processors. “I was going to say, I’m sorry for making you late to your meeting,” you offer, your smile a little disappointed, and he waves the words away.

“Not at all! I  was going to apologize for having to cut our time so short- if we’re being honest,” he adds quietly, “I would much rather spend the rest of the day with you than go to this meeting. I’ve had a great time.” 

He would probably never see you again, he realized, and that makes him feel something he doesn’t want to look at too closely right now. If he offered you his number and you declined he would look like a fool, and he wasn’t in a position where he was offering anyone that kind of power over him. He had the photos from the coasters in his pocket, but if he gave them to you and you left then what would he have to memorialize the day?

“I did too! Not bad, for a date I didn’t plan on having today.”

He chuckles. “Still a date then, despite that ending?” He lets you reach out to run your fingers through the soft fur of the stuffed shark again.

You look up at him through lowered lashes, suddenly shy and reaching for his spare hand to pull him towards you. “We’ve still got a few minutes left,” you say quietly, and he bends low and closes his eyes as you bring your lips to meet his.

It's too soft, too sweet, and over too soon. You pull back with a smile, unaware how badly he wants more, and gesture to the shark as you step back. “Gotta say, I think I’ll miss this little guy,” you quip, and Vox is confused about the sudden change of topic until you add, “I know I said I was winning it for you, but I don’t suppose you'd be willing to have joint custody?”

His smile is soft and fond, and he pushes the shark into your arms. “Tell you what- you take him for now. Let me have someone take you home- and then I’ll stop by in a couple days and we can figure out the logistics of that.”

“I would like that.” You press another kiss to his screen, fleeting and soft, and squeeze the shark to your chest. “Thank you, since I haven’t actually said that yet. I hope to see you soon.”

Then you’re walking away from him, and the photos sit heavy in his suit pocket as he dials his assistant while he walks to the main building for his meeting. His assistant knows better than to ask why Vox is ordering him to save your address in his cloud contacts, and after receiving the ping that it's secure in his system he straightens his bowtie. With trained professionalism he rolls his shoulders and tucks the softness that he’d been harboring for the day away for now, his smile turning predatory as he enters the meeting room. 

Vox loved the scent of opportunity - personal and professional alike - but there was business to be taken care of first. The irritation from earlier still lingered at the staff’s disregard for his time, and while you had been a pleasant distraction he wouldn’t let that affect his negotiation now. The stuffed shark he had sent with you hadn't just been a perfect ruse to see you again- it reminded him that there was blood in the water.

[hellsgreatestevents]

The Gates of Hell have been opened

Hello sinners, winners and everyone in between!

As Thursday begins to wind down and we start to prepare to welcome Friday, we at Hells Greatest Events are now opening the doors to the Event Server in preparation for Saturday’s event!

Come to discuss ideas on how to participate, watch art/writing streams, share favorite pieces created throughout the event - or just have fun and hang out!

Click here to join the server - We are awaiting you!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Untitled RadioStatic Breeding Kink Fic

(Hell's Greatest International Women's Day Fic #1)

Welcome to International Women's Day, everyone!

Here's my first fic of the day that I'll be counting notes towards for the fundraising event going on with @hellsgreatestevents! As a reminder, I'll personally be donating $3 for every 15 notes that the fics with this banner are receiving 💗 With proof of a $3 donation, I'll add 500-750 words to a part 2/3/4 of your favorite oneshot or short story, and if anyone is interested I'm happy to write short requests (1.5k-2k bc I am a wordy bitch lol) with proof of a $5 donation!

For proof of donation, you can submit to my ask or shoot me a message since images are not allowed with Anonymous asks!

Women's reproductive rights are so so so important, and this is a fantastic cause that we're supporting- please feel free to join us on the Discord or follow the event Tumblr for updates on the event and future ones as well!

With any further ado- enjoy the breeding kink! MDNI 🔞

“Fuck, Alastor, you feel so fucking good-“

“Must you vocalize every inane thought that comes to that silly head of yours?”

The two are spread across Alastor's sheets, the Radio Demon on his back with Vox between his legs, cock buried to the hilt in the slicked heat of Alastor’s body. Vox can’t seem to keep his mouth shut- words of praise and filth fall from his lips, telling his partner how perfect and wonderful he is, how good he feels, how lucky he is. It's hardly the first time they’ve indulged in intimate acts like this, and Vox was always just as wonderstruck and awed at being inside of him as he had been the first time Alastor had allowed the coupling to happen. It was a fond memory; Vox being careful not to hurt him, to push him too far, always ready to stop at a moment's notice, pulling out of the clench of Alastor’s body to spill into his own hands. The power of it was intoxicating, the control he had over the other demon something of fantasies, the kind of mindless devotion an overlord could only dream of. 

“Alastor, baby- fuck, can I- can I come in you?”

Alastor freezes at the interruption to his thoughts. “I- why?” is his first thought and reaction- clean up was so much simpler when Alastor didn’t have to be involved with it, content to lay back and let Vox wipe him down with a warm cloth before they both fell asleep. 

Vox whines low in his throat, a crackling sound Alastor hadn’t known he could make with whatever machinery made up or combined with his vocal cords. “Please? Wanna fuckin’ fill you up, pump you full of me- fuck, you’d make such a- fuckin’ beautiful mom, Bambi, such pretty babies-“

He flushes to his chest, the swoop of arousal in his stomach sharp and devastating even as he tries to dismiss the notion, to get Vox to shut the fuck up. “I shouldn't need to remind you that, first: both of us are dead, and second: I am not biologically capable of having children,” he hisses, trying to shove at Vox’s shoulders in reprimand, even as his body burns in want, his hips jerking upwards to meet Vox’s thrusts. 

He simply catches Alastor’s hands, gathers his wrists in one of his large hands to pin to the bed above his head while the other hand trails hot and insistent down Alastor’s abdomen. “Don’t care,” he mutters, pressing down on his stomach just above where Alastor’s cock leaks and twitches against his skin. “you’d look so fucking good fucked full of some- shit, what would they be? Fawns?” 

“I refuse to en-entertain this.” The force of Vox’s thrusts makes his voice crack, embarrassment staining his cheeks and making his limbs tingle with a mixture of mortification and pleasure.

“Come on, Al,” Vox says, the insistent bucking of his hips against Alastor’s ass never ceasing as he releases his hands and hoists his legs up, letting them dangle over his broad, firm shoulders. “Don’t be like that. They’d be fucking perfect- just like you, fuck, please please please, let me come inside, you feel so....” His rhythm is faltering as he trails off, so lost just in the idea of it, of essentially breeding Alastor that he’s brought himself right to the edge. “I’ll make it so- so fucking good for you, wanna make you so fucking full you can feel it. Right here,” he pants, grabbing one of Alastor’s hands and pressing it firmly to where he had touched before, the soft skin of Alastor’s stomach where he can almost feel the sensation of Vox’s cock fucking into him through the skin. “I’m so close, fucking need it, Al, can I?”

His own erection jerks at the feeling, at the implication of it, the sudden desire for it making him leak where the tip hovers over their hands. He still feigns nonchalance for the sake of his own pride, a roll of his eyes without any real feeling behind it. “You- you’re in charge of cleaning it up,” he whispers, static harsh in his voice, “but yes, you can-” 

And no sooner had the affirmative left his mouth than Vox was coming, babbling praise against Alastor’s skin as he filled him with an unfamiliar warmth, his hips jerking with a renewed vigor to pulse as deeply inside as he could manage. A clawed hand wrapped delicately around his own hardness, a few firm strokes sending him over the edge as well to spend himself, hot and sticky between their bodies.

Vox continues to thrust weakly against him even as he softens, and Alastor can feel the mess that begins to leak from his entrance the moment that the other man pulls out. He’s not particularly pleased with the feeling- but the way Vox is looking at him, sated and exhausted and positively adoring as he releases Alastor’s wrists from his grasp is, admittedly, worth the vague discomfort. “I suppose you’re rather pleased with yourself,” he says, and Vox smiles lazily and presses a kiss to his forehead, trailing fingers down the bare skin of his side, under his thigh to brush lightly against the messy, softened hole that he’s vacated. 

He pushes his finger in, and Alastor’s breath catches in his throat. “You can act all bitchy about it,” he murmurs, “but I know you liked it. Let’s get that mess cleaned up like you asked and see if you want to do it again.” And rather than climbing out of the bed and offering the Radio Demon a hand, he guides him up and onto his knees, positioning behind him with an extended tongue for a very thorough clean up, indeed.

[hellsgreatestevents]

Donation Goal Update

We have just hit our second Milestone! Over 500$ were collectively donated to the Lilith Fund, and we're not done counting! (662.30$ currently tracked and counted) We are so grateful to all of you, and as the Event progresses, we don't dare to dream of what the final count can be. As promised, here's the second line of art, sponsored by the amazing @nightcigale We're doing our best to keep track of incoming donations, but to help us not miss anything make sure to use the Event hastags or tag us to have the donations you've recieved in the ongoing count!

[hellsgreatestevents]

Donation Goal Update

We have just hit our first Milestone! Over 250$ were collectively donated to the Lilith Fund, and we're not done counting! The day is young and we're so ready so see what else is in store!! As promised, here's the first line of art, sponsored by the wonderful @nightcigale We're doing our best to keep track of incoming donations, but to help us not miss anything make sure to use the Event hastags or tag us to have the donations you've recieved in the ongoing count!

(Artwork by @nightcigale in support of the #HGIWD2025 - Do not Repost)

[hellsgreatestevents]

General Information for Everyone

Thank you for considering to take part in Hell's Greatest International Women's Day to raise money for the Lilith Fund. Any general questions asked can be found here, and we will continue to develop this post with any necessary details.

When does the 24 hours start?

Due to people taking part from multiple timezones, there is no official time that the event starts except for the date (March the 8th). Once you start your 24, that is your 24 hours to complete.

I can't do the full 24 hours, can I still take part?

Of course you can! You could take part for an hour, and your support would still be greatly appreciated. We understand some people cannot make the full 24 hours due to other obligations, mental or physical health needs, and so on.

I can't donate, is there anything else I can do to support?

Reblog the post! Share it with your friends! Encourage people to take part! Spreading the word helps the event grow. On the day itself, a supportive message to anyone taking part would no doubt provide them with the necessary motivation to keep going.

Where is the event being advertised?

Bluesky and Tumblr are the main websites being used to promote the event, but we are also using Discord.

Will there be a Discord server for the event?

Yes! The Discord server will be open to the general public closer to the date of the event. We are still currently developing it, and we will post more information about it in the future.

♡ We can't wait to see what you make! Let's raise lots together ♡

If you have any other questions, or you want to find out more about the event, please message one of the organisers below!

@fraugwinska,@ritualofcirice, @macabr3-barbi3, @reinthechaosdeer and @tarokitsu, @startissuu

[hellsgreatestevents]

Donation Goal Update

We are absolutely proud to announce that we hit our third Milestone! Over 1000$ were collectively donated to the Lilith Fund (1232.28$ currently tracked and counted) The final tally will be counted when the last timezone transits into March 9th (UTC-12), and participants have until March 10th to send in remaining donation recipes! It's an honor and joy to see how our fandom community bands together and supports not only each other creatively, but also good causes that help people. So, as promised, here's the third and second to last line of art, sponsored by the wonderful @nightcigale

We're doing our best to keep track of incoming donations, but to help us not miss anything make sure to use the Event hastags, tag us or send us screenshots to have the donations you've recieved in the ongoing count!