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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 57 (Human Alastor x Widowed Reader)

CW: Blood, smut AN: Upcoming bonus chapter Wednesday for MisD's birthday! We're $5 toward the next bonus chapter! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

Alastor held you to him as both of your bodies shook, coming down together from the highs of pleasure. Looking up at him, you couldn’t get past how handsome he was or the feeling of being so truly his. You’d given everything to him now. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t claimed. 

Inside you, his cock softened slowly as he held you.

Finally, you had laid with him as a woman lays with her husband. Alastor had given you everything he had to give, including his seed and your freedom.

“What do we do now?” Your fingers trembled as you reached out, scared to touch the blood drying on his face. “Oh, my god. Alastor, I- I killed him.” 

“Yes,” Alastor’s hand wrapped around yours, pressing your palm against his cheek. “We killed him. You’re free now.” 

Panic flooded through you, giving you a whole new reason to tremble in his arms. You were a murderess. Alastor, he was alright, but what would he think when it set in for him? Through the panic, every time you closed your eyes, you saw his hand over yours, helping you hold the blade steady. 

You had to trust in him.

“First, we need to wash this blood off us and burn our clothes. Then we’ll figure out the rest of it.” 

Your legs were numb as you stood, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Water roared as it filled the tub. The bright electric lights only made the drying blood on your skin, soaked into your dress, stand out more. 

Nausea rolled through you in waves as you looked down at your hands. Blood stained your wedding ring, just like seemingly every part of you. The back of your dress stuck to you, glued in place by drying blood. 

“Cher?” Alastor’s voice cut through the fog in your mind. 

You turned mechanically to see him unbuttoning his shirt. The brown was dark, stained with your husband’s blood in places. Blood smeared down his neck and onto his chest from where it had run down from his face. 

It was your husband’s blood that coated his hands as he worked his belt free. His pants fell to the ground as your eyes examined him unashamedly, taking in every dip of muscle. Bright red marks on his ribs told you where he had taken blows. Those marks would likely deepen into dark bruises that would be tender for days. 

Alastor hummed a soft tune as he walked over to you. The musical sound of his voice wrapped around you as his nimble fingers worked the buttons down your dress. Your stomach rolled as he peeled the bloody fabric off your skin, leaving you standing in front of him in your slip. 

With a simple brush of his fingers, that layer of fabric, too, should have fallen to the ground. Instead, like your dress, the drying blood that coated your back held it in place. It didn’t seem to bother Alastor in the slightest as he tugged the fabric off your body.

“You’re bleeding,” Alastor knelt as he guided your panties down your legs. You hadn’t noticed that some of the blood you wore was not Laurence’s. “If- I didn’t want to hurt you. You should have-” 

“No,” you leaned into his chest as he stood up, pressing your bare front into him as you wrapped your arms around his back. “You didn’t, not really. I wanted it. I wanted you to.” 

“You’re not supposed to bleed.” Alastor’s cheek rested against your head. “You should never bleed.” 

“I nearly always do,” you tried to brush it off. 

“It’s because he hurt you,” Alastor cupped your jaw and forced you to look up at him. “It won’t be that way with me.”

“Can we be together now? Really?” You couldn’t keep the fear from your voice. “Alastor we-” 

He shushed you while walking toward the bath with you tucked in his arms. “First, we wash the blood off, then we figure out how we’re getting out of this together.” 

“I should let you,” you tried to step back as Alastor stepped into the steaming bath. 

“Join me,” he finished for you. 

“Alastor, it’s-” you spoke as you stepped into the water in direct contrast to your protests. 

“Indecent?” Alastor chuckled, “less so for a widowed woman.” 

You offered no protests as he sank into the water, guiding you to rest in his arms. Red ribbons lifted from your hands as you moved them to rest on his chest. The water soaked into your skin, pulling up the evidence of your greatest sin. You couldn’t pull your eyes from the sight. 

“Close your yes,” Alastor’s voice was soft, floating into your ears through the steam. “Don’t look at it.” 

“I’m going to go to hell,” you whimpered. “Alastor, we-” 

His hand, hot and wet from the bath, tilted your chin up so that his lips could capture yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes closed with a flutter of lashes. A soft sigh slipped from between your parted lips as he pulled away. 

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice naked and thick with accent. “Just like that, darlin’. Stay just like that.” 

Alastor’s hands ran over your arm, caressing down until he threaded his fingers through yours. It took a bit for you to realize what he was doing as he worked his fingers around yours. While you sat, eyes closed, body pressed against his, he washed the blood from your hands. 

You turned, reading the pressure of his hands to straddle his lap. The hard tub bit into your knees. Warm hands ran up and down your back, splashing warm water up onto the blood that dried there.

“Lean back,” Alastor said, “I’ll hold you.” 

“What?” Your eyes fluttered open, eyes focusing on Alastor’s face. He had washed the blood from his face before the tub filled, but it still matted his hair into dark clumps.

“I was going to wash your hair for you.” 

You leaned forward intead. Pink water ran from your arms as you cupped water in your hands, carrying it up to Alastor’s head. He leaned his head back, fingers gripping your hips as he scooted down the tub, folding his legs more to allow him room to sink down. 

“Me first,” you said, as if he wasn’t already making room for you to work. 

He leaned his head back and sighed as you ran your fingers through his curls. You tried to tell yourself it was something else you were washing from his hair. More red ribbons spread out around his head, mixing into the pink bloodstained water. 

You continued to work your fingers through his hair, carefully splashing water up to work through all of his hair. His hands ran along your thighs and up your sides, taking in the feeling of you while you worked your fingers over his scalp. 

When was the last time anyone had washed his hair? It wasn’t something he allowed just anyone to do. Before you, it was just Mimzi he’d allowed to see his hair naturally. It took a few moments of thinking before Alastor realized the last person to wash his hair for him was, in fact, his mother. 

“There,” you whispered, realizing the fact that you were naked in the bath atop Alastor as his eyes slowly opened, locking on yours. “As clean as it’s going to get in this water.” 

“Your turn.” Alastor held you to him as he sat up. Water ran from his curls, dripping into the pink water. 

His large hand rested between your shoulder blades as he guided you to lean back. Your core pressed against him, sliding against his hips and pressing into his lower abdomen. Each passing minute had you more aware of his body moving against yours than you were of his hands running through your hair, spreading the strands out behind you in the water. 

A warm floral smell wrapped around you as he worked the liquid soap through your hair. He took his time working the lather through each strand, spending far longer than you would on the task. You didn’t mind. The oils from the plants in it worked hard to dampen the coppery tinge that lingered in the air. 

He watched the bloody water surround your body as the bubby suds floated away from you. It felt like he was living in his ideal world, you in his arms, with the lovely smell of blood and flowers hanging in the air. You were the most beautiful thing, surrounded in the bloody water, held in his arms, trusting him with your life. 

Under you, his cock twitched, stiffening with every beat of his mesmerized heart. When his hardening cock pressed intently up against the soft curve of your ass, his body was once again awakening with need. 

You gasped as he pressed up against you. Alastor’s lips descended on your neck. Soft kisses ran down your skin before he licked up your neck, tasting you. His muscles flexed as he moved, holding you tight while you ran your fingers over his chest. 

His name was a soft sigh on your lips as he caressed away the memory of your husband’s touch. When Alastor had washed away the memory of Laurence’s hands on your skin, you leaned into him. 

He accepted your kiss eagerly, matching your hunger as you rose off his lap slightly. Under you, his cock stood, no longer pinned down by your body. 

“Cher,” Alastor had to clear his throat before he could make any sound come out of his mouth. “Your body is healing. I don’t-” 

You moaned softly as you nestled yourself over his cock, the head of him pressing against your opening. He had made you feel so good and you craved that feeling again. 

“You need to heal.” Alastor’s voice was soft. It took much restraint to not allow his desire to seep into it. “There will be plenty of time-” 

Your velvety heat enveloped him, choking off his words as you sank lower down his shaft. His back arched and his head fell back, thumping against the tub as you nestled into his lap. 

It would be a lie to say there was no pain. Alastor was far more of a man than your husband had been in more ways than one. He stretched the healing tissue around him, pulling open the small rips Laurence left inside you before they had enough time to do much more than clot. 

You didn’t have to give your body to Alastor a second time. You didn’t have to give your body to anyone ever again. No one would ever hurt you again. Everything, at least for the moment, was your choice again. 

And your choice was to have him seated, hard and stiff inside you. 

Never had you imagined that a man could take a woman without having her under him. The very idea that you could give yourself to Alastor while in the man’s place was ludicrous and yet your back arched as he filled you from below. 

“Oh, Alastor.” You sighed as your body nestled down against his. He stretched you painfully. It was a pain you chouse, though. It was a pain you wanted. 

“Yes?” His hands gripped your hips. He had his eyes locked on you as you once again surrounded him in your heat. 

“It feels good.” Your hips rocked, testing the sensation. 

“What does?” He guided your hips up, encouraging you to lift on your knees before leading you to sink down his shaft again. 

“You,” your head fell back as you let him lead you. “Having you inside me. Being with you like this. Being with you at all.” 

It would have been a lie if Alastor told anyone that he didn’t want you at that moment. You moved in water stained with Laurence’s blood. He was taking you, being taken by you in a sea of pink. Each time you sank on him, the water splashed up. Pink water drops ran down your chest, hanging from the pebbled bud of your nipple. 

“You’re beautiful like this.” Alastor couldn’t take his eyes off you as you clumsily rode him. Your lips parted in gasping breaths each time he filled you. Fresh blood, though slight, spilled into the water from where your bodies joined. 

“Does it feel good to take your pleasure?” Alastor ran his hands, warm and wet, up your sides. “To use instead of being used?” 

“I’m sorry.” You curled into him, tucking yourself into his chest as shame washed over you. It wasn’t enough to stop the steady rise and fall of your hips. Water splashed and surged with your movements. “I’m so sorry,” 

“Cher,” Alastor pulled your face up as his other hand forced itself into the tight space between your bodies, seeking the nub of pleasure you ground into him each time you forced your protesting body down on his long cock. “I am for you to use. My pleasure is yours to take.” 

“Ah,” you cried out as he stroked the nerves. 

Each time you rose along his shaft, his hand followed. Pleasure built as you worked yourself onto him. Your fingers dug into his chest, nails scratching over his nipple as you tried to grip whatever was under hand as that breaking point only Alastor could take you to approached. 

The sharp sting of your nail over his nipple sent a shiver down his spine. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, splashing onto the ground as he thrust up into you. 

“Cher,” Alastor said as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him tighter. 

“Alastor,” you sighed into his neck as the pink sea of water in the tub surged around you with each thrust onto him. 

You were so close to shattering atop him. Tears gathered in your eyes as you chased the feeling, just out of reach. You wanted that explosion of pleasure that only Alastor could give you. There was only so much of the magical feeling that came with being with Alastor you could seem to muster up in the cramped tub. 

“Hold on to me,” Alastor said, fingers carding through your hair. 

He leaned forward. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, though you did not stop moving, chasing what was just out of reach. He guided your legs to wrap around his waist, stifling your movements in his lap. 

It took a few awkward moments before he reversed the roles and you were plunged into the cooling pink water. He braced an arm on the tub behind you, keeping your body from hitting the hard surface while his other arm swept behind your back. He held you steady as he thrust into you. 

Water surged and splashed as he pushed forward, giving you everything you struggled to give yourself. While you enjoyed the power you felt while being atop such a strong and powerful man, having him atop you stole the breath from your lungs. 

He held you in place just so, allowing himself to stimulate all of you with every deep thrust into your tight, sore body. You clung to him as the pleasure washed over you. Pulling back, he shifted his grip on you, giving you a chance to see the wide smile stretched on his handsome face. 

The smile unnerved you, though he didn’t give you long to dwell on it. He tucked you against his shoulder and moved with renewed energy. Water sloshed and surged as your fingers dug into his back, feeling the muscles work under his skin and the water drying until you were clutching him with all of your body. 

Your core fluttered as muscles spasmed. His name was a prayer of thanks and a blessing on your lips. Alastor showed you for the second time that day the pleasure of laying with a man you loved, who loved you. This was the world kept hidden from you, stolen from you. This was what you could have an unending supply of now that…

Alastor pulled you from the water as your body relaxed around him. He was still hard inside you as he stood, stepping out of the cooling pink water. You told yourself the water was pink from the soaps or the oils. That was why. It wasn’t… you didn’t just… in… 

“Cher.” Alastor’s voice stole your attention only for his lips to steal your thoughts. He kissed you with a hunger that ripped the breath from your lungs. Cold pebbled your nipples, brushing against the hard buds of his as he carried your wet, naked body through the hall. 

It was indecent. The sunlight flittered into the hall from the bedroom window. What you were doing, laying with Alastor as you were- these were things one does in the night or the early morning. This was not what a respectable woman did in the middle of the day.

Your back pressed against the wall, supporting your weight as Alastor adjusted his grip. He took the chance to thrust into you, taking you against the wall for a few moments. It wasn’t something you had realized was possible, but it had you wanting more of him. 

“Darlin’,” Alastor gasped out, his cock twitching hard as he seated himself fulling inside of you. “Baby. You’re warm. So wet for me.” 

“That’s what happens when you take a bath. You get wet.” You tried to put a sly smile on your lips, losing it the moment he plunged back into you. 

Alastor chuckled, face hidden in the crook of your neck. “Oh, this is a very different water soaking me.” 

You moaned as he pulled you from the wall, your weight settling heavier on the cock within you. The pain of him spreading your sore and healing walls was nearly forgotten now, replaced with a consuming need for more of him. 

He carried you easily, shifting your weight to bounce slightly on his twitching cock with every step he took. He bent, placing your back on the soft bedspread that you hated for so many years. Your hands ran over his shoulders, slipping down to caress his chest as he thrust into you one last time before stepping away. 

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[aroacedaddy]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 56 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Blood, murder, smut AN:Thanks to Lady and Midnight who, by your forces combined will be bringing you a bonus chapter today! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

Trembling fingers held the knife as Alastor stood behind you. His hand wrapped around yours, helping you keep your grip tight on the bloody hilt. The pressure of his chest against your back, expanding with each breath he took, reassured you, along with the arm he held wrapped around your waist. His heart hammered against his chest with such force you could feel its beats.

“We’ll do it together,” Alastor whispered in your ear. “You don’t have to do it alone, but you have got to do it.” 

“I have to do it,” you whispered, lips numb as tears ran down your face. 

“Yes, my love.” Alastor soothed, stepping forward and pushing you closer to the groaning man on the floor of the office. “You have to do it. Just this last step and then you’re free of him.” 

“I can be free?” You were shaking in his arms as you took a step independent of Alastor, wild wide eyes locked on the man you swore to love in sickness and in health, laying on the floor. 

Behind you, his smile spread wide as he let his arm grow slacker around your waist, giving you more room to move. This wasn’t how he had intended to get you to this point, but it would do. 

It was far better than poison. He struggled to take his eyes from the blood on your pretty hands, so much smaller than his. Oh, how lovely they looked wrapped around a blade. 

“Once you do this, we can be together.” Alastor promised as you fell to your knees, your husband’s blood splashing lightly before soaking into your dress. 

Alastor knelt behind you, letting his knees slot on either side of your hips. Laurence looked up, blinking, as he watched his wife as she was pulled firmly against the chest of the man who stole you. 

Laurence’s mouth worked, lips forming your name but unable to make a sound. All you had wanted was for your husband to love you. For years, you had tried to find love with him and never had he given it to you. 

It was too late now. You had fallen in love with someone else. There was nothing else you could do. There was nothing left to do. 

“I have to do this,” you whispered. You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but you couldn’t make the words come out. 

“Together,” Alastor said as he reached around you, pushing Laurence onto his back before looking at you. “Alright?” 

You hesitated, looking into the red eyes of the man you loved. The blood was clearing now, no longer oozing into his eyes as freely. Alastor leaned forward, kissing you deeply as he pulled you against him. 

You felt it then; him pressed into your lower back. He was stiff, hard, and ready for you. Alastor wanted you and oh, you wanted him. It was one line he wouldn’t cross while you were married and now you had the power to cut that last cord. 

“Together?” you whispered as your lips left his to look back at your husband, wide eyes struggling to focus as you kissed the man you loved. 

Alastor nodded, pulling your hand forward. “Two hands now,” 

You wrapped your other hand around the hilt as Alastor lifted his hand from yours. Once the blade was secure in your grip, Alastor wrapped one hand around yours again. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hand around Laurence’s face, pulling his head up and back to expose his throat. 

Laurence found strength then, little though it was. He could not make his limbs move. His body was weak from the blood pouring out of his back and abdomen. What he could do was watch, eyes wide as the woman who should have been his, who should have been under his control, brought the bloody knife closer to his neck. 

He shuffled, trying to create distance. Alastor’s large hand held his head firmly back against the floor of his office. All Laurence could do was scream into Alastor’s hand.

“How?” you asked, looking between Laurence’s wide glassy eyes, the blade in your hands and Alastor’s face hovering so close to yours. 

“Like this,” Alastor said, pushing your hands forward until the butt of the blade was resting against Laurence’s throat. Panicked breathing came in quick painful gasps from the man that had tormented you to some extent through all of your marriage. “Push down and pull back,” Alastor whispered. 

Moaning cries came from your husband, muffled by Alastor’s hand. Were those the same sounds you made when he broke your ribs? When he threw you against the stairs? Did you shake and cry in the same way when he rammed his fists into you? 

Now he knew what it felt like to be scared and hurting. He was lucky, you thought. He would only have to experience this pain once. How many times had he hurt you? So many times. Too many times. 

But he wouldn’t. Never again. 

“Okay,” you swallowed before pushing down on the blade. 

Red. So much red bloomed around the blade, spilling down his neck, staining it red. The blood poured over pale skin, coating it. Was that what it looked like when he stained your thighs red with your blood?

“Just like that, yes,” Alastor said as he pulled your torso tighter against his, hips twitching against you. “Good girl.” 

When you hesitated, he put pressure on your hands and the blade, encouraging you to keep going. He did not let up the pressure until the blade made a scraping sound that sounded so much like when you would hit a bone when cutting through a leg of beef. 

“Almost there,” Alastor said, as the tip of the blade scraped against bone. “And done,” he said, when the tip of the bloody knife slipped free of the other side of your husband’s neck.

“Is it done?” you whispered, turning to Alastor as blood poured onto the ground. 

“In a minute, it will be.” He took the knife from your hands and tossed it off to the side. “You did it.” 

He kissed you, lips meeting yours with a desperation that had you gasping for air. New tears ran down your face as you ran your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Your front was pressed against his, blood soaking into your dress from his shirt. 

“It’s over,” Alastor said as his eyes slowly opened and glanced toward the man that had been your husband for far too long, taking in the way the blood had slowed to little more than an ooze. It didn’t take a man long to bleed out, especially considering how much blood he had already lost. 

“Really?” you asked, a smile unexpectedly pulling at the corners of your lips.

“Congratulations on your widowhood, Mrs. Latimer.” 

“Thank you, Alastor.” You spoke softly as you caressed his face. “I’m sorry you got hurt in the-” 

Alastor kissed you again, pushing you down with his body. Blood soaked into your dress and your hand slipped across the wet wooden floor. His body pressed against yours as he kept himself as close to you as he could while his kiss devoured your senses.

His hips pressed into you, hardness demanding that you take notice of his desire. He draped himself over you, blanketing you with his bloody body. Though your hands were coated in Laurance’s blood, you couldn’t help but run them over Alastor’s back. 

Alastor seemed unbothered by the smears of red you left on his brown shirt. His fingers dug into your blood-soaked dress, holding you as if you’d somehow fade away if his grip loosened even for a moment. 

Kisses trailed along your jaw as you arched into his hands. Blood soaked into your hair, sticking it to your skull. 

“You’re magnificent,” Alastor whispered into your shoulder as he gripped your ribs. His chest pressed into yours every time he seemed to lower with his exhales, matching the kisses he placed. “So brave. You’re free now.” 

“I’m free.” You marveled at the thought as you surrendered to Alastor’s attention. His hands ghosted over your breasts. His clothed hardness ground against your core, though you had no memory of spreading your legs for him. 

Each time he ground against your sensitive nerves, you gasped. That fire only Alastor knew how to light withing was stoked. 

It was wrong. You were laying in your husband’s blood but all you could think of was the way Alastor’s lips felt on your skin.

“Alastor, I’m free.” Tears ran down the sides of your face, slipping free from your eyes without you being aware.

“Will you be mine?” Alastor breathed the question in your ear, bloody lips leaving smears of red as they moved exeunt the soft skin. “Now that you’re not his?” 

“I’ve always been yours.” You sighed into him, fingers flexing, bunching the fabric of his shirt. 

“Mine,” Alastor sighed as his hand smoothed down your thigh, pushing the fabric of your skirt up higher until he was rewarded with the soft feeling of your warm skin under his bloody hands. 

“Yours,” you agreed, trying to feel as much of him as you could. The suspender over his shoulder snapped down when you pushed it aside. Alastor’s hand left you just long enough to pull the other from his shoulder. “Only yours.” 

“I will never share you again,” Alastor swore as his fingers reached high up your thighs. 

You fumbled with buttons. One fell from your fingers, the thread holding it to the fabric having only just survived the fight but not having anything left to survive the need in you to feel his skin. 

The cold blood smeared on the back of your legs soaked into Alastor’s pants as you wrapped your leg around his thigh, trying to pull him to you with everything you had. 

Sparks ran through your body as his fingers pushed the gusset of your panties aside, connecting with the sensitive skin that from now on, he would be the only man to touch. You were slick and ready for him. 

“Cher,” Alastor moaned as he pulled the slick up, spreading it through your folds as he ensured every bit of you would be protected from the friction. “I’ve waited so long for you.” 

“Please, Alastor.” Your hands ran over his chest, buttons giving way to strong, warm muscles smeared red. Blood. It was alright, he did it because he was attacked. He killed to protect you. 

His fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants. After a few short moments, the hot length of him rested against your inner thigh. Each beat of his heart was matched by a eager twitch. Heat radiated from him as the head of his cock smeared against your thigh, leaving a wet trail.

“I have to have you,” Alastor groaned. “Please, Cher. I’ve never wanted anyone, needed anyone. I have to have you.” 

Instead of saying anything, you leaned up, kissing along the length of his neck. Blood smeared as you kissed down his neck, as he had done so often to you. The taste of copper filled your mouth as each kiss smeared more of Alastor’s tacky blood on your lips. 

Reaching down between your bodies, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. A soft groan poured into your ear as you caressed him. Though you had no experience with what you were doing, at least not with the active participation in the task, you enjoyed the way his head rubbed through your folds with each stroke. 

His hips rocked slightly, matching the pace of your strokes. Then the head of his cock notched at your opening. A new wave of adrenaline flooded through your system as Alastor shuddered above you, pressure just enough to hold him in place as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” he asked, though if he was true to himself, he wasn’t sure he could survive you being anything less than sure. 

He hated that part of himself. He hated the fact that you made him the same hungry beast he judged his peers for. It was only you, though, that he hungered for. Such a narrow need. He could live with that if you would only just give yourself to him.

“I need to know,” you kissed him again before continuing, “What it feels like to lie with the man I love.” 

Alastor needed nothing more to be said. He would have you. His fingers gripped your hips as he pushed his head inside your slick, wet heat. You tensed under him as your abused walls fluttered, gripping and struggling to make way.

Alastor’s hips thrusted forward in slow, shallow movements. He knew your body was sore, that there were injuries that would still be easily aggravated. Each small thrust took him deeper into your body. 

Below him, you gulped air into your lungs at the unfamiliar sensation. It stung as it felt like old wounds were ripping open, but the pain was minor, forgettable under the heavy feeling of slowly being filled. 

It was more than you could take. Your back arched, dress sticking to the floor as he slowly pushed deeper inside. It should hurt. It should feel like you’re being ripped apart. Instead, it left you wanting more. 

“Are you okay?” Alastor asked as your eyes fluttered closed. 

“Good,” you sighed, leg twitching as you tried to pull him closer. 

“It may hurt a little,” Alastor rocked his hips against you, still moving slow and shallow. “It won’t always, though, when you’ve healed from what was done to you.” 

“More,” you said as you clung to him.

Alastor didn’t need to be told. His self control was hanging by a thread. Instead of continuing the conversation, he leaned down and kissed you. With a snap of his hips, he bottomed out inside you. He swallowed your gasp. 

Your walls were not quick to accommodate him. His head spun with the way you gripped him, fluttering around him as he forced your body to take his length. 

He wanted his first time with you to be soft, to be sweet, not like this. In a matter of minutes, he was rutting into you wildly as the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room. 

You made a picture that was driving him insane. Blood smeared your skin, decorating you as your head fell back, lips parted as you finally learned how good being with a man could feel.

Another first. 

Alastor’s eyes cut toward Laurence’s, now glassy. Your husband’s soulless eyes watched as Alastor wrapped his arm around your torso, pulling you up off the sticky floor. Your arms tightened around his shoulders as he held your torso to his chest. 

Each thrust into you sent sparks of pleasure through you. His pubic bone and the neat hair traveling up from his cock rubbed your sensitive nub of nerves with each punishing thrust. 

The smell of blood was thick in his nose as he supported his upper body with a hand planted on the blood-soaked ground. His other arm held you in place as he thrust up into you. Your cries of pleasure filled his ears as he felt you tighten around him. 

Red-rimmed eyes looked again at the corpse. Alastor’s mother always told him when someone died, their soul lingered for a little while. It took time for the tether to the body and the living realm to fully sever. 

It wasn’t something Alastor had really given thought to. He didn’t know what came after life and he wasn’t sure he believed anything came after for most except perhaps the most pure people, like his Ma, but he hoped she was right about this.

Alastor’s smile cut wider across his face as he thrust into you, feeling your walls flutter around his cock. He had felt those flutters with his fingers and knew your orgasm would be moments away. 

“Mine,” Alastor told the corpse, fingers digging into your blood coated back as he thrust harder into you. He chanted the word, voice naked and full of possession with each thrust into you. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you choked on the word as your body clamped down on his cock. “Ah- Al- Alastor.” 

You came with his name, broken but his, on your lips. Your head fell back as your body convulsed in his arms. Everything had felt so much better with Alastor. You’d been robbed of the pleasure that should have been laying with your husband for years. 

He stole that from you. Used you. Took from you. 

You understood now.

Alastor set you carefully on the ground, thrusting still into your fluttering walls. 

“Mine,” he said as you cried out his name again, only to silence you both with a searing kiss. 

His lips devoured you, tasting the blood on your lips and the sweet essence of you as he pistoned his hips, chasing his own release as you rode the waves of yours. He found it with a groan, muscles seizing with the power of it. It took everything he had to not clench his jaw as he pulled your lip between his teeth. 

Oh, this was different. It was different with you. He wasn’t a child. He knew there was nothing somehow magically different about the biological process of an orgasm. The difference was his feelings, his love for you.

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Next?

[aroacedaddy]

Reader is drunk

Reader sees Alastor*

Reader: hey pretty man! Yyyyyoou look like a-a statue carved by an artist to look like a beautful GOD

Alastor: when you are sober I'm not gonna let you forget you said that

[aroacedaddy]

You, throwing your head into Alastor’s lap: Tell me I'm pretty!

Alastor, lovingly stroking your hair: You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.

[aroacedaddy]

[aroacedaddy]

A/N: FFS, Kit stop telling people I lick doorknobs. For the record, I do not lick airport doorknobs. >:U ALSO! Wow! We already finished the first week! Let's keep it going!

SUMMARY: You betrayed Alastor once, back when you were alive—not out of desire, but because your family forced your hand. But now, in Hell, you've been given the chance to reunite with him. You loved him then, you love him now, and you still love him.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, sub/dom undertone, spanking, oral sex, fingering, p in v, gentle sex, alastor is bad with feelings

Alastor’s chest tightened, a tempest of emotion swirling just beneath the surface. Rage, jealousy, and a deep, aching need coiled around his heart, squeezing until it was impossible to think of anything but you. The words you had spoken earlier echoed relentlessly in his mind, like a haunting melody he couldn't escape. 

You had mentioned the party—a festive celebration hosted by Voxtek. The way your eyes lit up, excitement flickering in your expression, had ignited a spark of something dark in him. At first, he demanded you stay, his voice sharper than he intended. But then you had looked at him, crestfallen, your bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. And he had relented. 

Still, he knew. 

He knew. 

Vox was no fool; he was an opportunist. A conniving rat who always lingered too close, his smarmy words dripping like honey as he tried to worm his way into your good graces. At first, Alastor had laughed at the futility of it all. Vox might have charm, he might have power, but the truth was unshakable: 

Alastor owned you. Your heart, your mind, your very soul—they all belonged to him. It wasn’t merely a matter of possession; it was an eternal truth etched into the fabric of existence itself. 

And yet... 

You...You...You...

...a despicable, awful, woman let that pathetic man touch you.

Now, in the shadowy alley behind the glittering building, his fingers trembled with a barely controlled fervour. The strains of distant holiday music were a cruel backdrop to the scene unfolding. Alastor’s tentacles curled possessively around your waist, hoisting you into the perfect position. Your body, pliant and eager, responded to him as it always did. 

You were his. You would always be his. 

He thrust into your mouth with a feral desperation, his cock sliding between your soft lips as if to reaffirm his claim. The wet, obscene sounds of your throat wrapped around him filled the air, mingling with his low, guttural groans. His sharp teeth shredded the delicate fabric of your panties, exposing the slick heat of your centre, and he let out a breathy moan as the scent of you clouded his senses. 

“You’ve been naughty, my dear,” he hissed, his voice laced with a venomous sweetness as his tongue licked a slow, deliberate path along your folds. “Flaunting yourself before that ridiculous picture box—did you think I wouldn’t notice?” 

Your muffled cries, paired with the way your thighs quivered against his relentless grip, sent a jolt of satisfaction coursing through him. Each gag, every shuddering breath, was evidence of his dominance, a reminder of where you truly belonged. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second—a rare, fleeting crack in his mask. “You make me into this... beast. And yet, I can’t stop. I won’t stop.” 

His tongue plunged deeper, his lips pressing against your core with a fervent hunger, while his hips snapped forward, pushing himself further into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. The juxtaposition of his lips worshipping your most intimate place while his cock ruthlessly claimed your throat was almost too much. 

“You were mine long before you knew it,” he growled against your slick heat, his voice thick with emotion. His mind churned, unbidden memories surfacing of a time when things had been simpler. 

He had first seen you in a haze of jazz and cigarette smoke, your laughter ringing out over the clinking of glasses. You, a beautiful flapper with stars in your eyes, had captivated him in a way nothing else had. For the first time in his life, he had felt alive. But then you had torn that life from him, walking away to marry a man of prestige, of power—a man who had sneered at Alastor’s kind. 

And now, here you were again, in his grasp. He hated you for the way you had broken him back then. But he hated you even more for the way he still couldn’t let you go. 

“You think I don’t remember?” he whispered darkly, his voice trembling as he withdrew from your mouth, his cock glistening with your spit. His eyes glowed crimson in the dim light, a twisted mixture of longing and loathing burning within them. “You think I don’t feel it every time you look at me? That guilt, that hesitation?” 

He pressed his lips to your trembling thighs, his voice softening to a near-whisper. “But it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Because no matter what you do, no matter how far you run...” 

His grin widened, sharp and dangerous, as he surged forward again, burying himself in you completely. 

“You’ll always be mine.” 

Alastor despised you. 

Not in the fleeting, surface-level way one might dislike an inconvenience—but in the all-consuming manner that twisted his every thought into something jagged and raw. You haunted him, your voice like a phantom's whisper, your smile lingering like a scar on his chest. He despised you so much that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

When the news reached him—whispers of your untimely death—his hatred burned brighter, fuelled by the injustice of it all. You had slipped through his fingers, robbing him of the satisfaction, the honour, of ending your life himself. 

And yet, there you were in Hell, as if fate had conspired to deliver you into his hands. He had found you, fragile and broken, tears streaming down your face as you clung to him. When you willingly offered your soul, he should have revelled in his triumph. Instead, he had been caught off guard by the softness in your touch, the sincerity in your gaze. You were an enigma—a soul he craved, a woman who ignited both his wrath and his desire. 

“Darling,” he growled, the word dripping with mockery as his hips pressed forward, his cock twitching against the back of your throat. His crimson eyes narrowed, his grin sharp and unyielding. “Did you forget who you belong to? Did you think that picture box would save you? Vox doesn’t care for you—or anyone, for that matter. He played you, just like every other man in your life.” 

His voice cracked, bitterness weaving through his words like poison. He hated you for the way you charmed and manipulated, for the power you held over those foolish enough to believe your honeyed lies. But most of all, he hated you for making him one of them. 

You were in Hell for a reason. And he had chosen to be your punishment—a torment crafted from your past sins and his boundless hatred. He wanted to destroy you, to remind you of what you truly were: a deceiver, a heartbreaker, a woman unworthy of the space you occupied in his mind. 

And yet... 

When he heard the soft, pitiful sobs you made as you struggled to take him, his resolve faltered. For a brief moment, the edges of his hatred blurred, giving way to something gentler. His thrusts slowed, becoming shallow and deliberate as his tongue traced languid paths through your slick folds. 

“Even now,” he muttered against your trembling core, his voice softer, more uncertain, “you make me forget myself.” 

The words of venom and rage faded into silence as he gave himself over to the intoxicating sensation of your body. He hated how easily you unravelled him, how the sound of your gasps and moans ignited something vulnerable within him. In truth, he wanted more than to punish you. He wanted to dote on you, to shower you with gifts, to claim you in every sense of the word. 

He wanted to give you his heart. 

But he couldn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

You had fooled him once, and the memory of that betrayal still cut deep. He would not be made a fool again. 

His grip on your thighs tightened as his lips closed around your clit, his thrusts quickening. The pleasure building within him became a storm, his breaths hitching as his release drew near. He groaned, a low, guttural sound muffled by your body, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself into you. His cock pulsed, his seed marking you, claiming you in a way words never could. 

“Don’t waste a drop, darling,” he panted, his grin returning as he pulled back just enough to watch your trembling form. His gaze slid to your glistening, pulsing core, so close to release and yet untouched by his mercy. 

The night was far from over. 

Your punishment had only just begun. 

Your legs trembled as Alastor set you upright, the ache between your thighs a pulsing reminder of the pleasure he’d denied you. Need coursed through your body, raw and unrelenting, as you struggled to catch your breath. Your lips still tingled with the taste of him, the ghost of his harsh, possessive thrusts lingering like an unshakable memory. 

“Let’s go home, darling,” his voice was soft—a deadly whisper that cut through the quiet of the night, sending a shiver down your spine. 

With practised precision, he smoothed the wrinkles in your dress, his movements strangely tender despite the chaos that had unfolded moments ago. His crimson eyes glowed in the darkness, piercing through the shadows like embers. You stared at him, and your heart twisted painfully in your chest. 

Alastor was a contradiction. 

He spoke to you with venomous disdain, fucked you with a ruthless edge that left you breathless and shaking, and yet… there were moments. Moments of sweetness so fleeting, so fragile, you wondered if even he realized they existed. 

You knew why he was like this. You had hurt him. 

The memory of your betrayal was a weight you carried, one you could never fully cast off. You hadn’t wanted to leave him, but circumstances had forced your hand. When the bills piled high and the well-being of your family hung in the balance, you had done what was necessary. You’d married another man—a man with wealth and power—at the cost of your own heart. 

When you found Alastor again in Hell, it felt like a second chance. You had thrown yourself into his arms, your soul willingly offered to him without hesitation. But despite your efforts, his ever-present grin always seemed strained in your presence, a thin veneer that barely concealed the bitterness lurking beneath. 

Tonight had been no different. Whatever fragile peace existed between you shattered the moment Vox kissed your hand—a simple, polite gesture. You barely had time to react before Alastor whisked you into the shadows, his jealousy erupting in a storm of raw, unrelenting possession. 

On shaky knees, you reached out, your fingers brushing against a wrinkle in his suit, an instinctive gesture to calm him. But he recoiled instantly, his grin tightening, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. The surrounding air buzzed with tension, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Alas—” you began, desperate to explain, to assure him that Vox meant nothing, that he was the only one who mattered. 

But Alastor silenced you with a clawed finger pressed firmly to your lips. His silent command was absolute, and you acquiesced, nodding meekly. He didn’t speak, instead seizing your wrist and hooking it through his arm with a rigid formality. To any onlooker, you were the picture of a lady being escorted by a gentleman—a perfect facade that belied the thick tension between you. 

The walk back was agonizingly silent. Each click of your heels against the pavement echoed your unresolved tension, your body still humming with the unfulfilled promise of release. You dared a sidelong glance at him, your gaze searching for any crack in his grinning, stoic mask. 

For a moment, his eyes met yours, glowing faintly in the dim light. His grip on your hand softened, his fingers covering yours in a gesture so gentle it made your breath hitch. It was fleeting, but it was enough to stir a faint, fragile hope in your chest. 

Yet, the truth was undeniable: Alastor didn’t trust you.

He didn’t believe your words, no matter how many times you told him you loved him. Your declarations were met with laughter—sharp and dismissive, as if he were bracing himself for the moment you would betray him again. 

Guilt crushed you, heavy and suffocating. You hadn’t known back then. You hadn’t understood the depth of his affection, the way he hid his true feelings behind that perpetual mask of joviality. You’d thought yourself a passing amusement to him, nothing more than a toy to be discarded when he grew bored. 

But now you knew better. 

You pressed closer to him, your body leaning into his. This time, he didn’t pull away. His arm remained firm, steady, as if silently allowing you this small comfort. 

You wished, more than anything, that he could hear your heart. That he could see the truth etched into its fragile walls. 

You wished he understood how happy you were to see him again after death, how you’d felt as if fate had granted you a second chance to be with him. 

You wished he could believe you when you said you loved him. 

Truly. 

Wholly. 

Sincerely. 

The air in the room was heavy, charged with an energy that made your breath catch. As you stepped inside, your eyes fell on Alastor lounging in the armchair, his long legs crossed, one hand draped lazily over the side. For a fleeting moment, you saw him—the man he used to be. 

You saw the earnest young radio host, his brown hair neatly combed, glasses perched on his nose with a faint sheen of determination in his gaze. His cherubic smile, so genuine and full of promise, flickered in your mind. 

The man you’d fallen in love with. 

But the illusion shattered as quickly as it appeared, replaced by gleaming crimson eyes and blood-red hair. His sharp grin stretched wide, the radio-static undertone in his voice a constant reminder of what he had become. 

“Undress and come here, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dripping with dangerous intent. 

Your breath hitched, anticipation thrumming through your veins. You knew this game, this dance between the two of you, by heart. It was filthy. Debauched. Entirely improper for someone like you to even think of, let alone crave. And yet, Alastor always had a way of stripping you bare—not just of your clothes, but of every pretense, every wall you tried to erect. 

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the clasps of your dress, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made your skin flush. The plush fabric of the armchair yielded beneath his claws, his grip tightening as he tracked your every movement. His arousal was evident, the bulge in his trousers straining against the fabric. He was enjoying this, savouring the power he believed he wielded over you. 

Slowly, deliberately, you let the dress slip from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. His sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed as his claws dug deeper into the armchair. Your underwear was long gone, already ripped to shreds earlier in a fit of his possessive anger. All that remained was your brassiere, the final barrier between you and his unrelenting gaze. 

With a steady hand, you unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor. You stood before him, bare and vulnerable, his eyes raking over you like a predator sizing up his prey. 

“Come,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with unbridled lust. 

You dropped to your knees without hesitation, supplication etched into every movement as you crawled toward him. His fingers flew to his belt, unlooping it with deliberate slowness, savouring the moment. The unmistakable sound of his zipper filled the room, and finally, you found yourself nestled between his thighs. 

His cock stood rigid and proud, the bead of pre-cum at its tip glistening in the dim light. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the head, eliciting a sharp hiss from his lips. 

“Will you forgive me, sir?” you whispered, your voice sultry and low, already sinking into the familiar role you played with him. Your fingers traced the length of his shaft, teasing the prominent vein that pulsed beneath your touch. “I’ve displeased you. How can I make it up to you?” 

Your lips brushed against him again, dragging slowly from the tip to the base, each kiss a silent plea for forgiveness. 

Alastor’s grin widened, his voice a low croon. “My, look at you,” he hissed, his claws tangling in your hair, gripping tight enough to make you moan. The sound was sinful, and his cock twitched in response, eager for more. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he bit out, spreading his thighs wider, guiding you to lay across his lap. 

You obeyed, your body draped over him, your hips raised slightly to expose yourself completely. His hardened length pressed against your side, the weight of him a reminder of the carnal desire you two shared. One of his hands stroked the curve of your ass, the sharp tips of his claws teased your folds, light enough to drive you mad with need. 

“What will I do with you?” he murmured, his tone laced with anger. “Am I not enough? Will you leave me again for another man who can drape you in false promises and riches?” 

His words were a sharp contrast to the seductive haze that had enveloped the room. You stilled, your brow furrowing as his voice wavered. For a moment, you heard something beneath the surface—something raw, something fragile. 

Alastor’s mask cracked, if only for a heartbeat. That hitch in his voice, that tremble he tried to suppress, spoke volumes. 

He sounded almost… vulnerable.

The tension in the room was palpable, every sound amplified by the quiet. You hesitated, glancing at Alastor’s face to gauge his mood. Concern flickered in your chest, but before you could speak, his hand shot up and came down sharply on your bare bottom. 

The smack echoed through the room, and you lurched forward with a startled yelp. Your fingers instinctively gripped at his tailored suit pants, your cheeks flaming from both the slap and the molten heat pooling in your core. The sting spread across your skin, sharp and electric, and you couldn’t stop the way your body responded—wetness already slickening your thighs. 

“Who else,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous, “would accept you like this but me, sweetheart?” 

Before you could answer, his hand met your flesh again, harder this time, the force driving you against him. Pain bloomed across your backside, a delicious ache that made you gasp, a sob breaking free before you could swallow it down. 

“How improper of you,” he grunted, delivering another slap. And another. Again and again, his strikes rained down, unrelenting, until your body trembled beneath him. By the sixth strike, your resolve shattered, replaced with a shameless moan as his fingers slipped inside you. 

Three fingers plunged deep, spreading you with a squelch that made your face burn. His touch was deliberate, unyielding, and all-consuming. He curled his fingers just enough to brush against that sensitive spot within you, the one that always made you see stars. 

“Hmm,” he mused, his tone cold and calculating. “This is supposed to be a punishment, but look at you,” he murmured mockingly. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” 

Your body betrayed you, hips bucking to meet his hand even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The raw, stinging burn of his palm on your ass mingled with the intoxicating pleasure of his touch, leaving you reeling, your sobs interwoven with desperate mewls. 

“Tell me, darling,” he growled, his voice darker, more guttural, “how many men have used this hole?” His fingers plunged deeper, reaching places that made your entire body shudder. “You’re insatiable, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you let any man take you? Any cad?” 

His words stung worse than his strikes. There was no pretense now, no game of playful cruelty. His tone was raw, unfiltered, the sharp edges of genuine anger slicing through you. 

You felt the first crack in your heart. 

“That’s not true!” you cried, voice cracking as his fingers pressed mercilessly against that spot inside you. The pleasure was unbearable, teetering on the edge of pain, but the fissures in your heart hurt worse. “It’s not true!” 

Tears welled up, spilling over as you trembled against him. “It’s not…” your voice broke into a whisper, trailing off as he stilled, his fingers buried deep but unmoving. 

You wished...

You wished he could hear your heart. 

“Alastor…” you whispered his name, turning your head to meet his gaze. Your vision blurred with tears, the crimson glow of his eyes melting into the haze. “Alastor,” you repeated, voice trembling, your breath hitching on every syllable. 

Would he believe you? If he could see past his bitterness and anger, if he could look into the depths of your heart, would he understand? 

“Alastor, I—” 

Whatever you were about to say was cut off as he yanked you up, positioning you to straddle his lap. His cock pressed against your abdomen, rigid and insistent. 

Before you could process it, his hand tangled in your hair, dragging you down into a bruising kiss. His lips crushed against yours with a ferocity that left no room for tenderness. It was rough, messy, and possessive. Your carefully styled hair tumbled from its pins, falling around your face in wild, chaotic waves. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a gasp from you that he swallowed eagerly, his mouth relentless. The kiss was as biting as his words, filled with frustration, anger, and something deeper he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—admit. 

It was a kiss meant to silence, to dominate. But beneath the chaos, you could feel it: his desperation, his need. As his claws raked gently down your spine, you wished again, silently, achingly, that he could believe you. That he could see your love laid bare. 

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the storm of his touch—the cruel, the cold, the gentle, the warm. It was everything that made Alastor who he was, a paradox of a man who commanded both fear and fascination. Despite the sharp edges of his demeanour, the unrelenting cruelty of his words, you couldn’t deny the truth in your chest. You had fallen for him once, and even after death, that love hadn’t faded. 

A single tear escaped, tracing a hot line down your cheek before breaking free, a silent testament to the emotions welling within you. But that solitary drop was only the beginning, soon, more tears spilled freely, one after another. Still, your fingers curled tightly into his lapels, pulling him closer, refusing to let go. 

His breath hitched, and his trembling fingers brushed against your cheeks, wiping away the tears in hurried, almost desperate strokes. But for every tear he caught, more followed. His touch was achingly gentle, a whisper against your skin that made your heart ache. 

Without a word, he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you as if you were something fragile. The earlier roughness of his kisses softened, turning into feather-light brushes and tender licks against your swollen lips, soothing the wound he had created in a moment of heated passion. 

The world blurred as he carried you to the bed, laying you down with a reverence that made your chest tighten. Slowly, deliberately, he began shedding his clothes, each piece falling away until he stood bare before you. Vulnerable. Honest. For once, he hid nothing. 

He joined you, his weight sinking the mattress beneath you. His lips traced the tear-streaked paths on your cheeks, pressing reverent, almost apologetic kisses to each salty trail. His red eyes softened, glowing dimly, as if they too bore the weight of his unspoken emotions. 

“Alastor,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hands cupping his face. “I love you.” 

He stilled, his gaze locking with yours, searching for something—doubt, deception, anything to justify his disbelief. But all you could wish was for him to see your sincerity. 

“How silly of you, darling,” he murmured, his voice low, tinged with a faint tremor. He leaned closer, his body caging yours, until your vision was filled with nothing but him. “How awfully silly of you…” 

His words trailed off into a kiss, his lips brushing yours with uncharacteristic gentleness. The weight of his body pressed against you as the head of his cock nudged your entrance, his movements slow and deliberate. He filled you inch by inch, a quiet exhale escaping his lips as he stilled, buried deep within you. 

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer. “Alastor,” your voice cracked, thick with emotion. Tears welled in your eyes again, the ache in your chest threatening to consume you. “Alastor, I promise you—” Another tear slipped free, trailing down to join the others. “You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.” 

Your lips trembled as you pulled him into another kiss, soft and tender, pouring every ounce of your love into him. 

For a moment, his body tensed, his muscles locking as if bracing against something too painful to bear. Then, as if a switch flipped, the vulnerability in his expression shattered, replaced by that cruel, familiar grin. 

“Do you now?” he sneered, his tone laced with mockery. Without warning, he pulled back and slammed his hips forward, driving into you with enough force to make you cry out. 

“Do you,” he hissed, his voice ragged as he thrust into you with a brutal rhythm, “say that to every hapless chum who gets to fuck you?” 

His pace quickened, each thrust harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The bed groaned beneath you, its protests rhythmic and loud, but you barely heard it over the pounding of your heart. 

Tears streamed down your face again, but this time, they carried the weight of anguish and longing. 

You wished, oh, how you desperately wished he could hear your heart. 

If he could, he might understand the truth in every word you spoke, the depth of your love that not even death could diminish. But as his sharp movements pushed you closer to the edge of bliss and despair, you realized he wasn’t ready to hear it—not yet. 

Each thrust pulled fragmented cries from your lips, your breath hitching in broken rhythm, tears pooling and spilling from your eyes. But amidst the tears, you smiled at him. That smile—he’d always said it was your best feature, hadn’t he? 

Your trembling hands rose toward him in a gesture of surrender, of devotion, as you spoke the words again. “I love you,” you whispered, voice quaking but resolute. 

No matter how many times it took. 

No matter how many years it took. 

You would keep saying it until he believed you. 

“I love you, Alastor,” you repeated, your smile radiant despite the ache in your chest, a smile that was both a gift and a plea. The words came from somewhere deep inside, a place untouched by bitterness or regret. They were the words you knew he longed to hear, words that should have been exchanged long ago when you were both young, innocent, and untouched by the cruel weight of time and tragedy. 

His hips faltered, the relentless rhythm stuttering for a moment. His breath quickened, and his crimson eyes flickered with something too raw, too human. His ever-present grin tightened, becoming almost brittle. He shook his head as though to dispel your words, to reject them outright. But before you could catch the emotions flickering behind his crimson gaze, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. 

His breath was hot against your skin, and his movements shifted. The sharp, punishing pace gave way to something slower, something more deliberate. He rolled his hips, dragging each motion out, as though savouring every second. 

Your hand moved to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. You pressed your cheek against his head, holding him close. He released a shuddering breath, his chest heaving against yours, and the tension in his shoulders began to soften. 

His lips found your neck, planting small, tentative kisses along the delicate skin before he sucked gently, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. 

“Say it again, darling,” he murmured, the edge in his voice softened, though a cruel laugh still escaped him. “Go on, tell me your hilarious lies.” 

But his arms tightened around you, holding you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this world. 

“You always were the best liar,” he added, though his words wavered, and his voice dropped to a whisper so quiet you barely heard it. “...Cher.” 

Your heart clenched. If only he could see it—if only he could feel the truth that pulsed there with every beat. 

“I love you, Alastor,” you said again, this time brushing a kiss to his head. Your voice was steady, your words unwavering. “I’m happy to be here with you.” 

He shuddered, his movements continuing at their deliberate pace. Each stroke dragged the head of his cock along your walls before plunging back in, drawing soft moans from your lips that mingled with his quiet gasps. The symphony of shared pleasure seemed to echo in the room, each sound weaving together, building into something raw and tender. 

“A-again,” he gasped, lifting his head. His forehead pressed against yours, his crimson eyes locking with yours, the intensity in them almost overwhelming. “Again...cher.” 

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. “I love you,” you said, the words flowing as naturally as breathing. “I do.” 

His lips captured yours, hungry but not desperate, and he kissed you again and again, as if each kiss could carve the truth of your words into his soul. He pressed against all the places that made your body sing, his gentle rhythm slowly driving you closer to the peak of pleasure. 

Your body tensed, every muscle quivering as you neared your release. He stayed with you, maintaining the same steady pace, his hips rocking against yours with a tenderness that stole your breath. 

“Again,” he moaned, his voice raw with need. “Cher...cher...cher,” he chanted the endearment like a prayer, each repetition pulling you closer to him in every way. 

And you gave it freely, your voice trembling with devotion and truth. “I love you, Alastor. Always.” 

The words trembled on your lips, broken by the ebb and flow of your breath. “I—I love you,” you gasped, your body taut with tension. The heat coiling low in your abdomen finally snapped, and a wave of pleasure cascaded through you, its intensity both gentle and consuming. 

Your walls clenched around him, drawing a guttural moan from Alastor as he shuddered above you. His breaths grew ragged, each thrust slower but deeper, as he chased his release. 

“Oh, cher,” he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions as his climax overtook him. His cock pressed as far into you as it could go, and with a deep groan, he spilled into you. 

For a moment, the world went silent. The only sounds were your uneven breaths mingling with his, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. 

And then you saw it—just for a fleeting instant. 

His crimson eyes softened, the hardened mask of indifference slipping. It was the same look he gave you back then, during those nights at Mimzy’s speakeasy when he’d watch you perform from the shadows, his gaze filled with quiet adoration. Back when your love was a tender, secret thing, untouched by the cruelty of time. 

Your heart swelled, and you smiled at him, hopeful. 

But the moment shattered like glass. 

Alastor blinked once, twice, and then the mask returned. He pulled away abruptly, leaving a cold emptiness where his warmth had been. The sudden rush of air prickled against your skin, and his release spilled from you, unwelcome and raw. 

“Well,” he began, laughter forced and hollow. “That was quite the performance, wasn’t it?” His grin stretched wide, but it lacked its usual bite, his eyes darting anywhere but to yours. 

The sight of his softening cock, glistening with the evidence of your union, seemed to mock the tenderness that had just been shared. 

“Now, run along,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. His tone was too sharp, too loud. “I’ve had my fun, and I’m done with you.” 

Each word cut deeper than the last. 

You sat up slowly, the ache in your body a bitter reminder of the connection you had just shared. His ears flicked back for the briefest second, betraying the tension he couldn’t hide. His claws dug into his thigh, his knuckles white with restraint, as he avoided your gaze. 

You could have left. Perhaps he expected you to. 

But instead, you moved closer. 

Crawling onto his lap, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. He stiffened immediately, his hands flying up in hesitation, hovering uncertainly in the space between you. 

“I won’t be the one to walk away this time, Alastor,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. You pressed yourself closer, your warmth meeting his cold edges. 

His breath hitched, and his hands hovered, trembling, before finally coming to rest against your back. 

“If you want me to leave,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his wide, startled eyes, “then you’ll have to be the one to walk away.” 

For a moment, time stood still. The air between you was heavy, laden with the weight of unspoken truths and unresolved desires. 

And then, in that fragile space where the past, present, and future seemed to blur, Alastor’s arms closed around you. Tight. Almost desperate. 

His hold was not gentle, but it was real. 

You rested your head against his shoulder, and for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to believe that perhaps—just perhaps—he had seen your heart, if only a little. 

And you held on to that sliver of hope, knowing it was all you had. 

For tonight, it was enough. 

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[aroacedaddy]

A/N: Please note! I'm still away with limited to no access to internet! Now, let’s talk about this story. A couple of quick notes: originally, I had a mini-series planned as a gift fic for @redfoxwritesstuff similar to this prompt. So, naturally, I decided to hijack the prompt and turn it into a little taste test of what you can expect from me next year. Also, fair warning—this one-shot is long AF. Enjoy! Also Kit said this was a very fluffy-wuffy story ✨️

SUMMARY: When Alastor summons a demon to strike a deal, he’s horrified to discover the entity is none other than his future self—a twisted, unrecognizable Overlord of Hell. The price for their agreement? Allowing his future counterpart a single night with you. But as the night unfolds, the deal unravels, and Alastor is confronted with a vision of his destiny and a choice.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, demon alastor, human alastor, period typical racism, reader is white for plot reason, p in v, cucking, big smoll sad, it made kit's eyes water lol, time travel, human!alastor is a jerk, human!alastor is bad with feelings, @safination i'm not here right now so you have my permission to lovingly yell at Kit.

When Alastor, your enigmatic and ever-poised boss, had called you for the first time early evening, asking you to meet him in his office, your heart thudded wildly, teetering between anticipation and trepidation. Alastor never went out of his way to summon you—it was always you lingering behind, staying past your hours, quietly soaking in his presence as he worked tirelessly. 

This was different. 

It felt intimate. 

You’d spent an hour preparing, choosing your best dress—a sleek, elegant number that hugged your form just enough to be alluring without being improper. A touch of makeup brought colour to your cheeks, but not too much; you wanted to be perfect, to catch his eye. Yet, despite your efforts, you knew how he would react. Alastor’s gaze was always detached, his smile fixed, his brow quirking only slightly when you adorned yourself in jewels or dresses that begged for attention. Still, you couldn’t help but try, craving even the smallest acknowledgement. 

But what bound you to Alastor wasn’t something you could ever flaunt. It was your secret—a dangerous one that you carried with trembling hands and a racing heart. The two of you were entangled in a forbidden affair, one that defied both class and the suffocating bigotry of your family. 

Alastor was beneath your station—a man your father would see erased from existence if he ever knew. Worse still, he wasn’t even of your race, a detail that would ensure not just scorn, but ruination. 

Despite the risks, you couldn’t quell the fervent pulse of your heart or the fire that grew with every lingering glance, every stolen moment. You loved him. But you would never dare breathe those words aloud. Love, you were certain, would drive him away, or worse, force him to sever your professional ties altogether. No, you resolved to bury it deep within you, content to simply bask in his presence, treasuring every fleeting second by his side. 

The taxi ride to the radio station felt eternal, every bump on the road a reminder of your growing tension. Your stomach coiled with a delicious, agonizing heat, your mind a swirl of fantasies about what the night might hold. Would his hands be on you? His voice—a low, sultry murmur in your ear? You had lied with practised ease to your mother, telling her you were meeting a friend, knowing the scandal it would incite if anyone knew you were alone with an unmarried man in the dead of night. 

You stepped through the radio station doors, your pulse hammering like a drumbeat in your ears. Each step toward his office sent a ripple of nerves through you, your hand trembling as you raised it to knock. The soft rap of your knuckles against the wood echoed in the empty hall. 

“Come in,” came the familiar cadence of Alastor’s voice, low and steady, but there was a rasp beneath it that made your skin prickle. 

As you pushed the door open, your breath caught in your throat. The world seemed to tilt, your vision narrowing to the abomination lounging in Alastor’s chair. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. 

The creature was grotesque, its twisted form a nightmare made flesh. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, revealing too many sharp, glistening teeth. Your knees threatened to give out as you stumbled back, a trembling hand flying to cover your mouth. 

“S-Sir,” you stammered, your voice a feeble whisper. Tears welled in your eyes as you pointed a shaking finger at the monstrosity before you. Your mind screamed at you to flee, but your legs felt as if they’d been turned to lead. 

And at that moment, all the fantasies, the yearning, the secret desires—all of it shattered, leaving you drowning in a sea of terror. 

In the chair where Alastor usually sat was a figure so utterly alien, so menacing, that your breath hitched in your throat. Your eyes widened, taking in every horrifying detail. 

The creature’s stark, blood-red hair fell in a sharp bob, the blackened tips framing his face with an eerie precision. Two tufts of hair atop his head mimicked ears, their softness betraying the menace of the antler-like bones that protruded from his skull. These jagged horns gleamed under the low light, their surface polished and unyielding. The skin stretched over his sharp features was a ghostly grey, as if every drop of blood had been leached from his body. His long claws glistened, crimson as though freshly dipped in blood, and their razor-like points promised destruction with a single swipe. 

His choice of attire was oddly elegant—a dapper, pin-striped red suit that hung impeccably on his tall frame, paired with a crimson shirt beneath. The vivid fabric clung to him, amplifying the danger in his already striking presence. When his gaze lifted to yours, your stomach churned. His eyes were an unsettling sea of red, the sclera and iris indistinguishable except for the black, slit-like pupils that seemed to pierce straight into your soul. 

“Why, hello there!” the monster greeted you, his voice dripping with exaggerated joviality. The sound was layered with static, like a distorted broadcast through a radio, dissonant and grating against your ears. 

As he rose from the chair, his height became even more terrifying. The tattered ends of his jacket fluttered slightly, like the remnants of a garment torn through battles untold. He was impossibly tall, towering so far above you that even Alastor’s impressive stature seemed diminutive in comparison. 

“You’ve arrived pretty quickly,” a familiar voice interrupted your spiralling fear, anchoring you for a brief moment. Your head snapped toward the sound, and relief flooded your chest as your boss came into view. Alastor was seated on the plush couch to the side, his elbow resting on the armrest, one hand pressed to his temple as though nursing a splitting headache. 

“S-sir,” you called out, your voice trembling as you instinctively shuffled closer to him. Every nerve in your spine prickled, the weight of the monster’s unblinking gaze crawling over you like bugs. He grinned wider—unnaturally so—his yellowed teeth gleaming in the dim light, the corners of his mouth stretching impossibly far, as if the act of smiling alone was tearing his face apart. 

Alastor rose fluidly from the couch, his presence commanding despite the monstrous figure looming nearby. With a calmness that baffled you, he reached out and took your trembling hand, his touch steady and grounding as he gently pulled you closer to his body. 

Your heart raced, your cheeks burning as his fingers brushed against your skin. You tilted your head up, seeking answers in his expression, but his whisky brown eyes were unreadable, his smile just as enigmatic as always. Why wasn’t he alarmed by the abomination in his office? 

“My dear,” Alastor purred, his deep voice resonating through you like a caress. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and your head instinctively dipped, your gaze lowering to his polished shoes. Heat rushed through your veins as your body unconsciously fell into a submissive pose, the practised habit of yielding to his authority deeply ingrained from the private games you’d shared. 

His chuckle was warm, teasing, a sound that both soothed and tingled your nerves. He lifted a hand, his long fingers tilting your chin upward with an almost tender touch. His smile softened, though it remained wicked at the edges. 

“I need you to do me a favour, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft yet commanding, the undertones so addicting you felt yourself nodding before the words fully registered. 

“A-anything, sir,” you stammered, your voice trembling with unease. Instinctively, your fingers twitched toward him, longing for reassurance, but you stopped yourself, letting your hands fall to your sides. You knew better—Alastor disliked being touched without his permission, and crossing that line would only make things worse. 

His grin widened, a sinister curve that sent a chill down your spine. For a moment, it mirrored the demon’s unsettling smile, sharp and predatory. “Excellent,” he mused, his tone deceptively light. Then, with an elegant step back, he distanced himself from you, leaving a void where his warmth had been. You shivered, feeling the icy tendrils of isolation creep in. 

Turning his attention to the monster, Alastor tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his voice cutting like a blade. “You see, my little assistant would do anything for me.” His chuckle was dry, short, and devoid of emotion—a sound you were intimately familiar with. “So, do what you will with her, and we’ll conclude our arrangement.” 

The words struck like a thunderclap, dousing you in a cold wave of shock. Your body froze, your mind racing to process what he had just said. You turned to him, wide-eyed and pleading, hoping—praying—for some sign that this was a cruel joke, a test of your devotion. But the cold detachment in his dull, brown eyes offered no comfort. 

The monster loomed closer, his presence suffocating, his malevolent aura wrapping around you like a vice. Your chest tightened as fear clawed its way up your throat, and you finally understood. Alastor had summoned this being—a blasphemous act, all for some dark purpose. Was this your fate? Had he lured you here to offer you as a sacrifice? 

Tears burned in your eyes, the sting mingling with the sharp ache in your chest. Your nose tingled as you fought to hold back a sob. You had said you would do anything for him, but now the weight of that promise crushed you. 

Would you die for him? 

Could you? 

The monster’s low, guttural chuckle rumbled through the room, a sound that vibrated in your very bones. His eyes glowed with a hellish light, his razor-sharp teeth gleaming as his grin widened, promising pain. You hiccuped, your trembling gaze darting back to Alastor, silently begging him to stop whatever horror he had set in motion. 

As the monster drew closer, his towering form engulfed you. You whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut, bracing yourself for the agony you were certain would follow. But instead of searing pain, there was a gentle touch—a feather-light brush of fingers against your skin. 

Cautiously, you opened your eyes, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. The malevolence was gone, replaced by something softer, almost…tender. His grin had dulled, the sharpness of his teeth no longer as menacing. 

“My, I was such a bully to you, wasn’t I, cher?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though not to startle you. Gently, he lifted your trembling hand, his clawed fingers cradling it with surprising care. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, the unexpected tenderness unravelling the knot of fear in your chest. 

“Al…Alastor?” The name slipped from your lips unbidden, your voice barely above a whisper. This creature looked nothing like your boss, yet his mannerisms—the way he spoke, the delicate way he touched you—felt achingly familiar. 

The monster’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Slowly, his gaze locked onto yours, the intensity in his glowing red eyes pinning you in place. His body shifted closer, his towering frame crowding you, but without the suffocating malice from before. 

One hand slid to rest gently on your hip, the other cupping your cheek with a touch so light it felt like a whisper against your skin. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles, brushing the warmth of your cheek as though memorizing every detail. 

“You’re as beautiful as I remember you to be, cher,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. The words were spoken as if they were meant for you alone, a secret shared in the space between your breaths. The tenderness in his tone sent a pang through your chest, your fear melting into confusion, longing, and something deeper—something that tugged at the very core of you. 

Your eyes darted past the monster, seeking the warmth and steadiness of Alastor’s familiar brown gaze, but he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he busied himself with tidying the scattered books on the floor, his movements precise, almost indifferent. 

“I suppose you’d like an explanation?” The monster’s voice lilted with amusement, the tone grating against your raw nerves. 

You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat felt constricted, the weight of fear pressing your lips shut. What could you possibly say when confronted with something so unnatural, so wrong? 

The monster’s grin widened as he studied your silence, his laughter cutting through the tension like jagged glass. “My younger, alive self, I might add,” he began, voice dripping with mockery, “decided it would be a brilliant idea to summon a demon. And what a surprise—I managed to transcend time itself, back to when I still drew breath. Ha!” 

He chuckled, the sound lighthearted, as if he were recounting an amusing anecdote instead of explaining your potential doom. With an unsettling ease, he began to sway you side to side, guiding your body like a puppet, as though a melody only he could hear played in his mind. 

“W-what?” you stammered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his words sinking in. 

The demon leaned closer, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he held you in his gaze. “You see, cher, your dear father was planning to pull out his support. Said the new age of entertainment was approaching,” he purred, his tone lowering, his words curling like smoke around you. “He claimed the radio was a dying medium. Can you imagine?” 

Your heart stuttered, the implication dawning on you in jagged pieces. 

Before you could process further, the demon pulled back, his face twisted into an unsettlingly cheerful grin. “So,” he continued, his voice unnervingly jovial, “my younger self decided to strike a deal with me.” 

Without warning, he yanked you closer, your body pressed firmly against his towering frame. His claws trailed lightly along your arm, his grip firm yet almost reverent as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His sharp teeth flashed in a grotesque mockery of a smile as he leaned in, his words soft and poisonous. 

“Help him convince your father to keep his investment in the radio business,” he explained, “and in return, I get you—for one night. However I please.” He sighed wistfully, as if the thought alone was a gift. 

“I…” The swirl of emotions in your chest was unbearable—fear, disgust, betrayal, and a growing sense of dread. Your stomach churned, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The enormity of what he was saying crashed down on you like a tidal wave. Alastor had sold you. Sold you to this…this demon for a fleeting deal. 

Your voice wavered, cracking under the weight of your panic. “P-pl-please,” you whimpered, trembling in his grasp. “I-I can convince my father. I swear—please, just don’t hurt me.” A tear slipped down your cheek, hot and bitter, the first of many as your resolve crumbled into despair. 

Behind the demon, Alastor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and impatient. “Think of it as another…act,” he said with an air of dismissal, waving his hand as though the entire situation was trivial. His arms crossed over his chest, his expression tight with irritation. “I’m ordering you, for one night, to experience pleasure with another man, ah, rather an otherworldly being. Surely, you love following my orders, don’t you?” 

His grin was forced, brittle at the edges, and his gaze was devoid of the warmth you had once clung to. The coldness in his voice pierced you deeper than the demon’s claws ever could. 

Something deep within you cracked, a fracture so profound it reverberated through your entire being. The tears came harder now, streaking down your cheeks in silence as the pain hollowed out your chest. Your voice faltered, swallowed by the void left behind by his betrayal. You were adrift, unmoored, and utterly broken. 

Before you could fully crumble in the demon’s arms, his voice cut through the storm of your emotions, soft yet laced with disapproval. “My, my, my,” he sighed, shaking his head with an air of mock disappointment. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the air crackled, and tendrils of shadow unfurled from the floor like living smoke. They coiled around Alastor’s limbs, binding him in place. 

“Hey—” Alastor managed to bark before one of the tendrils silenced him, curling tightly over his mouth. His eyes burned with malice, glaring daggers at the demon. The raw hatred radiating from him sent a shiver cascading down your spine. 

The demon tutted, wagging a clawed finger as though scolding a misbehaving child. “Tsk, tsk. I’m quite certain our mother taught us better manners when it comes to treating the fairer sex, wouldn't you agree?” he chided, the red monocle adorning his eye gleaming in the dim light like a sly wink directed at you. 

He turned his attention back to you, and before you could shrink away, his arms enfolded you in a firm embrace. “Now, now, cher,” he murmured, his voice a warm, honeyed drawl. “No need for tears. I dare say, I’m truly amazed. Imagine… falling in love with me, despite everything.” His head tilted, amusement dancing in his crimson gaze as his grin softened ever so slightly. 

Your muscles locked, your mind too frazzled to process his words. Your wide eyes remained fixed on Alastor, bound and seething within the shadowy restraints. “P-please, Mr. Demon, y-you’re hurting him,” you stammered, trembling as helplessness gripped your frame. 

“Oh, sweet thing, don’t you worry about him,” the demon cooed, his tone light yet edged with a strange finality. “And for the record, I’d prefer it if you called me Al.” 

“A-Al?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as you hesitantly turned your gaze back to him. 

“That’s right,” he replied with a theatrical flourish, a microphone staff materializing in his hand out of thin air. He stepped back, spreading his arms as though addressing an invisible audience. “Allow me to properly introduce myself!” His grin widened, impossibly sharp. “I am Alastor—the Radio Demon. I hail from the future, though I come bearing tidings from Hell itself! It's a pleasure to meet you, again! Haha!” His laughter echoed, rich and chilling. “But for you, my darling, you may simply call me Al. I much prefer it that way.” 

His words sank in like stones, heavy and impossible. This demon… this creature who had embraced you so intimately… was Alastor. Your Alastor. The very thought clawed at your sanity, pulling you deeper into the pit of madness. 

“How… how is this possible?” you whispered, the question barely audible over the hammering of your heart. 

His response was another snap of his fingers, the sound sharp and commanding. The plush sofa in the corner of the room shimmered and transformed, warping into a small, inviting bed. 

“Anything is possible with a little magic, darling,” he said with a devilish grin, his hand slipping to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed. His voice dropped, a velvet purr curling through his words. “And my time here is fleeting. So, cher, allow me this one indulgence—to feel you once more, as I’ve longed to do.” 

“Y-you’re Alastor,” you murmured, your voice soft, trembling as your mind wavered on the precipice of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. It felt surreal, like a twisted fairy tale brought to life. 

“The one and only,” he declared with a radiant grin that sent a jolt of familiarity straight to your heart. For a moment, your breath hitched. That smile—it was Alastor’s, unmistakably his. The way his lips curled, the self-assured confidence radiating from him—it mirrored the expression you’d seen so many times after his broadcasts, a smile brimming with satisfaction and happiness. 

But now, that smile belonged to this—to him. 

As he followed you to the bed, his movements unhurried yet purposeful, you found yourself sinking into the mattress, your body trembling with a cascade of emotions you couldn’t contain. The instant he sat beside you, you threw your arms around his neck, clutching him as though he might vanish into smoke if you let go. Pressing your face against his chest, you whispered, voice quivering under the weight of your heartache, “W-why are you in Hell?” 

Tears spilled freely, soaking into the fine fabric of his jacket. Your words, soft and trembling, carried a deeper pain than you realized. “Why?” you repeated, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your blurred vision making his grin all the more surreal. 

The concept of Hell clawed at your mind—a place of endless torment, unimaginable cruelty, and eternal suffering. The thought of Alastor, your Alastor, enduring such a fate twisted your stomach into knots. Your hands, trembling with hesitation and sorrow, rose to frame his face. The grin on his lips remained unchanged, unfaltering, though its presence felt like a knife plunged into your chest. 

“I-is it scary?” you asked, voice breaking under the weight of your despair. “Is it… painful?” The tears came harder now, spilling like a deluge, each one carrying another fragment of your breaking heart. “Is there…” you hiccuped, searching his eyes for something, anything, “…anything I can do? To…to save your soul?” 

For a moment, he froze, his crimson eyes fixed on you. Then his lips parted, and laughter spilled forth—a sound both melodic and unhinged, a discordant symphony that sent shivers rippling across your skin. 

“Oh, my!” he exclaimed between peals of manic laughter, his head tilting unnaturally. With a sickening crack, his neck twisted in a full circle, the motion so grotesque you flinched. He turned his warped grin toward the immobilized Alastor, bound by shadows in the corner of the room. “She doesn’t know?” he howled, the sound echoing as though bouncing off invisible walls. “Hahaha! She doesn’t know! Oh, this is rich!” 

You stared, frozen in both awe and horror, as the man you loved unravelled into something far stranger, far darker. The resemblance to Alastor was undeniable—the mannerisms, the way he carried himself—but there was something else, too. Something foreign, something… wrong. He was a blurred reflection, a distorted echo of the man you thought you knew. 

Without warning, his head snapped back to face you. Before you could process the movement, his lips descended on yours, the suddenness of it stealing your breath. You stiffened, your body rigid with shock. But then his lips moved, tender and familiar, in the exact way Alastor used to kiss you. The familiarity melted your resolve, and against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the lapels of his jacket. 

His hand came to rest on yours, gently clasping your trembling fingers. 

“Cher,” he murmured, his voice a soft, aching melody. His lips brushed against yours again, as though afraid this moment would slip away. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, cher,” he whispered, the raw longing in his tone unravelling something deep inside you. 

He pressed you back onto the bed, his weight settling over you like a ghost of memories long past. If you closed your eyes, you could almost convince yourself it was him—your Alastor. It was so easy to believe it was his hands, his voice, his breath against your skin. 

“I’m not… with you...down there?” you whispered, your voice breaking as he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling. 

For a fleeting moment, something unspoken flickered in his crimson eyes—pain. Then it was gone, replaced by his ever-present grin. “Of course not, silly girl,” he said, his voice laced with a deceptive lightness. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his touch gentle despite the shadows that clung to him. 

“Your soul, of course, went to Heaven,” he continued with a wistful chuckle. “How could it not? You’re far too pure, too precious for the likes of Hell.” His words were tender, yet they carried an undertone of something far darker. Something that left you both mesmerized and terrified. 

The way Al held you was intimate, possessive, and far too tender to be anything other than the embrace of a lover. It was as though, in some distant future, you and he were entwined in a life you could only dream of. 

Could it be true? 

Your gaze shifted to Alastor, who was furiously struggling against the shadow tendrils pinning him in place. The sight of his thrashing form, his narrowed eyes burning with frustration, sent your heart pounding. The sound of your pulse roared in your ears as conflicting thoughts raced through your mind. 

Perhaps, in the future, the world had changed—laws once meant to keep you apart finally lifted. Perhaps Alastor had grown to see you, not as an assistant, but as someone worthy of his love. Perhaps, together, you’d built a life, a family, and shared moments of happiness you could scarcely imagine now. 

But then, a darker thought surfaced. Perhaps Alastor had died, his soul condemned to Hell. If that was true, and this demon before you was proof of that fate, would your future self feel the same unbearable ache at being parted from him for eternity? 

Tears welled in your eyes as the thought took root, threatening to undo you entirely. You buried your face against Al’s chest, his warmth anchoring you as you fought to calm the whirlwind of emotions. Hugging him tightly, you slowed your breathing, trying to chase away the storm of uncertainty. 

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered. You cast a glance back at Alastor, still bound and silenced, his struggle relentless. The words caught in your throat, and you pressed your lips tightly together, unwilling to voice your fears. 

“What’s wrong, cher?” Al whispered against your hair, his voice soothing and laced with curiosity. He began peppering light kisses across your forehead and hairline, each touch feather-soft yet disarming. “Is it something you don’t want my present self to hear?” 

Your body tensed in surprise. How had he read your thoughts so clearly? 

He grinned mischievously, a spark of devilish delight flashing in his crimson eyes. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the shadow tendrils tightened around Alastor’s head, shrouding his eyes and ears. “There. Now he can’t see or hear us!” Al giggled, his claws tracing idle patterns down your arm before moving to the buttons of your dress. 

“I never told you how much I admired your dresses, did I, cher?” he murmured, his tone dipping low, intimate. 

“W-what?” you stammered, breath hitching as his fingers worked with slow precision, unfastening each button one by one. 

“You always tried so hard to catch my attention,” he said, his voice husky, tinged with regret. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a tender kiss. “And I, stubborn fool that I am, ignored the signs—despite my obvious interest in you.” 

Another kiss landed on your other collarbone, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. His words sent a shiver coursing through you. “Have we made love yet, cher?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Love? The word echoed in your mind, foreign yet tantalizing. You and Alastor had shared moments, stolen kisses, and even acts of passion, but love…? You weren’t sure if anything between you had ever been tender enough to call it that. 

Your silence was answer enough. Al hummed softly, his lips quirking upward. “I suppose that tells me where I am in the timeline,” he mused, his fingers gliding over your skin as he peeled your dress away. 

His sharp inhale was audible, his hands reverent as they traced your bare form. He cupped the curve of your breast with a featherlight touch, his claws grazing your skin before sliding down to rest at your navel. The intensity of his gaze made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, and your heart ached at the dichotomy between his tenderness and the sharp edge of danger he exuded. 

“Such beauty,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, filled with awe and longing. “How I must have adored you…ah, How I adore you even now...” His words trailed off, his lips returning to claim yours in a kiss that was soft, searching, and impossibly bittersweet. 

You stifled a moan, the sound barely escaping your lips as your heels dug into the mattress. Heat coiled low in your belly, but a nagging thought held you in place. If this truly was Alastor, you knew how much he relished control. Surely, he’d expect you to stay still, waiting for his next command. 

“Does this form disgust you, cher?” Al’s voice sliced through your thoughts, low and rich, dripping with desire. 

His words startled you, and for a moment, you were lost in the depths of his crimson gaze. Disgust? The notion was absurd. If anything, this form was fascinating—intoxicating. Your mind had already accepted that this demon was, in essence, Alastor, and now you couldn’t help but marvel at him. The fiery red of his hair spoke of passion, his sharp smile held a mischievous allure, and those ruby-like eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. 

“N-no,” you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks. “I-I just know you like to take control… I didn’t want to upset you or make you stop.” 

His ministrations paused, his claws resting against your bare hips, sending shivers racing along your skin. The top of your dress hung open, exposing your brasserie, while the fabric was bunched around your hips, leaving you vulnerable beneath his touch. He hovered, his knees pressing close to the apex of your thighs, radiating heat and tension. 

“What is it you wanted to ask me, cher?” Al inquired, his voice soft yet commanding, drawing you into the moment. “My present self won’t hear a thing. This might be your only chance to know.” 

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. You’d heard countless tales of how meddling with knowledge of the future often led to ruin. But this wasn’t about destiny or fate—this was about Alastor, the man whose stoic mask never faltered, whose true heart always remained hidden behind an impenetrable wall. 

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you… love me? In the future?” 

The question hung in the air, fragile and trembling, as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You dared to meet his gaze, bracing yourself for his response. 

Al tilted his head, his ear-like tufts flopping to one side, his crimson eyes narrowing with an unreadable glint. Then, with a soft chuckle, he countered, “Do you love me now?” 

The breath hitched in your throat, but you forced yourself to nod, summoning every ounce of bravery to seize this fleeting moment of truth. “Y-yes,” you confessed, your voice trembling yet resolute. “I… I do.” 

For a heartbeat, silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy with unspoken emotion. Then, Al’s expression softened, his grin shifting into something that resembled bittersweet longing. 

“There isn’t a single day I haven’t thought of you while in Hell, cher,” he murmured, his voice rich with a reverence that sent your heart spiralling. His claws traced a slow, deliberate path along the edges of your underwear, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming. 

“Not a single day,” he whispered, his words a tender confession as he gently peeled the fabric away. His touch, so soft yet searing, seemed to convey every unspoken emotion, each one wrapping around you like a vice, leaving you breathless and yearning. 

You weren’t sure why the tears came, hot and relentless, welling in your eyes until they spilled over. A sudden ache bloomed in your chest, overwhelming and raw. Without thinking, your trembling hands flew to cover your lips, muffling a quiet sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered shakily. “I... I didn’t mean to cry.” 

The words felt inadequate, your voice small beneath the weight of the moment. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing—perhaps because you’d never heard him like this before. Alastor’s voice, always sharp and full of confidence, now carried a vulnerability so deep it left you breathless. That softness, that tinge of hurt, was foreign and startling, and it wrapped around your heart, squeezing until it ached for him. 

“Shh,” Al soothed, his voice low and caring as he leaned in to kiss away your tears, each press of his lips feather-light and reverent. “There’s no need for apologies, cher. Just let me...stay with you.” 

His words were a promise, spoken with a quiet urgency that made your breath hitch. His claws slid beneath the lace of your bra, cupping your breast with a surprisingly warm touch, even gentle. His fingers splayed across your skin, firm yet careful, as though he feared breaking you. 

A soft sound escaped you when you felt the faint tug of a zipper being undone. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and when he pressed the heated length of himself against your core, you inhaled sharply, your back arching ever so slightly. His pace was slow, almost excruciating, as he guided himself inside, inch by inch, allowing you to feel the stretch, the fullness, the raw intimacy of the act. 

“Ah,” you exhaled, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as he continued, filling you completely. The pleasure was deep and consuming, his every movement precise, yet tender in a way that left you trembling beneath him. 

A sudden snap echoed in the room, and Alastor—the present Alastor—gasped loudly, finally free of the shadows that had silenced him. “You bastard,” he snarled at his future self, his voice hoarse from restraint. “You absolute—” 

“This is how you treat her,” Al murmured with a grin, his tone tinged with amusement, though his attention never wavered from you. He shifted his hips, filling you to the hilt, and a soft cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips, mingling with a moan that seemed to echo in the dimly lit room. 

He groaned above you, the sound rich and guttural, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzled against the crook of your neck. Each movement made you keenly aware of him, the way he stretched and filled you, the way his body seemed to fit yours so perfectly. His claws brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as he whispered, “Oh, look at you, my cher. Look how beautifully you take me.” 

This was unlike anything you’d ever experienced with Alastor before. It wasn’t rough or commanding, nor was it tinged with the sharp edges of teasing and denial. This was different—soft, intimate, and achingly...gentle. It was as though, for the first time, you weren’t simply giving yourself to him; you were sharing something mutual, something sacred. 

“Wrap those lovely legs around me, cher,” Al murmured, his voice low and intoxicating. You obeyed without hesitation, curling your legs around his waist and pulling him even closer. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements sending waves of pleasure that left you gasping, clutching at his jacket as if it were the only thing grounding you. 

He captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a dance as he swallowed every moan and whimper that escaped you. The intensity built rapidly, pleasure coiling tightly in your core until you felt as though you might shatter from it. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped against his lips, the words barely audible. “I’m so close, I don’t think I can hold back.” 

Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket, clutching it desperately as you tried to hold on, to prolong the moment just a little longer. But the pleasure was relentless, building higher and higher, until it consumed every thought, every sensation, leaving only him—only this.

Al chuckled warmly, a sound rich and velvety, like dark chocolate melting against your ears. It carried a hint of mischief, yet something darker lingered beneath it. “See this?” His voice was smooth, teasing as he turned to face Alastor. 

Your gaze followed, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks as your eyes landed on the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of Alastor's pants. 

Alastor’s lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line, his expression a storm of rage and humiliation. His dark eyes burned with fury, darting between you and his future self. “Just get it done and over with,” he growled, his voice taut with barely contained anger. He thrashed against the shadowy tendrils that restrained him, but they held him fast. 

“Oh, but we have all night,” Al sang, his voice almost melodic, a sinister contrast to the tension in the room. “Tell me, how many times have you robbed her of her pleasure?” 

Before you could process his words, Al shifted your position with a surprising ease. You found yourself facing Alastor, your back pressed flush against Al’s chest, your legs spread wide and entirely exposed. Heat flared across your skin, searing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. 

“See this?” Al murmured, his voice low as his fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your face toward Alastor. Your heart pounded, your breath hitching as Al’s grip anchored you in place. 

You gasped as he entered you again, deep and relentless, stealing your breath with every thrust. “Oh—oh, A-Al,” you cried, trembling against his unyielding hold. 

Al grunted softly, his lips curling into a smile. “Look at her,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “See how beautiful she is, wrought with pleasure.” He thrust into you harder, the lewd, wet sounds of your joining filling the space. 

Alastor’s expression flickered—anger, something unreadable, then averted eyes. He bit his lip harshly, a deep flush creeping up his neck, betraying his growing frustration. 

“You’re close, cher,” Al whispered against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I can feel it—the way you clench around me, so tight, so perfect.” 

He was right. The tension coiled within you, sharp and demanding, pulling you toward the edge. 

You tried to fight it, to hold back, but it was futile. A tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over you, tearing a cry from your lips as your body trembled with the force of your climax. Al’s hands guided you through it, his movements unrelenting as he drew out every last shiver and quake of pleasure. 

As the haze of your release began to fade, your breath came in ragged gasps. Al held your face gently, his thumb brushing your flushed cheek. Your eyes flicked to Alastor, catching the way his hips moved almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, panting slightly as his gaze fixated on you. His anger seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced by something darker, something needy. 

“How many times have you robbed her of this?” Al’s voice was soft, but his words cut sharply. He kissed your cheek, his cock still nestled deep within you. “Shall I right your wrongs? For every pleasure you denied her, I’ll give her double.” His chuckle was light, teasing, and yet his tone carried a promise of endless indulgence. 

Your body trembled at the thought, your mind spinning. Could you even withstand more? The lingering pulse of your release still coursed through you, leaving you breathless and yearning. 

“Shut up,” Alastor spat, his voice thick with venom. “Are you done yet? How much more of this absurdity must I endure?” He turned his head sharply, his expression a mask of disgust, but there was something unspoken in his eyes—a flicker of hurt that struck a chord within you. 

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did. 

“Typical,” Alastor sneered, his anger boiling over. His lips curled into a cruel grin. “I always knew you’d open your legs for—” 

Before he could finish, a shadow tendril coiled around his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence. His words dissolved into a strangled gasp as his body stiffened. 

“Alastor!” you cried out, panic flaring as you instinctively tried to move toward him. 

But Al pulled you back against his chest, his arms locking around you. “Don’t fret, cher,” he said smoothly, snapping his fingers. The tendrils vanished instantly, and Alastor collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. 

You watched as he rolled onto his side, spittle dripping from his lips as he sucked in desperate gulps of air. Your chest ached at the sight of him, weakened and furious all at once, but before you could speak, Al’s lips brushed your temple, his voice soft and unnervingly gentle. 

“Some wounds, cher,” he murmured, “are better left to fester.” 

Al’s hips began to move again, a slow and deliberate grind that sent jolts of sensation through your overstimulated body. You bit your lip, trying in vain to stifle the shameful moans that spilled from your throat. Every inch of him seemed to ignite a fire within you.

“Don’t ever,” Al murmured, his voice dropping into a cold, cutting tone that sent a shiver racing down your spine, “disrespect my woman like that.” 

The words were like a proclamation, and before you could process them, his hand tightened around your breast, his movements becoming forceful and unrelenting. His hips snapped against yours, filling the room with the sound of skin meeting skin, each thrust pushing you closer to another crescendo of pleasure. 

Al’s lips found your neck, searing hot kisses trailing along your sensitive skin before his hand guided your face to meet his. He claimed your lips with a ferocity that left you breathless, his tongue exploring you in a way that felt both possessive and intimate, tracing your teeth and stroking the inside of your cheek as though savouring every part of you. 

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your previous release, hypersensitive to every movement. Yet, the way Al continued to thrust into you, his pace calculated but demanding, stirred another wave of pleasure rising too fast for you to suppress. 

You moaned unabashedly, your head tipping back as you tried to keep your legs open despite the overwhelming sensations. Al’s kisses turned savage, his lips and tongue trailing down to taste your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder. Before long, your vision blurred, and your body arched into his. Your walls clenched around him, gripping tightly as your second orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave. 

You cried out, your voice breaking as pleasure coursed through your veins. Every nerve in your body seemed to light up, leaving you trembling and weak. Your muscles spasmed around him, your breath hitching with every aftershock as you slowly slumped against his chest, utterly spent. 

“Y-your woman?” Alastor’s voice broke the spell, sharp and incredulous. He coughed, clearing his throat before finally finding his footing and standing upright. 

“Last I checked,” he continued, his tone rising with indignation, “she wasn’t even in Hell with you—with us!” His hand went to his neck, rubbing the tender skin where the shadow tendrils had choked him moments before. His darkened eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his voice brimming with outrage. “You’re insane.” 

Before you could react, Alastor reached for your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He tugged you forward, your weakened body pulled unceremoniously into his arms. Your head fell against his chest, and you felt the warmth of him seep into your skin. His hand slid possessively to your hip, grounding you as he glared at his future self. 

Al leaned back, a picture of ease and command, lounging as though he were a king on a throne. He regarded the two of you with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his ruby eyes. 

“She…” Alastor began, but his voice faltered. His grip on your wrist loosened until his fingers slid away entirely. His gaze dropped, his anger giving way to something quieter, something aching. “She lives in an entirely different world than us. Than me.” 

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling heavily over you. 

You turned slowly, your eyes lifting to meet Alastor’s. This was the man you had fallen for—the one you had dreamed of, the one whose guarded heart you had hoped to reach. His expression struggled to wear his usual impassive mask, yet, his jaw tense and there was something raw in his eyes, something he didn’t dare speak aloud. 

The air between you hung thick with unspoken words. And as you looked into his face, you realized just how fragile this moment truly was. 

Alastor’s fingers brushed a strand of hair back from your face, the motion hauntingly familiar to the one his future self had performed. His touch was gentle as he tucked the strand behind your ear. His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something vulnerable flicker there—only for it to vanish beneath his ever-present smile. 

“You remember, don’t you, dear?” His voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was an edge to it, like the sharp bite of a slap. “What we have, what we are... it’s just for—” he paused, his gaze holding yours for a fraction too long before finishing, “fun.” 

Fun. 

The word echoed in your mind, hollow and cold. All the hope that had swelled within you moments earlier, kindled by Al’s words, dissipated instantly. 

Fun. 

It was what you and Alastor had agreed upon. A fleeting arrangement, a temporary indulgence in each other’s company, meant to burn bright and brief before the inevitable end. It was never supposed to be more. Never meant to last. 

Fun. 

That was the word that cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had known this from the start, hadn’t you? Once your father found the perfect match for you, you would disappear from Alastor’s life forever. That had been the unspoken agreement. Yet somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and your heart betrayed you. 

You glanced toward Al—the demon who claimed to be Alastor’s future self. His words, his touches, his teasing... was it all a game? A cruel trick to see how far he could bend you, how much hope he could ignite only to snuff it out? 

Your awareness sharpened as embarrassment crept over you, your vulnerable state of undress now unbearable. Your arms instinctively crossed over yourself, clutching at your dress as you tried to cover the skin that felt too exposed, too raw. 

The dress you had painstakingly chosen for this evening, carefully picked with Alastor in mind, now hung loosely, undone and crumpled. Your hair, once meticulously brushed and curled, was now a chaotic mess. You had spent hours perfecting your makeup, only for the tears streaking your face to smear it into ruin. 

You looked like a fool. 

The urge to flee surged within you. You couldn’t bear to stay here, not like this. But even as the thought crossed your mind, another, more painful realization followed—if you left, what would happen to the deal? Your heart ached at the cruel irony. Even now, after everything, you still cared about him. About what he wanted. About fulfilling your part of the bargain. 

For him. 

Tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling over despite your best efforts to contain them. You forced yourself to look up, but not at Al. Instead, your gaze found Alastor—the man you had fallen for despite all the odds, despite his impenetrable walls, despite knowing he would never truly be yours. 

“H-how much longer,” you began, your voice trembling as you struggled to hold back the tears, “must I satisfy the demon, Alas—” Your voice faltered, and you lowered your head, your next word barely above a whisper. “S-sir?” 

For a long moment, Alastor said nothing. His face was unreadable, his whisky brown eyes scanning your dishevelled appearance with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You wanted to disappear under his gaze, ashamed of the image you must have presented to him now. 

But then, to your surprise, he moved closer. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his long fingers brushing against your trembling hands. Without a word, he began to button your dress. One button at a time, his movements were delicate, almost reverent. 

There was no teasing in his touch, no mockery in his expression. Just a quiet, unexpected gentleness. 

His lashes fluttered briefly against his cheeks, soft and fragile behind his round glasses. When he spoke, his voice was low and filled with quiet resolve. “You should wait outside, dear,” he whispered, his words carrying the faintest tremor of tenderness. “At least let me take you home. It wouldn’t do to have a lady out this late.” 

Moments like this, where he allowed a sliver of gentleness to break through his sharp edges, made your heart both race and ache. You clung to the sound of his voice, the kindness laced within it, even as uncertainty churned in your chest. 

“What about the demon—” you began, the question heavy with fear and concern. 

He silenced you with a single, sharp look. His frown slowly curled into a grin, that eerily familiar expression that always danced between charming and menacing. “No need to worry about that, dear,” he said lightly, though his tone darkened as he shifted his gaze to the demon. “Unless the demon wishes to force his cher—” he spat the title like venom, his disdain palpable “—to pleasure him.” 

The air grew taut, charged with a dangerous energy. The red devil, Al’s supposed future self, froze for a moment, his grin tightening as his eyes narrowed. It felt as though the room itself bristled with his restrained fury. Then, almost too casually, he smoothed a hand over his pants, fixing himself, preened his dishevelled hair, and adjusted his monocle with precision. 

“That would mean our contract is null and void,” the demon drawled, his words slow and deliberate. He tilted his head slightly, studying Alastor with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“That’s fine,” Alastor replied evenly, his voice firm, yet calm. Without waiting for a response, he gently but firmly pushed you toward the door. “Go. Wait for me outside.” 

You hesitated, torn between obedience and the instinct to stay by his side. Your eyes flicked between Alastor and the demon, the two of them locked in a silent, smouldering battle of wills. Finally, with a reluctant nod, you turned to leave, your steps faltering but resolute. 

You had barely taken three steps when the devil’s voice stopped you, his words drifting through the tense air like smoke. 

“Cher?” 

Your shoulders jumped up, muscles stiff with unease as you turned back toward him. The sight of his inky, unnatural tendrils from before lingered in your memory, a haunting reminder of how effortlessly he could hurt—or kill.

The devil’s grin had frozen in place, his sharp eyes scanning your face, your body, as though searching for something he couldn’t find. Slowly, his expression shifted. His two tufts of hair drooped, softening against his head, and for a fleeting moment, his imposing presence seemed almost weak, vulnerable. 

“I hope you have a lovely night, my darling,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounded like sorrow. “Ma chère,” he murmured, tilting his head as if bidding farewell to something precious. 

Before you could muster a response, Alastor’s figure stepped between you and the demon. His back was to you, but his presence was unyielding, protective. Without turning fully, he spoke firmly, “Go. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Your heart felt heavy, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts as you finally obeyed. With trembling steps, you walked out of the office, leaving the two behind without daring to glance back. 

Now came the hardest part. 

Waiting. 

Standing outside, the minutes dragged on, each one longer than the last. Your thoughts spiralled, dread filling the space left by the closed door. Would it be Alastor who emerged, or the devil? Or worse—would the door open to reveal Alastor lifeless on the floor? 

Clasping your hands tightly, you sank to your knees on the cold ground, closing your eyes as tears pricked your lashes. You prayed, your whispered words trembling as they left your lips. You begged forgiveness from a merciful God for allowing a demon to touch your body, for the sins you had committed, and for the sin you were willing to bear if it meant Alastor would emerge unharmed. 

The only thing you wanted now was for him to be safe.  

Safe, and with you once more. 

The moment the door clicked shut, Alastor turned his glare on the devil who dared call himself his future. “For a devil, you are quite…” he sneered, his sharp teeth glinting, “pathetic.” 

His future self barely flinched, idly inspecting his cuticles as though the insult was nothing more than a passing breeze. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, raising a brow without lifting his gaze. “I must say, it’s rather odd to look back and see just how foolish I once was.” 

Alastor’s jaw tightened, a vein visibly pulsing at his temple. “You mean to tell me that you’ve clawed your way to becoming an Overlord—one of the highest ranks in Hell, no less—and yet, here you are, chasing after some privileged little gir—" 

“That woman,” his future self interrupted coldly, rising to his full height. His red eyes blazed with a dangerous light, casting an oppressive shadow across the room. “She is my—no, our—love.” 

Alastor scoffed, his disgust palpable. “Love? What rot.” He folded his arms tightly, his long fingers curling into his sleeves as though restraining himself. “I don’t have the time, nor the desire, for such sentimentality. There are far grander things to pursue, far more thrilling paths to follow.” His grin widened, jagged and bloodthirsty. “And I’ve never been one to let anyone dull the taste of the hunt.” 

The future Alastor chuckled low, his voice dipping into something almost pitying. “Ah, yes. Look at you,” he mused, his tone softer now, though no less unsettling. “So young, so single-minded, so…” His eyes flickered with something indecipherable. “...untouched by the weight of eternity.” 

He turned then, pacing with a languid grace, his shadow stretching and twisting unnaturally as he moved. “Eternity, you see, changes a man,” he continued, his voice almost wistful. “It sinks its claws into your mind, warping it, forcing you to reminisce on the past whether you want to or not.” 

Alastor said nothing, his body rigid and his gaze locked on the man pacing before him. Theatrics, he thought with a sneer. It seemed Hell had done nothing but make him more insufferable. 

The future him paused, his back to him now, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet, steady breath. “She—cher—loved us,” he said softly, the words slipping out like a confession he hadn’t meant to make. When he turned, his expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes burned. “She stood by us even when she knew. Even after learning our delightful little secret.” 

Alastor’s stomach twisted, though he couldn’t quite say why. He forced his expression to remain unchanged, his grin fixed in place like a mask he’d long since perfected. 

The future him tilted his head, studying him with something that felt far too intimate, as though he could see the cracks beneath the surface. “She looked me in the eyes,” he murmured, his voice softening with the memory, “and she asked,‘Can I stay with you?’” 

Suddenly, he barked out a laugh, loud and bitter, throwing his head back as his hand swept over his face. “Can you believe it? Standing there, dripping in another man’s blood, and she had the gall to ask me if she could stay with me?” 

His laughter died into something quieter, darker. When he looked back at Alastor, his manic grin was gone, replaced by an expression that seemed caught between amusement and sorrow. “How utterly, ridiculously foolish of her,” he said, his voice laced with something tender. 

Alastor’s mask of indifference faltered for just a moment, his mind racing, though his lips curved back into place as quickly as it had fallen. He couldn’t let this man—this thing—see any weakness. But the words lingered, echoing in the silence that followed. 

"Sounds like she stays with me for quite a while," Alastor murmured, his voice low and contemplative. The realization settled into him with a quiet sort of confidence. If the girl remained enamoured with him for an extended period, there would be no need for his future self's assistance. She could keep persuading her father to funnel money into his radio broadcasts. 

He didn't need this thing anymore.

His future self chuckled softly, the sound dark and humorless. “Oh, she does stay with you. And you, in all your stubbornness, deny your feelings for her. Even after your death.” A wry smile curved at his lips, tinged with something far heavier than amusement. “You let her marry another man. You didn’t even stop her wedding.” 

“I had no right to,” Alastor replied flatly, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly. 

“You didn’t kill her husband when he started beating her.” 

“It was no longer my business,” Alastor said through gritted teeth, his fingers curling into tight fists. “What happens between a man and a woman bound by marriage is their affair.” 

The words barely left his mouth before a horrible, grating white noise filled the room. It clawed at his ears, drowning out his thoughts. He staggered slightly, looking up just in time to see his future self begin to unravel. 

His once-dapper figure twisted grotesquely, hair growing shaggy and wild, teeth sharpening into jagged yellow points that glowed unnaturally. His eyes warped, pupils flickering like shifting radio dials. 

“She was hurting,” the figure hissed, his voice a cacophony of static and rage. “And you did nothing to protect her!” 

Dark, gnarled antlers sprouted from his head, resembling the twisted, lifeless branches of a dead tree. His elongated form loomed over Alastor, arms stretching unnaturally as if to choke him, though he stopped just short. 

“She died,” the future self spat, his voice fractured and trembling with fury. “Beaten to death by that pathetic excuse of a husband. You could have saved her! You should have saved her!” He paused, his grinning mask fracturing into countless shards. "I should have saved her. I should have helped her."  His voice became a manic chant, each repetition more unhinged than the last. “Help her… help her… help her!” 

Alastor took several measured steps back, his disgust plain on his face. His eyes burned with disdain as he straightened his posture. “That girl means nothing to me,” he sneered. “She’s just a means to an end. I will never become you.” 

The creature froze mid-motion, his grotesque form suddenly still. His eyes widened, as if struck by an unseen force, before his body began to shrink and contort, growing smaller and smaller. 

“Oh,” he whispered softly, his voice hollow and distant. As his monstrous visage faded, he seemed more man than demon, his expression frozen in something between grief and longing. “She died before you...before me. She was in Hell first…” His gaze fell to the floor, searching for something unseen. “If I’d died first, I could have protected her…from the extermination... If we’d died together…” His voice faltered, trailing off as he stared vacantly at the ground. 

The future self’s eyes widened in a sudden, dawning realization as his body began to dissolve completely. His time was up. 

The future version of himself turned his face sharply toward Alastor, his crimson eyes wide and frenzied, his grin stretching impossibly as if carved into his face. “Help her, help her, help her,” he chanted, his voice trembling with mania and desperation. Each repetition was a dagger, sharp and insistent, stabbing at the silence between them. “You’ll regret it. You’ll—” 

But before the final word left his lips, his form unravelled completely. He vanished like smoke caught in the wind, leaving behind nothing but the faint, chilling echo of his last plea. 

Alastor stood frozen, staring at the empty space where his future self had been. The chair that had grotesquely morphed into a bed returned to its mundane, wooden form with a soft creak. The room fell still, save for the faint metallic tang of blood in the air, remnants of the summoning ritual still staining the floor. 

A low, derisive laugh escaped him, dry and humorless. It reverberated in the quiet room, a hollow sound that dissipated as quickly as it came. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his tie with deliberate care. “Utterly ridiculous.” 

There were hundreds, thousands of people suffering in the world. People beaten, broken, and killed every day. Why should one person’s pain matter more than the rest? His muddy brown eyes flicked to the door, the barrier between him and you. He could feel your presence on the other side, waiting. 

Always waiting. 

And yet... 

He shook the thought away, his lips pressing into a tight line. You were nothing but a means to an end. A convenient piece in his grand design. 

Nothing more. 

Nothing less. 

Alastor inhaled deeply as the oppressive, sulphur-laden air of Hell greeted him. The thick atmosphere clung to his skin, sticky and suffocating, as if the very realm wanted to remind him of where he belonged. He was home—or rather, back in his territory. 

He straightened, a flicker of hope igniting within his chest, faint and fragile. Perhaps his younger self had listened. Perhaps the warnings had sunk in, sparing him the endless torment of regret. 

But as he stood there, he felt it—the empty, unchanging void where new memories should have been. Nothing was different. Every moment, every sensation of you, was still confined to the past, untouched by the intervention of his other self. 

His shoulders sank slightly as he pushed open the door to his residence. It groaned on its hinges, a mournful sound that echoed through the dark, cavernous halls. His home was vast yet barren, shadows swallowing the corners of rooms that had long since been abandoned by warmth. 

There was no trace of you. No scent, no sound, no faint whisper of your laughter to greet him. 

Oh. 

A bitter realization settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He would spend eternity as he always had—without you. Once more. How fitting, he thought, for a sinner like him. 

He pressed his lips against his trembling fingers, his eyes closing as he forced himself to draw upon the fading memory of your face. The way your eyes lit up with that wide, innocent wonder. The delicate flush of your cheeks that sent his chest tightening in ways he’d never admit aloud. 

“You look wonderful today, cher,” he murmured to the silence, his voice soft, almost reverent. Words he’d always thought but never dared to say. 

“My, is that gift for me?” His laughter cracked as he spoke to the void. “You shouldn’t have... Truly, I’ll treasure it.” 

“Did you do something with your hair?” he asked, his tone warm and practised, though his grin faltered. “It looks lovely, cher.” He smiled into the empty room, knowing the words would never reach you. 

Then, his voice fell to a whisper, a confession carried by the air of a hollowed-out life. “Ah... I love you, ma chère. I do.” The words tasted bittersweet, aching with all the emotions he had locked away. “I love you,” he said again, softer this time, like a prayer. “Stay with me?” 

For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine the impossible. You, smiling that radiant smile that warmed his cold heart. Your arms wrapping around him tightly as you whispered a resounding yes. 

A life he would never know. 

A life he had willingly forfeited. 

Now, all that stretched before him was an eternity without you. 

An eternity of silence. 

@safination and @redfoxwritesstuff this month was your birthday month. So happy birthday baby girl 💖🎂

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[aroacedaddy]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 48 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: Domestic Alastor, Oral, Fingering, These are not kitchen activities Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

It felt so right, standing at the counter in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with the man you loved as music played through the house. Sunlight filtered, dancing through the window as your knife sliced through the pepper. 

Next to you, Alastor sliced through the last of the onions as he listened carefully to the sausage sizzling in the heavy pot Susan had brought over. Once he finished with the onion, he made quick work of flipping the sausage slices, now browned and crispy on one side. 

It was a marvel to watch him work in the kitchen. Everything he did was well practiced and showed clear expertise. Each pass of the blade was sure, though you knew your knifes could be sharper. 

“My darling, do you need to take a picture?” Alastor’s voice shocked you out of the daze you hadn’t realized you fell into. 

“I’m sorry?” You stammered.

“You’re staring,” Alastor’s warm laugh washed over you, “Have you never seen a man cook?” 

“No,” you answered honestly, “I fear neither my father or my- or Laurence could manage to assemble so much as a sandwich without assistance.” 

“Well,” Alastor turned on his heel, fishing the sausage slices from the pan and set them aside. He grabbed the jar of chicken broth and poured a healthy splash into the pan, stepping back slightly as it exploded into sizzles for a moment before calming to a simmer as he scrapped the drippings from the bottom of the pan, “With me, you’ll see it rather often.” 

“Is that so?” you asked as he poured the liquid from the pan into the pot. The heavy pan looked light as Alastor carried it to the sink, setting it inside and running water over it for a moment before turning the tap off again and returning to the stove. 

“It is,” Alastor said as he poured a few jars of broth into the pot and turned the burner on. “I’m fond of cooking.” 

You handed him the bowl holding the vegetables, garlic and parsley. He poured it into the pot and passed the bowl back to you with a word of thanks. The sound of the wooden spoon on the bottom of the pot was different than the whisk but you found it relaxing just the same. 

“Did your mother teach you to make this?” You asked as you brought the package of already cooked shredded chicken and prepped shrimp closer to the stove. Alastor had told you the chicken was left over from a bird he had roasted the night prior but only smiled when you asked about the shrimp. It had already been shelled and prepped for cooking. Having that done at the market cost extra. 

 “She did,” Alastor said as the steaming pot started to slowly give way to bubbles, “Gumbo was one of her favorites.” 

“I’m honored you’d share that with me,” you said, handing him the shrimp when he motioned for it. 

“I’d share everything with you,” Alastor said absently, pouring the shrimp and sausage into the bubbling pot. The chicken followed shortly after. 

While Alastor stirred the pot, you busied yourself with washing up what dishes had been dirtied so far. You were not sure what the right thing to say was. You were not even sure if he had intended for you to hear the confession. 

He loved you, and you, him. It made no sense for such a confession to feel as intimate, as special as it did but that didn’t change anything. It wasn’t often that Alastor spoke about his mother. Nuggets of information about her and his boyhood were dropped seemingly at random. 

You were desperate for more information on the woman that was so fundamental in making the man you loved who he was. 

“She’d make a big pot every Sunday,” Alastor started, unprompted. He spoke with his back to you, wooden spoon moving through the bubbling liquid as it slowly thickened, throwing a handful of spices inside the pot as he went. “We’d use whatever we had, clean out the ice box.”

“Oh?” You watched him over your shoulder as you set the dishes into the rack to dry. It wouldn’t take long and you would be able to put them away.

“We’d get a new block of ice delivered Sunday and be able to keep the pot up for a few days, eating off of it over time. It helped, with Ma workin so hard and money bein so tight.” Alastor’s accent began to slip, his voice warming as he focused more on his memories and less on where he was. 

There was an ache in your chest as you scooped rice into a bowl. In your girlhood, you had never known hunger. There wasn’t a time you could remember where you had been aware of your parents financial situation. Sure, your home was small compared to what Laurence had grown up in but next to Alastor’s home it had been a palace.

“It’ll be a good lunch,” Alastor said as you washed the starch and dust from the rice, swishing the grains around with your hand. “It’ll be better for dinner though, after it’s sat for a bit.” 

“I wish I didn’t have to share it,” You confessed as you drained the water from the bowl. “Not with him.” 

“I know, Cher.” Alastor said, taking the bowl from you and pouring the wet grains into a smaller pot after placing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’d rather not cook for him either but it is worth it.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked as he filled the pot with water, using his knuckle to measure it. The pot clanged, scraping against the cast iron burners as he positioned it. He reignited the flame, the whoosh of the ignition seeming loud as you waited to see if he would answer.

“It’s worth cooking for him right now, if it means I get to cook for you. If it means you get to relax and take a small break.” You wrapped your arms around his front, resting against his back as he watched the pot. There was no stopping the small smile that spread across your face as you felt his hand rest over yours. 

“Thank you,” You whispered, knowing he would hear you over the pot quickly starting to boil. 

“You’re more than welcome,” Alastor said as he put the lid on the pot, turning the flame almost off. The hot water and steam would finish cooking the rice. All that was left to do now was wait. 

Alastor stepped away from the stove, turning to face you. His large hand took yours up as he lead you through a simple dance around the kitchen. Your laugh was more than enough music for him to dance to. The steps slowed, as did your dance devolved into simply holding eachother, swaying. 

Noses brushed against noses as you shared eachother’s breath. Lips were so close to eachother as you swam in the warmth of his eyes. Bodies stilled. Arms tightened around your waist as your fingers twisted around the fabric of his shirt. His heart crashed under your palm as you tilted your head just a little further up. 

“I want to kiss you,” Alastor whispered. “Right here, in this kitchen.” 

“Why don’t you?” His kips were so close to yours. 

“This is the home you share with him,” Alastor whispered, lips just a hair from yours as his eyes danced over your face. 

“You’ve kissed me in here before.” Was he pulling you closer or were you leaning more into him?

“I was near out of my mind with- with longing,” Alastor answered. “It was inappropriate, disrespectful.” 

“What if I wanted you to do it again?” You could almost taste him, he was so close. “What if I wanted you to disrespect my husband’s home? To be inappropriate in it, with me?” 

“I would say I’m a man starved,” Your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck loosely. “I would say that if we open this door, I’m not sure if I can keep it closed again.” 

“What does that mean?” You asked, eyes fluttering as you were torn between looking longingly at his lips and struggling to come up for air. 

“It means I will eat you alive,” Alastor said, pushing you back with his body, each step taking you further. You gasped as your back hit the edge of the table, pinning you between him and it. “And I will not stop until my name is all you can think of.” 

“Alastor?” You gasped as he kissed you. This was not the sweet kisses he had been giving you. It was greedy, stealing the breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your mind. He wasted no time in taking advantage of your gasp, lips parting as he worked his tongue between yours. 

You drank him up, fingers curling into his hair. They tangled into strands that so badly wanted to curl but were forced into submission by heat. Tongues ran against eachother, tasted eachother as two struggled to become one. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked as his lips pulled from yours, his tongue darting out to run over his shiny lips. 

“Yes,” you whispered as his grip tightened around your waist, lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing and set you on the edge of the kitchen table. Heavy hands rested on your knees, pushing them apart so that he could slot himself between them. “I was worried,” you said, words dying as you felt his hips between your knees and his lips on your neck.

“Worried?” he whispered into your skin. “About what?”

“That,” you gasped as his hands ran higher up your thighs, pushing the hem higher until his fingers were slipping under the sides of your panties, gripping your hips. “That this was over for now.” 

“This?” Alastor asked as he pulled the fabric down, stepping away so he could guide it down your thighs. The fabric hit the ground and his knees did the same. “If you want this,” his hands ran up your calfs as he spread your knees, drawing closer, “from me,” his hands ran up your thighs as he watched your flushed face. “In this house…” 

“Please,” you breathed the word, terrified to take your eyes from Alastor for fear that this moment was just another dream. 

“Do you want me?” Alastor asked, kissing the inside of your knee, looking up at you from under his brow. “Do you want me to take you to heaven? Right here, in the kitchen of your marital home?” 

“Please?” you were begging, reaching for him. You couldn’t help it. “I want you. Your touch. To feel you. To feel wanted by you.” 

“Ma Cherie,” Alastor kissed higher up the inside of your thigh as he rose higher on his knees, “I’ve wanted to feel you from the moment we left the train. I’ve longed to taste you.” 

“I- Please?” You whined, “I need you, Alastor.” 

“What kind of lover would I be if I denied you what you needed?” Alastor was so close now. You flushed, shame, excitement and arousal mixing to make your head spin. Everything about this was wrong and yet, you wanted it so damn bad. There was nothing protecting any semblance of your modesty. He could see your most private place from where he knelt between your legs. 

“You’re already ready,” Alastor hooked his hand around your thigh, resting one of your legs on his shoulder as he leaned closer. “I can see you glistening for me.”

He was taking his time, pulling you to the edge of the table and shoving your skirt higher, exposing you better. It was just a matter of time before the anticipation drove you insane, propelled by need, want and the sinful sound of his voice. 

“I need you,” you whined, “Please, Alastor.” 

“Already crying my name and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he chuckled darkly. “Lean back.” He tilted your hips with pressure from his strong fingers. “Good girl. Now, let me feast.” 

He was on you instantly. There was no time wasted to teasing, not any longer. He dove into your core as if he was, as he claimed to be, a man starved. A moan reverberated through his chest and against you as his tongue ran greedily up your folds, slurping in the slick that had gathered as if it was some fine delicacy. 

It was a battle to support your weight on your outstretched arm. Though you needed the other to help support yourself, instead you reached for him. Soft hair ran through your fingers as you moaned. 

This was, as Alastor promised it would be, indecent. You were with another man in your marital home. He was pleasing you in the kitchen you cooked the meals for your husband in and you didn’t care. All you cared about was the pleasure the man you loved gave you. 

His finger slipped inside your core easily, quickly followed by another as his attention focused on the nub of nerves that headed your sex. Your back arched. Your elbow gave out, and you fell back against the table. Pain flared through your sore body, fighting to remind you of healing injuries and failing as pleasure washed it away. 

“Oh,” you gasped as you felt Alastor’s hand cup the curve of your thigh, running along the length as he ran his tongue around the nub again and again, fingers pumping into you and spreading deep inside. “Alastor.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement, eyes looking up at you as his nose brushed against your mound. He watched as you struggled up on your elbow, moaning himself as you failed to keep your weight supported for long. 

“Alastor,” you cried, feeling the pleasure build. An ever tightening pressure built inside your core as he continued to work at you. His tongue would dip down, slipping between spread fingers to drink from your opening, only to return to the pearl that left you writhing on the table.

Your slick smeared on his glasses, leaving milky marks that obscured your view of his eyes, though you were not sure how. Puffs of his breath and the heat from your sex mingled to fog them. Reaching over your thigh, he pulled them from his face and set them on the table next to you. With them gone, there was nothing between you and his warm brown eyes, watching your every reaction. 

How did his mouth not tire? How did his hand not tire? How could he work you as if he had just begun after what felt like hours? Thoughts swam, being driven by the feeling of him. 

“Alastor,” his name fell from your lips as your hips rocked, pushing his fingers deeper as you chased the feeling of him. “Alastor. Please, Alastor. Close,” 

His lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves again. Teeth grazed over it as he sucked you into his mouth, tongue working you over. You snapped, body tightening as your head fell back with a thump against the table. His name was a chanted prayer, coming off your tongue with every thrust of his fingers into you as he worked you through your orgasm. 

You gripped his hair and the hand wrapped around your thigh as the man you loved dismantled your world and put it back together again. The pumping of his fingers slowed as he let your clit free, tongue running through your folds and over it as your body twitched. 

“Magnificent,” Alastor said, looking up at you as he ran his tongue over his lips, licking your slick from his lips, “It’s as breathtaking to watch you come undone now as it was the first time” 

It felt like he replaced the bones in your limbs with jelly. Your muscles twitched, and you gasped for air as Alastor pulled your panties up your legs until they hung between your ankles. Folding over you, he braced himself against the table with elbows on each side of you. 

For a moment, he just took in the sight of your flushed and glassy eyes. Your lips were parted and hair tussled from how you had thrown your head back. It was the most beautiful sight, one he couldn’t get enough of, the aftermath of your pleasure.

He hated the fact that in an hour or so, he would have to leave you. What he wanted was to feed you the gumbo and rice, then take you back to heaven again and again, until the clock stuck midnight and you brought in the new day with his name on your lips. 

All in good time, Alastor knew. It was just a matter of time and then Laurence would be dead. You would perform the show of a widow for a few short months and then you would be his. 

How long would they need to wait to court? How long would you wish to wait before you remarried? Alastor knew he wished to spend the rest of his life with you by his side. The only question was how long until his future could begin? 

He needed to buy you a ring. There wasn’t a rush, he knew. It would be a long time before you could wear it, but it was better to plan for the things he would need to do. It was better for a man to be prepared than find the ring fit for his love to be out of his budget.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, reaching up and running numb fingers through his messy brown hair. He would have to fix it before going to the station, though you didn’t know how he would be able to without returning home.

“Of how much I love you,” Alastor answered simply, leaning down and placing an open-mouthed kiss on your lips. His hand ran under your back as he lifted you to a sitting position, not breaking the kiss as he fed you the taste of your desire for him on his tongue. 

It was just a matter of time before this was his life.

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[aroacedaddy]

𝐀 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐂𝐖: P in V, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Brief mentions of murder and death, Abrupt ending (I ran out of ideas), and last but not least, pure, unadulterated smut with a dash of angst.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: This is 3.9k words of Alastor feeling ashamed for taking your virginity after sneaking out and murdering someone while you were asleep. He has a complicated relationship with sex, but your inexperience from your religious upbringing only makes him feel worse for not making your first time ‘special,’ so to speak. You, on the other hand, are brimming with excitement at the thought of being fucked—or devoured, as Alastor makes it out to be by portraying you as the prey, and he, the predator.

You never expected Alastor to consummate your marriage. When the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, you’d all but lost hope in the mere thought of fulfilling that sinfully tantalizing feeling that blossomed deep within your core in his presence. In fact, if he hadn’t taken you completely by surprise in the hush of a peaceful, Sunday night, rousing you awake by latching those large hands of his onto your hips, you wouldn’t have shaken off that gnawing belief that you were destined to a life of chastity—or worse, that he simply found you unattractive.

“Al?” You muttered, voice thickly laced with sleep, but the only response you received was the sound of his knees knocking against the footboard.

Your lips parted with a gasp as he pulled you down the end of the bed, his breaths short and rapid, his palms shakily sliding down to caress the back of your thighs. His touch was cold—so, very inexplicably cold, as if he’d washed his hands only moments ago—but you couldn’t muster the ability to question him. In your defense, it was impossible to formulate a single syllable as he effortlessly maneuvered you onto your stomach and, better yet, spread your thighs apart. It admittedly made you feel like a… like a whore, but you watched over your shoulder through half-lidded eyes anyway.

Waiting, anticipating his next move.

“Forgive me,” Alastor finally spoke, confusing you, but you assumed he felt as if he owed you an apology for waking you at such an ungodly hour.

Before you could say that it was alright, that you were willing to forgive him because he was giving you what you’d long desired, he bunched your nightgown over your waist and did something your virgin mind struggled to grasp in your drowsy state. He yanked your panties down to your knees, lowered his head, and pressed a filthy, open-mouthed kiss on your slick core. A scandalized gasp escaped your throat, your body jolting forwards, but his hands kept you in place. This? This depraved act, your parents hadn’t prepared you for this prior to your engagement.

They’d told you sex was only about penetration.

“What are you doing?” You cried out, but not in disapproval. You simply wanted to know what was the purpose, if it even had one to begin with.

“Preparing you,” Alastor spoke against your cunt, though the slurping, the greedy smacking of his lips, drowned out his words.

He was already drunk off of you.

Your taste, your smell—he couldn’t get enough.

You supposed you couldn’t complain, not when he moved his lips so deliciously across your folds, teasingly encircling that sensitive little bud you had never ventured to touch with the tip of his tongue. No, and it’s not like you’d dare to, either, shuddering at the way he closed his lips around your clit and suckled, repeating the act over and over, a pleased groan reverberating through his chest at the obscene mewl you tried to stifle by burying your face into the sheets. Even though it felt wrong having his mouth down there, you couldn’t help but push your hips back onto his face.

“Oh,” You softly whined as he sunk his nails into your thighs, leaving crescent moons in your skin.

The noises were embarrassing.

Schlurp.

Schlick.

Smack.

And filthy, so, so incredibly filthy.

Alastor ate you out like a starved man, paying no mind to how utterly debauched he felt by defiling his innocent, virgin wife so crudely. He had to get out all the pent-up energy somehow after committing a ghastly act a few hours ago, a twinge of guilt resonating in his heart at how clueless you were about the extent of his… hunting. The same hands that held you in place with a vice-like grip as he massaged your clit with his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy? They’d also butchered some poor, unsuspecting fool walking home from a late-night shift.

He should have been asleep, next to you.

Instead, he snuck out and added someone else onto the long list of victims he had, and in a manner that was urgent, so to speak. No torture. A swift death. He couldn’t disappear for long without coming back home with an explanation, now that he was married; thus, he left the moment you drifted off into a deep slumber. And when he returned hours later, still reeling with adrenaline, an urge he rarely ever felt ensnared him at the sight of you, sprawled out on the bed in a flimsy little nightgown, sleeping. His cock almost immediately stirred to life, filling him with much shame.

Eventually, though, he relented.

He didn’t know what else to do with himself.

Alastor felt like such an animal—a predator—devouring his prey as you attempted to shut your legs closed and wriggle away at the foreign sensation slowly building up in your lower belly. It was overwhelming, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to run away from it or find out what it was; either way, your husband ultimately decided for you. A high-pitched cry escaped your throat as he lurched forward and vigorously sucked at your clit, swiftly bringing you over the edge. The pleasure, the euphoria, that surged through your body was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“Oh… oh my, that was…” You panted, tossing your head over your shoulder, watching him stand up and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Good?” Alastor asked, his voice low, gravely.

“Yes,” You said, abashed.

“Well, I’m glad.”

Unbeknownst to you, Alastor hadn’t actually planned on doing anything past that. He just needed to release that pent-up energy, hoping that the adrenaline would dissipate soon after you came down from the ecstasy; but as he pulled back and watched your body slump onto the bed, displaying your swollen, fluttering cunt, his saliva and your pleasure dribbling down your hole, thick and milky, he internally sighed. It was tempting, too tempting, but not as much as the expectant look you shot him between bouts of heavy pants, eyes flicking down to look at his… slacks?

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you blinked, vision trying to adjust to the darkness.

Why wasn’t he wearing his nightwear?

“I thought I heard something odd outside,” Alastor was quick to say, and though you paused, you eventually nodded. “I changed before checking.”

He’d never given you a reason to not trust him.

But it was evident you remained a bit doubtful.

“And was there something… odd?” You asked, sounding rather meek. He shook his head with a gentle smile and a ‘No, my darling.’

If you still weren’t half-asleep, the thought of how strange it was that he’d changed at all would have crossed your mind. And while Alastor knew it had not, he quickly shrugged off whatever shame left in his bones, deciding that he couldn’t give you the opportunity to further probe. Thus, he placed a hand on his belt and encouraged you to lie on your back, trying to maintain his smile as you hesitated before rolling over and kicking off your panties. A soft, clinking sound echoed throughout the room, and it was then that the realization that he was finally going to make you his hit you once more.

It ultimately won over your confusion, your doubts.

And your excitement resurfaced, legs falling open with a slight tremble.

Well, until he got rid of the rest of his clothes, then you were suddenly feeling apprehensive. The revelation that now stood tall and proud before you made you wonder how on God’s green earth it was supposed to fit inside of you. Your knees came together, and your eyes—oh, those lovely eyes of yours—they made Alastor’s cock painfully throb. You were staring up at him through your lashes in a way that resembled a frightened little doe, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but revel in it. That was exactly what he liked about hunting… both animals and people. Especially people.

They always looked at him like that to appeal to his humanity, a last-ditch effort to save themselves. Alas, it never worked, because why would a predator relinquish its prey instead of satiating its hunger? It made no sense, and even less so when he found himself frowning down at the wonderful meal you’d deprived him of. You couldn’t leave him standing there, half-starved, not after he had finally tasted you. All the while, you assumed that he was simply disappointed as he stared at your legs, once open and inviting, now completely shut closed. He rarely ever frowned around you.

“Is it… will it hurt?” You asked him, the tentativeness of your question snapping him out of his thoughts. “I’ve never done, well, this.”

The corners of his lips instantly curled up.

“It’s quite alright, my darling,” Alastor said as he approached you, placing his hands on your knees and giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be uncomfortable, yes, but only for a moment,” He continued, slowly parting your legs, which you allowed. “I would never harm you.”

“Okay,” You nodded, feeling a bit comforted.

That was all that Alastor needed before revealing your core to his greedy eyes, pupils dilating at the filthy sight of your folds unsticking from each other with an obscene schlick. The sound made your face flare up in embarrassment, but you tried not to think much about it as you reached for the hem of your nightgown and swiftly pulled it over your head, exposing the delicate swell of your belly and your soft, supple breasts. Though you weren’t necessarily bold, the fact that he was looming above you, stark naked, put you at ease… well, that and the appreciative ‘Beautiful,’ he let out.

“Thank you,” You murmured.

“Of course,” Alastor said, grabbing one of your legs and placing it over his shoulder, the head of his cock kissing your clit as he leaned in. “Ready?”

“Yeah, I think so,” You nodded.

With his free hand, he grabbed the base of his length, giving it a few, experimental pumps before dragging it through your folds to lather himself up in your slick. You tossed your head back onto the bed, lips parting with a breathless moan, cunt already throbbing in anticipation. However, those small noises evolved into sharp gasps the moment he pushed the head of his cock into your entrance, your hands scrambling to clutch at his back. While the intrusion wasn’t exactly painful, the stretch was indeed uncomfortable, his length, long and girthy, making you feel as if you would split in two.

“Stop,” You shakily said, overwhelmed by the burning from the stretch. “Stop moving.”

He immediately stilled.

But he let out a tortured sigh as he felt your walls clamp down on him rather tightly.

“Easy now,” Alastor said, lowering his head, mouth wandering down to kiss at the column of your throat. “Relax. You must relax, otherwise, it’ll hurt.”

“How? I don’t know—” You whimpered, but his mouth never ceased its movements, drifting down to focus on your collarbones now. “Alastor?”

He didn’t respond.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he planted a firm hand on your midriff, his palm making a downwards descent at the same rate as his kisses. The entire affair was slow, torturous, even; but at the same time, you couldn’t help but be overcome by gratitude when Alastor’s mouth found one of your nipples, licking, sucking, and the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, swirling it ever so gently. ‘Oh,’ You moaned out. It soothed the burn, the grip your walls had around his cock loosening. And as the stretch of his girth became more bearable, you told him that he could continue.

“Okay, okay. You can move,” You said, his lips pulling away from your nipple with a wet pop, thumb similarly retreating.

You were a bit disappointed by that—why did he have to stop?

But the look he gave you afterwards, appreciative, relieved, it made you feel a bit better.

“Alright,” Alastor said, pushing in, your walls swallowing him more eagerly. “Oh, look at you, taking me so well.”

He sounded so unlike himself, talking filthy and all, but it made your cunt flutter around him.

“I didn’t think it would fit,” You said, not knowing how else to respond to such words, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Why, of course it would, you silly little thing.”

You almost giggled, but then he grabbed the back of your knees and pushed them down beside your head, allowing him to bury himself deep inside your cunt. You cried out, and though the position made you feel so, so incredibly stuffed, you didn’t protest. The head of his cock was nudging against something sensitive, something nestled within your walls that you never knew existed until now. Unlike you, he was neither a virgin nor inexperienced, so the moment your face contorted with a look of bliss, eyes falling shut, brows furrowing, and lips parting, he knew exactly what he had found.

“Is that a look of discomfort?” Alastor teasingly asked as he slowly slid out of you, your eyes flying open and immediately darting to his face in panic.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Wait, no, it feels—” You started, but then he canted his hips forward and hit that spot within your walls, making you squeak, “—fuck!”

“Ah, cursing now, are we?” Alastor tsked, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours, his glasses kissing your brow.

“I meant to say good!” You weakly protested.

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Alastor said, repeating what he did earlier, sliding completely out of you before pushing back in, hitting that spot again, but hard.

You sunk your nails into his skin and arched your back, your hips closer together than ever before.

The pleasure was overwhelming, but you couldn’t let him have the satisfaction of being right.

“You’re a bad man,” You managed to say, but it was hard, speaking while he thrusted into you, “Doing—ah!—bad things to me.”

You were right.

He was indeed a bad man.

That shame he felt earlier, he felt it again.

“You don’t know the half of it, darling,” Alastor said, the meaning behind his words all but lost to you.

And with each thrust, he felt it over and over and over again, making him feel beyond just bad.

But you?

You were blissfully ignorant.

The only thing you were aware of was the onslaught of pleasure, new, raw, and unbridled.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chanted, no longer caring, nails dragging across his back and leaving scratches that would surely sting tomorrow.

Alastor supposed that he would forever live with the shame that came with fucking you, and in a manner that was wanton and desperate, too. The sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, filthy squelching of your cunt as he buried his cock deep inside of your velvety walls, the high-pitched cries and vulgar chants, all of it was a telltale sign that he was taking you like a wild animal instead of making love to you like a devoted husband. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved your first time to be slow and gentle. You deserved better, and not just in general. You deserved better than… him.

That’s why he’d asked for your forgiveness.

He devoured your innocence.

Like the predator he was.

Ironically, you couldn’t be any more content. All your life, everyone had treated you like porcelain, handling you with tenderness as if you’d break. And though you never anticipated your first time to be so spontaneous, so… so much like this, you couldn’t deny how happy you were. You moved your palms up his back, caressing his shoulders and his nape before cradling his face, craning your neck and bringing his face impossibly closer to yours. The frame of his glasses dug into your cheek, but you only cared about kissing him, tongue tentatively darting out to swipe at his lower lip.

Alastor opened his mouth and wrapped his tongue around yours, heart throbbing in his chest at the gentleness you retained despite how hard he was plowing into you, your thumbs affectionately swiping across his cheekbones. All the while, his hands abandoned the back of your knees, attaching themselves to your sides and traveling up, up, and up, feeling your waist, your ribs, and especially your breasts, cupping the supple flesh in his palms before pressing his thumbs onto your nipples and softly squeezing. He smiled into the kiss at the way you jolted up, squealing in delight.

“Can you, um…” You asked between pants as you pulled away from the kiss, lips swollen and all, “Use your mouth on me again?”

“Of course, my darling,” Alastor said, but the shit-eating grin he put on made you skeptical. “But, pray tell, where exactly?”

He slid his thumbs down just below the hardened peaks, moving around them, teasing you.

“Oh, Al, you can’t be serious,” You whined in embarrassment, looking away from him and avoiding eye-contact. “Please… just—”

“Please just, what?” Alastor continued, his thrusts slowing down, but only because he felt himself getting close to finishing. “Well?”

“My… my… chest?”

He leaned down, eyes never leaving yours as he placed a kiss slack on the center of your chest.

The bastard, you mentally seethed.

“No, lower than that.”

His lips grazed your skin as he traveled lower, placing a kiss in between the valley of your breasts.

“Fuck, Al! Fine, my… my nipples!”

Alastor found temporary peace from his shame by being insufferable, thriving on the way you grew flustered at the mere thought of being specific. While he was a bit disappointed that you relented so quickly, he gave you what you wanted, moving his head to the side and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue darting out to caress the hardened peak. You immediately moved your hands away from his face and buried them in his hair, gasping, cunt fluttering around his cock, nimble fingers threading themselves in his hair as he licked and sucked at your nipple.

“Mm, was that… was that so hard?” You sighed, making him roll his eyes, but he didn’t say or do anything past that.

You were just as close as he was.

So, Alastor left one hand on your breast, the other slithering down the swell of your belly and reaching for that swollen little nub throbbing with need against his pelvis. You unconsciously tightened your grip on his hair and tugged at his scalp when he pressed the pad of his thumb on your clit, swirling it in tandem with his tongue, but it wasn’t until you looked down to watch him work at your body that you clenched around him. He mentally cursed at you for that as he groaned around your nipple, the muscles in his abdomen tensing, hips stuttering and thrusts growing sloppy.

The hair tugging.

The pressure of your sweet cunt as his cock slid in an out of you, even while slowly.

You made him finish before you.

‘No,’ Alastor thought, filled with dread.

He pulled away from your nipple with a wet pop, staring down at you with a mixture of frustration and ecstasy as his cock pulsated inside of your walls, thick, warm ropes of his pleasure painting your womb. And you? Well, you let go of his hair, planting your elbows on the bed, eyes darting between his and where you two were connected. Realization quickly dawned on your face—this, your parents had taught you—but you didn’t understand why he seemed disappointed. Shouldn’t he have reacted the same way you had when he brought you over the edge… or at least similarly?

“Did I do something wrong?” You tentatively asked, looking up at him like you had earlier, like a frightened little doe.

His eyes softened, and he let out a sigh.

“No,” Alastor said, shaking his head as he pulled out. “No, you didn’t,” He continued, elaborating. “I just didn’t want to finish so soon.”

He pulled out his length, making you wince.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized as you tried to ignore the strange sensation of his spend dripping down your hole, but it was hard. It felt weird.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

Alastor actually wanted you to finish first, not only because he wanted to feel you come undone around him, but because he felt as if it was the least he owed you, all things considered. Thus, he pushed aside his frustration and dismissed your apology, bringing a hand down to rub at your clit once more. Your eyes palpitated, confused, but you opened your legs and watched him bring his other hand to your core, two long, slender fingers prodding at your entrance. You gasped, feeling them part your folds and easily sink into your cunt, curling up and caressing your walls.

“Does that feel good?” Alastor asked you, his movements purposely slow, feeling and touching around for that same spot.

You nodded your head, letting out a particularly loud moan when he found what he was looking for.

“Good, I’m glad,” He grinned, leaning in, but only to capture your lips in a kiss, and one without tongue this time around.

You fully sat up, one hand gripping the sheets to anchor yourself, the other reaching to cradle Alastor’s jaw as you craned your neck and returned the kiss, lips slowly and sensually gliding against his. His fingers sped up, the ones on your clit rubbing faster, the ones nestled deep inside your walls hitting harder, making your thighs tremble. You felt his cock stir to life, the head gently smacking against your leg; but he ignored it to focus on you, to focus on you walls tightening around his fingers and your lips slowing down, breaths coming in shallow.

He placed one last kiss on your mouth, which had fallen slack in pleasure, and pulled away. You didn’t protest. No, not at all, despite how nice it felt to kiss him. You could feel that familiar sensation in your lower belly building up as fast as he fucked you with his fingers, your head falling back with a series of high-pitched cries. Your thighs shook, your chest heaved, and your cunt drenched his fingers, the pleasure that surged through your body somehow better than the first time around. Meanwhile, Alastor watched you come undone, looking nothing short of satisfied.

“Beautiful,” He said, hands still moving, albeit slowly, allowing you to ride out the aftershocks of your pleasure.

“Oh… that’s…” You panted as you shut your legs closed and wriggled away from him, starting to feel overstimulated. “That’s enough.”

“Ah, forgive me, my darling.”

You offered him a wonky smile.

Alastor already knew that you’d say yes. You loved him, and that sentiment only grew twice-fold when he suddenly seized you by the waist, effortlessly hoisting you up into his arms. The night couldn’t get any better. You clung onto him, limbs wrapping around his lithe figure as he turned and made a beeline for the bathroom, laughing alongside you with delight. Still, that word—forgiveness—resonated in your mind long after you’d both washed up and went to bed. Pestering you, driving you mad, like a fly buzzing in your ear, refusing to leave no matter how much you swatted at it.

Your husband was kind and charismatic.

But apologetic? No, not necessarily.

To make matters worse, sleep didn’t come to you as easily as it did for Alastor. So, you laid awake, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how he’d asked for your forgiveness, not once, but twice, as if he was unconsciously apologizing for something. It was strange… though you supposed there were stranger things that had unfolded earlier, like the change of clothes. Slacks and a belt to investigate a noise outside? You couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of it, not even now that you were lucid. Perhaps you’d question him later in the morning, you thought with a resigned sigh.

The night couldn’t get any better.

[aroacedaddy]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 44 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: talks of domestic abuse, semi public fingering Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

It would be about another hour before the roast finished in the oven. The rich scent was already thick in the air, promising a delicious meal. The radio played a calm jazz tune that soothed over your nerves as you hummed along as you sliced the bread. The center was still just warm from its time in the oven. 

To anyone looking from the outside in, it looked like the picture of domestic bliss. That was, as long as you kept your back to them, didn’t move too much and their eyes didn’t have long to linger. 

It was lingering eyes that would catch the twinge of your body, halting movements rising from the pain born from injuries hidden and obvious. The way your shoulder slumped, aching from being yanked around, a repeated trauma hardly ever fully allowed to heal. If you turned to face the viewer, they wouldn’t need to watch for the ever so slight limp, your body still healing from more traumas unseen would pair with the healing bruises littering your skin to show them the horror that lived just under the facade of domestic bliss. 

Your face was healing, as was your neck, but it would take time to erase the marks left by heavy hands. The gash was hidden, black scab softened, covered by the fall of your hair. You allowed your hair to fall forward, obscuring some of your forehead and hiding where the scab extended down. 

Bruises healed slowly, leaving splotchy marks of purple and green. Those would be stolen away by time. In places they already were. Your husband had returned to old habits, focusing his blows on the places that polite society would not see. Having a homebound wife was more trouble than the security of knowing where you were was worth, or so it seemed. 

Laurence had been home to check on you once mid morning and once shortly after lunch, but that was the last you had seen from him. It was a welcome break from the near every other hour check ins he had been just doing earlier this week. 

How he got any work done between interruptions, you didn’t know. You feared he hadn’t. Alastor had said Laurence was late on his payment and that knowledge rattled around your mind, rolling to the front of your thoughts whenever it seemed to shake free from where it you stored it. It seemed reasonable that, along with his uncontrolled use of the tincture, he became undisciplined in his work. 

What did that mean for his family’s business? How would he face his mother if he ruined the family business? How would you look at your mother-in-law? 

A flash outside caught your attention. It was far too close to dinnertime for Alastor to be here, surely? Lingering in the doorway, you looked toward where the front of the house was and back to the apple tree. Surely, you could make it back inside if you heard a car on the street if you ran. 

There was a rustling in the growing darkness. You could only just see it, more so seeing the suggestion of rustling than the bushes rustle themselves and then Alastor was stepping through. 

Long legs carried him across your yard as you ran, heart pounding in both excitement and trepidation at seeing him in the open. There wasn’t enough fear to stop you from wrapping your arms around him, leaning into his embrace the moment you were close enough to touch him. 

“Do you have time?” Alastor asked, “Is there something on the stove that could burn?” 

“I- No, nothing will burn. The roast has a good bit on it but Laurence. He’ll be home any-” 

Alastor kissed you softly, “He won’t be home for another two hours, at least.” 

“What?” He walked backwards, kissing you again and again instead of answering your question until he reached the apple tree- your apple tree- and the cover it provided. 

“Mimzy is holding him up.” 

“Did- Was he able to make your payment?” You asked as he slid down the tree, pulling you with him and urging you to sit with him. 

“He wasn’t-” 

“I’m sor-” You had cut Alastor off only for him to return the favor. 

“I didn’t want him to. I don’t need the money. I need him busy.” Alastor held you tighter in his arms. You could feel him breathing you in as he held you to him. 

“He’s going to take extra runs this week to make up the funds. You’ll have a break from him, finally.” 

“Will he be gone long enough..?”

“For us to be together?” Alastor finished what you were too timid to say. “Yes, we’ll be able to spend some time together. Mimzy is helping him line things up, get things scheduled. She’s going to keep a copy for me, be the intermediary for us.” 

“Bless her,” you whispered, Alastor stealing the words from your lips with a kiss. Sighing into him, you shifted and melted into his arms, clinging to the man your heart beat for. 

“There’s more,” Alastor whispered as he gripped your waist, his train of thought derailed as you yelped in pain. “What?” 

“It’s- it’s nothing,” you said before backtracking, “Just bruised. I, he threw me into the banister again. It’s a bit tender still, that’s all.” 

“My love,” Alastor sighed, thumb rubbing over the still healing bruising around your neck. “Is he still as bad?” 

“No,” you answered quickly. “I’m healing. It’s just slow and when he does hit me… it’s worse because I’m not healed, I think.” 

“I fixed your jewelry box,” Alastor said, the change in topic confusing you. “At least, mostly. The glass still needs to be replaced, and it needs a staining, but I fixed it.” 

“Thank you, Alastor.” You whispered, “I can’t take it back, though. I wouldn’t be able to explain it to Laurence. I had to tell him I threw it out with the trash.” 

“I know,” Alastor kissed you again, “But I can fix this for you too.” 

“I don’t understand?” 

“Cher,” Alastor whispered as he pulled you to straddle his lap, the skirt of your dress bunching around your thighs. It was indecent, having any part of your thighs exposed out in the open, but you said nothing as Alastor wrapped his hand around one, running his fingers over the purple bruise. 

“Alastor?” Your breath caught in your lungs, fear running down your spine. 

“Do you love me?” he asked, whispered words as his head leaned back against the tree, hair messed and setting sun reflected off the rims of his glasses. 

“Of course.” Your heart pounded in your chest, beating wildly at the change of mood. He was solum, serious. The ever-present smile was little more than a ghost on his face. 

“Say it?” he asked, knuckles grazing over your cheek softly as he looked at you as if you had the answers to the world. 

“I love you, Alastor.” The words were whispered for fear if you spoke louder, the words would break apart. “More than life itself.” 

“Truly?” he pressed. “With all of your heart? All of your being?” 

“I do.” It felt like a vow on your lips. “I do, Alastor. I love you with everything.” 

“Would you love me if I were a monster?” he asked, and a new jolt of fear ran down your spine. For a moment, you remembered the man you loved standing in your kitchen with dried blood splattered over him. He had been hunting, that was all. “No matter how dark my heart is?” 

“Always, Alastor.” Your hands ran up his chest, one reaching up to cup his cheek as you pushed that bloodstained memory away, locking it back into the box it belonged in. 

“Would you love me no matter my sins?” he pressed again, fingers caressing your neck as he looked into your eyes, brows furrowed. “Would you always love me?” 

“Always,” you repeated. Tears ran down your face, though you didn’t remember when they had started, nor did you know why they fell. “I will love you until my dying breath. It’s you, Alastor. Always.” 

“Good,” Alastor said, pulling your lips to his in a kiss that stole your breath. “I’ve got a plan to get you out, but we have little time, not tonight. I miss you so much.” 

“Please?” You whispered, bracing yourself against his chest. “If we have enough time, please?” 

Alastor hooked his hands around your thighs and stood, carrying you as he walked behind the tree. It wasn’t perfect privacy, but it was enough for what he needed and for what you wanted. 

It had been too long since he had heard you. You had tortured him in his dreams, sighing his name as you finished again and again in the halls of his mind. Never had he been haunted by such dreams and yet now he hardly gotten a night of peace from them. 

Alastor felt your body press the vial in his pocket into his thigh. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would tell you his plan tomorrow. Right now, he selfishly needed to hear you. He needed to feel you. 

The way you clung to him, arms and legs wrapped around him, pressing your core against him as he pressed your back to the tree, told him how you needed him too. You gasped as his lips caressed the bruises along your neck. 

He pushed his hips into you, giving your core fiction you so badly wanted. You gasped as he ran his hand up your thighs, fingers caressing over stockings until he was touching skin. 

“Alastor, wait-” It was hard to think as his hand gripped your breast before running down your side. His strong body braced you against the tree by your hips as his other inched closer to your core. “You can’t. We- we can’t.” 

“Why not?” Alastor asked, lost in his need to feel you, to hear you. It had been far too long since you had come apart in his hands. 

“I’m-” Flush rose higher in your cheeks as you tried to figure out a delicate way to describe your condition, “It’s my time.” 

Alastor smiled wider as he leaned in, kissing your swollen lips as he ran his thumb along the hem of your panties. He let your legs fall, supporting you until you were standing on your own. His hand didn’t leave your thigh though, keeping your dress bunched around your wrist. 

“I don’t care about that,” Alastor whispered in your ear, nipping the lobe between his lips as he spoke. “What do you think about that?” he teased.

“Alastor,” you protested as his fingers hooked on either side of the band, “It’s unclean.” 

“I’m not scared of some blood,” Alastor said, kissing your jaw. “Let me make you feel good.”

“But,” You struggled to think, shame and desire warring within you. 

“I won’t go inside,” he offered. “It’ll be like the first time. Just your nub, just to give you pleasure.” 

“okay,” you nodded, lip pulled between your teeth, worrying the flesh at the thought..

Alastor kissed you as he sent your panties falling to the ground. You tried to ignore the trail of wetness the towel left on your thighs. He guided you to step out of them, lifting your thigh up, opening you to him. 

His fingers trailed over thighs. With his foot, he scooted your leg out, opening more space. You could hardly think as he kissed you, breathing you in as his lips worked against yours. 

When his fingers grazed over your clit, you gasped. His tongue worked into your mouth, drinking every sigh as he worked his fingers over you. Your hips rocked as he ran his fingers back, gathering the quickly growing bloodstained slick. 

Any shame you had felt was quickly being replaced by need, want. It felt wrong to feel such things in your current state, but you did. It was just one more way you failed to be as pure as a woman should be. 

You didn’t care as Alastor’s fingers worked over you. All you cared about in the moment was chasing the feeling only he could give you. Every attempt to moan his name was swallowed, muffled by his tongue tasting you. 

Your back arched into him, the tree scraping against your scalp as you came closer and closer to your undoing. Alastor’s lips left yours, searing kisses trailing over your jaw, kissing away every healing bruise. 

“I love you,” he whispered as he felt your body tighten under his hands. “I love you just as you are.” 

You were not sure what it was about what he said that sent you over the edge, but it did. Gasping his name, your legs flexed and clinched around him, pulling him tighter against you without control. The action had unintended consequences. His hand was trapped between your body and his, shoved further back as the space close. 

The pad of his middle finger slipped inside your slick opening, though he hadn’t intended to. The feeling of something breaching you as you orgasmed sent a loud moan, lewd and delicious, from your lips. He was eager to swallow the sound as you spasmed around his first knuckle, body fighting to pull it deeper.

He held you tightly, waiting for the twitching and gasps to still. As your body went limp in his arms, he pulled slowly back, letting his finger slip from you. He couldn’t help but run the pads of his fingers over your sensitive folds, ensuring to caress your clit one last time as he let you regain your wits. 

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly as you blinked up at him. “I hadn’t intended to.” 

“It’s,” you sighed, not angry but feeling shame. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” He said as he wiped his hand on the inside of his jacket. “It’s something most women’s bodies do. There’s no reason to withhold pleasure just because it may be a bit… messier than normal.” Alastor kissed you as he helped you into your panties, paying no mind to the rag. 

“How can you be so…?” 

“So, what?” Alastor laughed as he allowed you to slide your clothing back into order. 

“Unflappable?” you settled for saying, “About everything?” 

“I was raised by a lone woman,” Alastor shrugged. “It’s hard to hide the nature of women when there’s no one else. Mother could have, I suppose, but why?” 

“It’s disgusting.” You challenged, “Unclean.” 

“It’s natural and human,” Alastor retorted, kissing you as you opened your mouth to protest again, silencing you. His tongue caressed yours as he pulled you back off the tree. “Don’t be ashamed with me. Never.”

“Okay,” the words were soft, but he was pleased enough with the agreement. 

“I love you,” He caressed your face, tucking hair gone wild at the hands of passion and the tree bark. “Every imperfection. Every mark of humanity. I love you, not some doll or idea of you. It’s you I want.”

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[aroacedaddy]

Heat Relief (Alastor x Reader)

Notes: Reader has a vagina, reader n alastor are both sex-repulsed asexuals, platonic sex for heat relief reasons, extremely dubious consent to noncon, retracted consent, CANNIBALISM AT THE END!

========

Heats suck ass.

One of Hell's cruellest jokes has to be you being reborn as a mammal, and all of the inconveniences that come along with it. Heats are the worst of all, up-heaving your entire life and leaving you incapacitated in the progress. Being high on a cocktail of hormones and left in a lust-driven frenzy is never a good thing… But there are plenty of people in Hell willing to take advantage of it. Add to that the fact you've never had that much of a desire to masturbate, and it's a recipe for disaster.

At least you have Hazbin Hotel now. While the conversation with Charlie about temporarily moving your room faaar away from the others, she'd been nothing but understanding and accepting. It was the first time you didn't feel disgusting about going through this every month. She even left you drinks and food outside your door at regular intervals. (Because, while it's very much possible to get through a heat without eating or drinking, being unable to die doesn't make it pleasant.)

After you've spent days using toys to get yourself off, you reek of it no matter how much you shower. The scent has to be chipped away at by time. When you head downstairs in desperate need for a drink, it's a walk of shame. Both of your wrists are throbbing with exertion.

You had wished the bar were empty, but wishes don't always come true.

Angel Dust takes one sideways glance at you and bursts out laughing. The tips of his heels clack against the wood of the bar as he kicks his legs around, one pair of arms crossed over his lap.

"Been having fun, babe? Fuck!" He leans his chin on one hand, swirling around a drink in your general direction with the other. "You were holed up in there for days. Y'know, I know a guy or two that could cut that time in half. Easy. Won't even cost that much."

You're, frankly, too exhausted to think of coming up with a comeback or quip. "Maybe. I'm tired," you respond. As if it isn't obvious. The practically audible roll of his eyes doesn't bother you. You're not into hiring a complete stranger as 'heat relief' even if it'd make your life easier. There's no reason to trust them.

You slide into a stool a couple seats away from Angel Dust. Husk looks at you, his frown relaxing somewhat. He probably experiences something similar, after all. Without any unnecessary words, Husk is pouring you a drink. A mix, though more alcohol than anything else. At the very least it could help you take your mind off of things. It might be what you need.

Even a couple of sips in, you know this is definitely not what you need. Given your exhaustion, the alcohol hits harder than ever and the drink tasted strongly of liquor to begin with. Your head feels heavy. So do your arms. Your legs itch to move. There's zero good reason to keep drinking, but sometimes you like the taste of your own self-destruction. It doesn't take long before you've veered well into 'tipsy' territory.

You can feel the pinprick of a gaze at your back. Static teases at the edge of your hearing. You ignore it.

"No, but, really," Angel Dust starts again. "I don't get why ya don't just hire someone and get it over with. Yeah, yeah, I get it— It's not pretty, you're not making kissy-kissy love-dovey faces at each other, but it's Hell, toots."

This time, you turn your head just far enough to the righ to shoot him a glare. You slam down your glass. A slosh of alcohol spills past the rim, staining the top of your hand and darkening the wood it lands on.

"I just don't like it, okay?!" You spit out, defensiveness flaring up all at once. The idea of some stranger's hands roaming over your body, to have to expose yourself like that in front of someone— To have sex with them, it makes your stomach turn. And, at the same time, hot tears burn at the corner of your eyes. You wish that you weren't like this too, sometimes, but what can you do about it? The alcohol has loosened your tongue. "I don't like to have sex, so why should I pay someone else for the honour of being touched by them?!"

You grit your teeth, eyes burning holes in the counter in front of you. This sucks. This is genuinely just horrible. Before the tears have a chance to spill past your cheeks, or you manage to make an even bigger fool of yourself, you stumble your way off the chair and up in the direction of your room. If anyone had told you anything, it would've been hard for the noise to get through passed your plugged ears. You can't shake the feeling that you're being followed and wriggle your ears as you pull your claws from them.

Still, the only thing you can think of, for now, is to get the hell out of there. You use your newly freed hands to wipe away at the corners of your eyes. You'll cry in the relative safety of your room. It's only when you've arrived at your door that you whip around, bringing you face to face with Hazbin Hotel's most infamous employee— The Radio Demon.

He's smiling, as usual, the quirk of his mouth revealing a glint of yellowed teeth. Alastor's pupils are narrowed into slits. The red, metal ferrule of his cane taps against the floor. He tilts his head at you.

"You are aware that it's quite rude to keep a caller waiting, yes?" You absolutely do not have the energy to deal with this. Why has he decided to cast his eye upon you now, at all times? You haven't been 'worthy' of his attention for even a moment prior. "But, I suppose you may be allowed a bit of leniency… That fellow can be quite a drag!"

You have no idea what he's getting at. If it weren't for the alcohol active in your system, you might've been left unable to speak at all. Right now, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and sleep until you won't wake up without being even slightly hungover.

"Look, um, I was going to head to bed," you say, still teetering on the edge of an apology. Your mouth opens in a jaw and you barely cover it with your hand. "I probably can't help you much right now. Maybe Charlie—"

"Oh, no, no," Alastor intercepts with a shake of his head. "Dear, if I needed anyone else, I would have simply gone to them! No, you've caught my attention today, with your short-lived little speech down at the bar." He takes a step forward. You don't have the chance to move back before his fingers have invaded your space in a flash, wiping away imaginary tears still lingering near your eyes. You flinch after his arm has already retreated.

"That was…" You swallow. You're inebriated, but not far enough gone not to feel any shame about that moment already. "Well. Not great." You slump against the wall next to you. Alastor's eyes meticulously follow your every movement, and you soon find yourself straightening once again.

"Not great in the moment, perhaps," he acquiesces. "But I do believe there is potential for an agreement there between us. You see, much like you, I suffer from a similar… Ailment, shall we say, every month, like clockwork." You're left too speechless to interfere. Whatever direction you had anticipated this conversation to take, it had not been this.

"Much like you, I am not interested in the regular 'relief services' provided by the masses. I want it to be done with as soon as possible. In that respect, I suspect we have a shared interest. Objectively speaking, you are also more attractive than whoever is offering themselves up for a dollar and a dime." A beat of silence falls, the noise of static once again increases. "That was a compliment."

"T-thank you," you stammer, mind still struggling to catch up. It's like you've simultaneously sobered up and gotten even more confused. "So, if I understand correctly… You're saying we should have sex."

"That's how you could choose to describe it, yes. Only as a means to make both our lives a little bit easier. When I heard you express yourself earlier… Well, I would not have used the same phrasing, but I believe our feelings are much aligned! Always the perfect grounds for a fruitful agreement."

"I'm not… I'm not interested in making any kind of official deal," you tell him. One look at Husk turned you off the idea forever. It certainly hasn't done him any favours.

You've heard far too many horror stories about deals in hell gone wrong. In misheard conversations, or illegible fine print— You have no desire to find out that you've accidentally sold your soul to a demon as infamous as Alastor, relegated to being a cautionary tale for centuries to come. Though you will admit that the idea of easier heats is appealing.

"I don't think any kind of 'deal' is necessary in this case, my dear," Alastor says, looking down at his nails and flexing his fingers. "My reasons are clearly laid out, whatever you make of them. You wouldn't lose anything from it— Really, I'm being very hospitable right now, ha!"

Your mind chugs away. Perhaps it's the alcohol clouding your judgement, but it doesn't all sound so horrible, given the right circumstances. Charlie already knows of your heats, you could inform her of this, too. If she thought anything was up, you're sure the Princess of Hell wouldn't hesitate to burst in and help, embarrassing as it might be for you. That's simply the kind of person she is. Beyond that, powerful as he may be, Alastor is still incapable of killing you.

Your mouth is forming the words before you've completely thought them through. "I want it to be here, in the hotel. And if I hate it… Then we'll never do it again."

"Yes, yes, certainly. But it will be my room," Alastor counters. "Nowhere else."

This takes away from your idea of familiar ground, as you've never been inside there before, but it still feels safe enough. You nod, sealing your fate. Even without a tangible deal in place, you're certain that Alastor will hold you to your word.

Afterwards, the whole conversation feels like nothing more than a fever dream. For a few days, you manage to fool yourself into thinking that none of it ever happened. That you'd passed out in bed and dreamed up the whole thing.

This delusion manages to last until Alastor presents you with a strip of pills, informing you that you are to take them in order to line up your little 'predicaments'. Neither of you wants to be in any coherent state of mind for your little deal, it seems. If suppressing your heat through pills like these didn't suck so much, you'd be doing it all the time. But, whether this is the only time you go through with this or not, you only have to go through all the side-effects once.

When Alastor's rut rolls around, you don't need to be told. You can smell it on the air. It sends your temperature spiking, leading your feet to the door of his room without even thinking about it. After putting off your heat with the medication, it seems to fog over your mind more than ever before.

You lean against the frame of the door. Lifting your hand to knock on it brings the sensation of moving through sludge. Everything is so heavy, so difficult. Feverish heat pools in between your legs and soaks through your clothing. The fabric is clammy against your fur.

Your hand barely brushes against the door before it's yanked open. The world around you upturns at once, sending you crashing to the floor. Instead of your face meeting wood, you're caught in… Something. It's long, dark and a little transparent. Through it, your own skin and clothes are still visible. Following the tendril to its source, you find Alastor.

In the back of your mind, a little square untouched by your heat, you'd been worried about how this was supposed to go. What would you even say, would you have to make some kind of awkward small talk before you have sex with each other? That had seemed about as dreadful to you as the act itself. The dancing around the subject until neither of you would be able to control yourself anymore.

Alastor doesn't look like he'd be capable of such politeness or niceties right now. His bow tie is skewed around his neck, one of his gloves missing. His clawed hand, covered in gray fur, slowly clenches and relaxes again. The coat that he's wearing is more tattered than before. There are gashes left in it, around the bottom.

None of that is even mentioning his expression. His smile is stretched wide enough to look painful, a little spit gathered at the corners of his mouth. The pupils are deep, dark puddles you could drown in.

In your hours worrying about the logistics, awkwardness, and shame you had never once considered exactly what you would be in for, here. Alastor is dangerous, he's repulsed by sex, possibly even more so than you, and forced to take part in something he loathes— What had you been expecting? There is no lust there, but he looks ready to devour you whole.

"You kept me waiting," he tells you, every word strained out through grit, yellowed fangs.

You do not get the chance to respond. Entangled in his shadow, he drags you in through the entrance of his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Fear has doused your heat with a bucket of cold water and you let out a short-cut scream as you're dragged into his dark room, a glittering expanse of stars above you.

As you hang suspended in the air for a moment, the full expanse of his room sprawls before you. It smells of dirt and grass, with actual trees growing inside of it. Somewhere in the back, a bush rustles, and the thought flashes through your mind that he keeps other things in here.

"You'd do well not to be distracted," Alastor tells you, something still uncanny about his voice. His mouth opens ever so slightly, this time. A dark, uneven tongue momentarily darts past his lips.

You wish you could say something, anything. But every muscle in your body is tensed up, constricting even your throat. The walls of the expansive room seem to be closing in on you. You cannot actually, permanently, die in Hell by Alastor's mind, you tell yourself. But repeating this over and over again does nothing to soothe your nerves.

You're brought down to the ground, dropped in soft, wet clay next to a small pond in the room. You hit the floor with a wet smack that is anything but gentle. The wind is knocked out of you and you wheeze in a breath, the contents of your stomach sloshing around inside of you. Your nose is clogged with the smell of dirt and still water, reeds rustling as your fingers claw around in the mud in an attempt to get up.

Once again, all of your limbs are pinned down with tendrils and, in a flash, Alastor is on top of you. His hands roam over the lower parts of your body and, at the almost-gentle touch, your mind is starting to turn to slush again at the knowledge you'll have sex soon. Heats are truly incapacitating and, even with the smell of the pond and mud, Alastor's pheromones hang thick in the air. It's a scent that has your face scrunching up, metallic and sharp.

Your bones still echo with pain in response to the smack you made. "This isn't what we agreed to," you manage to force out, your body trembling.

Continuing on from touching, his claws have started to cut through what little clothing you're wearing on your lower half. Anything above your hips is left untouched. At one point, the nail catches on your skin and you jump.

"We would relieve each other's heats, in part with sex," Alastor says, the corners of his mouth trembling. With both of his hands yanking away the scraps of your clothing, you finally realise what is so wrong about his voice: It's raw, unfiltered through the usual filter of his microphone. "Other than that, I do not think we made any agreements that I could break. I cannot hurt you. Permanently, that is. If, in my 'excitement', I leave a little damage… I hope you'll accept any advance apology for that."

A thick string of drool slides through the gaps in between his teeth and drips down onto your chest, darkening the fabric. Your heart is racing and your head is rolling around the floor, multiple overlapping parts of you screaming over each other— Self-preservation, fear, shame, disgust, but there is nothing you can do about any of it.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, imagining yourself in the comfort of your nest, cooped up in your room, anywhere more comfortable than here. Oh, right now, how you could wish that you could turn off your rational mind completely. The opportunity soon presents yourself as your thighs are nudged apart and you open your eyes just in time to see the tip of Alastor's cock nearing your entrance. Other than pulling his clothes a bit to the side, he hasn't shed anything.

A loud, guttural noise is ripped from your throat as he forces himself inside of you, cramming as much of his cock in your slick hole as he can in a single movement. No matter how sex-ready your body might be because of your heat, that doesn't make it comfortable. There are no slow grinds to loosen up your insides and get you used to the movement. If there are any tears, at least they'll be healed by the time he's done with you. Mud is caked thick underneath your nails and the tears dripping down your face add to the softness of the mud.

(you asked for this and you agreed to this but this is nothing like what you expected, what you wanted, and it is simultaneously worse and better. because you would have never wanted him to touch or caress you like a lover but, right now, you feel no better than a piece of meat.)

But when you open your mouth, as much as you want to scream or cuss him out, all that leaves your lips is a whiny, needy noise thanks to your heat. Your pussy has stretched out to fit him and the pain is gone. In response to your noises, your pheromones that must be filling the air, Alastor shows no response. Not even a twitch of his ears or nose. Instead, all that he busies himself with is the same, selfish thrusts, rapid and purely chasing his own pleasure.

If you weren't high on hormones, none of this would've felt remotely good. Now, though, with the pain ebbing away bliss takes it place, shooting through your limbs every time his hips meet yours with a smack. Your hand sneaks in between your legs and you rub vigorously at your engorged clit. The consequences of doing such a thing with hands so dirty as yours is something for the you of tomorrow to worry about. Aided by your hand, you cum in no time at all, walls spasming around his cock.

It's the first time Alastor lets out a noise other than his heavy panting. At your pussy clenching around him, trying to milk him, he lets out a groan. More spit drips down on your chest and, finally, you look up at his face once again. For a little while, he'd been nothing but a set of thrusting hips to you, too focused on the pain and the intrusion to remember who he is, what he is.

When you do, you wish you hadn't looked. His composure has only crumbled further. His smile has spread wide enough that his lips have started to curl in on himself, a little blood clinging to his lips from where his teeth cut through his bottom lip. He's pounding into you at a pace that has become bruising and, at this point, you can't imagine it feels good for him either. Your mouth hangs half open, a constant stream of little noises leaving your mouth.

Your orgasm has washed away the worst of your heat. With the increased clarity of mind, your stomach twists and turns and, once again, you close your eyes. The sensations are too much, the knowledge of the fact that you're having sex with someone you don't even like, platonically or romantically, digging gashes in your mental state. You should've never agreed to this. Your heat had egged you on to go here, but you'd taken those pills all those days. (In a little corner of your mind, perhaps you'd told yourself that it'd be worse if he forced himself on you when his rut rolled around and you weren't in heat.)

You listen to the ceaseless rustling of the plants at the edge of the pond and feel yourself retreating into the back of your head, trying to forget the rest of your body. You're a little thing huddled in the back of your head, gazing out at the world through your skull, and nothing else is attached to you, that is all that you are.

With another snap of his hips, Alastor finishes inside of you, spurt after spurt of cum filling you up. You let out a long, shuddering sigh. The sloppy thrusts, the gasps for air and the rolling of his eyes are all indicators that this is about to come to an end— A heat relief service indeed, but at what cost? You'll have to avoid him like the plague for the rest of your stay here, that's for sure.

You crack open your eyes. You are greeted with the sight of Alastor's mouth opening for the first time, teeth seeming longer than ever, saliva almost literally pouring down on you. Alastor is past all point of reason, panting so hard it leaves clouds in the air. A rumbling, like the growling of someone's stomach, reaches your ears. Before you can move even a muscle, he strikes.

His fangs sink down into the meat of your shoulder, tearing through the fabric of your shirt as if it were mere paper. You scream so hard your throat erupts in pain, violently bucking against the tendrils still holding you down. With every twitch of your muscles, they seem to solidify further. His tongue slathers the broken skin and torn muscle as you wheeze in a breath, tears and snot running down your face.

Alastor's cock has hardened inside you once again. It seems that he's satisfying two hungers at once, now. Black spots dance across your vision. Even if you can't die permanently, you seem to have a painful road ahead of you; until he's had his fill, that is.

[aroacedaddy]

curing a hangover.

read part one here

warnings/tags: reader is hungover, alastor being a little shit, cunnilingus, P-in-V penetration, minor olfactophilia and dacryphilia if you look hard enough

word count: 6292

summary: The aftermath of one drunken night leaves you reeling—and Alastor surprisingly eager to help you recover in the most intimate way imaginable.

alastor x f!reader. my first ever smut fic, so please be gentle with me, my darlings. i did not expect this fic to end up so long but i really just had such a hard time diving straight into smut without some more interactions between reader and alastor—i love me some character building! i've always been a MDNI account, but especially in this instance—minors kindly go away!

It wasn’t just the hangover.

Though to be fair, the hangover was its own personal Hell—screaming behind your eyes like a banshee with a megaphone, and your stomach doing acrobatics that defied several laws of physics. Your mouth tasted like someone had poured sand into a blender with regret and served it lukewarm. Your soul felt wrinkled.

Even the walls of the hotel seemed to wince when you staggered into the kitchen, hoodie up, sunglasses on, and death in your eyes.

(The sunglasses indoors was definitely an active choice, a mental wave of a white flag as you hoped and prayed no one in this damned hotel would bring up the fact that you were so publicly caught snogging the Radio Demon less than 24 hours ago. At least, not bring it up while the tempest in your head demanded you rip apart the first demon who dared to piss you off this morning.)

No one dared speak to you. Husk took one look and slid the coffee pot across the counter like a peace offering before vanishing away down the hall. Niffty, bless her overly cheery heart, started to chirp a greeting—saw your face—and made a hard left turn, muttering something about reorganizing the mold drawer. Even Angel Dust tiptoed around you. Angel. A man who routinely did lines of coke on the lobby dining table at 2AM. He gave you a once-over and simply nodded in solemn solidarity.

But of course—it wasn’t just the hangover.

Of course.

The one person immune to your carefully cultivated aura of “speak and perish” was him.

Smug. Pristine. Radiant. Like he hadn't spent last night flirting with alcohol poisoning just to egotistically one-up you in a drinking game that he proposed you two play. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in sight. Wearing that damn bowtie like he’d earned it.

He didn’t just walk into the kitchen. No—he waltzed in, humming a cheery little tune and radiating danger in four-part harmony. You ignored him, continuing to stir your coffee, hoping he would show you some pity to at least not bother you for the first few hours of the day. But of course he wouldn’t. He was Alastor, of course.

You felt him before you saw him. That chilling presence sliding in behind you, brushing too close, violating several unspoken rules about personal space and hangover protocol. You felt your bloodshot eyes twitch, whether that be from the hangover or the Sinner standing right behind you, you weren’t sure. Inhaling slowly, you continued to look at the caramel-colored beverage in front of you, once more praying to any deity out there that perhaps you were just imagining his presence.

"Good morning, darling!" he purred, like your skull wasn't splitting open. "Sleep well?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Not when your entire existence was currently held together with willpower and lukewarm coffee. You weren’t planning to reply at all until he cleared his throat—clearly waiting.

You swore the mug cracked in your hand. “…I had a dream that I died. Peacefully. In my sleep. You ruined it.” 

He chuckled, that low, musical hum that scraped up your spine and took residence in your brain like a catchy song you couldn’t get rid of. "Such vivid dreams. I do hope I was in them."

Despite your irritation, your stomach fluttered at his soft tone, the vocal static accompaniment absent as sincerity intertwined with his usual mirth. You turned slowly, craning your neck to look at him through your sunglasses. Pursing your lips, you watched him through the tinted lenses. “You know, I think I like this color palette of you more.”

Alastor’s eyes seemed to narrow when you lifted your chin up defiantly, a deep rumble of satisfaction emitting from his chest. “Ah, but chère, now I can’t see those lovely eyes of yours!”

He leaned down to remove the sunglasses, his long fingers brushing against your temple a bit too gently for your liking. You were about to protest before Alastor ripped the glasses off your face, your frown twisting to hiss like a vampire as you shut your eyes tightly in a failed attempt to shield yourself from the light. “Alastor! What the fuck!”

He only laughed at your pain, dropping the sunglasses on the counter behind you and covering your upper face with his large palms. You continued to shut your eyes after the light behind your eyelids disappeared, not daring to open them and face the sadistic asshole in front of you. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Open your eyes, chère.” You shivered at the sudden proximity of his voice, his breath tickling your right ear as you involuntarily swallowed. You weren’t sure why you necessarily listened to Alastor, but as your eyes hesitantly fluttered open, you realized you weren’t in the headache-inducing bright lights of the hotel kitchen. No, you were suddenly greeted by plush red cotton sheets, pupils adjusting to the dim glow of soft green lights littering the walls. 

You glanced around, realizing quickly you were in a hotel room. Not any hotel room—Alastor’s. You jolted up from the bed, wincing as you moved a little too fast for your hangover’s liking. “Alastor, why exactly am I in your bed?”

Your eyes landed on Alastor standing by his desk, coat discarded on the loveseat next to him, fingers starting to undo his bowtie. You practically short-circuited at the scene, your cheeks turning a bright red as you blinked in surprise. “Al, what is going on?”

“Why, I’m here to cure your hangover, dearest,” he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You paused, trying to make sense of the current situation you were in—which was not giving you much to work with. Your brows furrowed. “And exactly how do you plan on helping?”

He hummed softly, placing his bowtie on the table as he approached your spot on the bed. “By getting in bed with you.” 

You choked on absolutely nothing, coughing up air as you gave him an incredulous look. “What?!”

“Oh please, nothing will come of this encounter if you don’t wish for anything to happen. I’m simply trying to help in any way I can.” He sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you as he waved his hand over the other, a tall glass of water appearing in it.

You were too surprised by the turn of events to comprehend his statement, throat suddenly dry by the glorious cup of water practically dangling in front of you. He sighed once more, rolling his eyes as he handed you the glass. “Drink up.”

You snatched the cup with both hands and downed it, gulping so fast it nearly splashed back up your nose. Your eyes closed as you sigh in relief, your body an ounce better than it was before as you passed him the glass. Though you still had a raging headache, your eyes weren’t throbbing from any bright lights nor were you unknowingly suffering from dehydration now. 

“Would you like another one?” Alastor hums softly, watching your pacified expression. You shake your head, opening your eyes to look at Alastor. He was watching you with surprising patience, his smile small but genuine. You pause a moment to observe him, him merely doing the same as you meet his glowing stare. Those damn eyes—blood-red, always gleaming with mischief. But now, as he stared at you with uncharacteristic softness, you couldn’t help but get flashbacks from the way he watched you the entire time last night.

You inhaled through your nose, groaning as your moment of peace is suddenly interrupted by the remembrance of last night’s affairs. "...Are we going to bring it up or not?"

Alastor took a second to think, brow raising in confusion when he didn’t understand what you were talking about. "Bring what up, dear?"

You stared, huffing at him in exasperation. "The kiss, Alastor. Are we just gonna pretend that didn’t happen?"

His smile froze, ears twitching faintly—as if caught off by the thought of it as well. Then, just as quickly, he lit up like you’d handed him a fresh corpse wrapped in a bow and sealed with a kiss.

“Oh, that!” he chirped. “Heavens, no. I’d never forget something so…” He paused, his eyes dragging slowly—lazily—down your face. “…tantalizing!”

A sharp inhale slipped through your nostrils. You visibly recoiled, your face now a dangerous shade of crimson. “Tantalizing?!” you sputtered.

His smile turned downright wicked, lips curling upward. He leaned forward to set the empty glass on the bedside table, the movement smooth, casual. But your eyes betrayed you—snagging mid-motion, drawn down to the curve of his back, the subtle shift of fabric over lean muscle.

And then you saw it.

Somehow—somehow—you had missed it before. Blame the hangover. Blame the shock. Blame the fact that your brain was probably still rebooting from the whole appearing-in-Alastor’s-bed thing. But now that your gaze had landed on it, there was no un-seeing it.

The harness.

A jet-black leather harness wrapped around his broad chest, completely visible now that he was sans his usual red coat. Despite just drinking water, your throat suddenly felt extremely dry. You tore your staring upward like a Sinner yanking their hand from a Bible.

Too late.

He was already watching you. And oh, he was delighted.

His smile widened by degrees. His eyelids dipped into a half-lidded stare, slow and heavy with implication. There was no point pretending. Between your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes had lingered a millisecond too long, you may as well have been holding a neon sign that read: I JUST OGLED THE RADIO DEMON.

He savored your expression. A content hum rumbled in his chest, not quite a purr—but close.

“I do wonder, though,” he mused, voice dropping to a velvety murmur, “was it only the liquor?” His head tilted again, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “Or...”—He leaned in slightly, just enough to send your pulse scattering—“would you still taste as sweet sober?”

Your eyes widened by the shift in his attitude, clearly feeling confident from your little staring mishap. Swallowing, you folded your arms, trying not to give into his very tempting flirting. “Alastor,” you warned, your tone brittle, “I’m five seconds away from tearing that smug expression off your face.”

“If that’ll help your hangover, by all means.”

You paused, confused if his words were another jest or genuine. “What?”

“I told you,” he said, gesturing innocently, “I’m here to cure your hangover. Whichever way you find fit.”

You blinked at him. Hard. The silence stretched. Finally, you squinted, hugging your crossed arms harder against your body with a slow, suspicious edge. “You’re messing with me.”

His brows raised in mock innocence. “Moi? Never. In fact…” he paused, his tone shifting just slightly—less cheek, more earnest, like the static had dialed down a notch. “I realize I’ve put you in quite the precarious situation. One that now, unfortunately, involves the rest of the hotel bearing witness. And for that”—He gave a faint, ironic bow of his head—“I do apologize.”

The cogs in your head churned in overtime to try and understand the current situation. 

You somehow were sitting in the middle of the Radio Demon’s bed, being pampered by that very demon himself, because he wanted to apologize? The very concept was laughable, and you especially found this whole thing unnecessary when it was simply a drunken mistake.

(Not to mention that you enjoyed every second of being in Alastor’s lap. How were you ever going to forget that intoxicating smell of cedarwood and death?)

You forced away your drifting thoughts, looking at him with a raised brow. “You’re doing all this to apologize? Really? All you did was kiss me.”

Alastor’s lips twitched, like he was resisting the urge to grin wider. It was a losing battle.

“Correction, dear,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “You kissed me first.”

Your jaw dropped at how he completely ignored your question, instead focusing on your word choice. You scoffed, once again scandalized. “While wasted! That doesn’t count!”

“Ah,” he mused, tapping his chin as though pondering the secrets of the universe. “Then perhaps we should try again.”

You stiffened, throat catching at how he spoke so easily. His voice still held that familiar playful edge—but beneath it, something was shifting. The air thickened. His grin didn't widen this time. Instead, it softened, just a touch. Like he was testing the waters. 

His eyes flicked across your face—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. When he spoke next, the room felt smaller somehow. Quieter. You could hear the gentle hum of the fire in the hearth, blending seamlessly with the low radio static emitting off Alastor, the mattress creaking as he leaned a fraction closer.

“Why, I don’t do this often, you know,” he murmured, the static in his voice dimmed as he almost gave you a bashful look.

Your brows furrowed.

“And I realize,” he continued slowly, almost cautiously, “our unfortunate interruption last night may have left… desires unfinished for you.”

His eyes searched yours, expression unreadable. But his voice—oh, his voice—held the kind of vulnerability that cracked through your defenses like light under a locked door.

“I’m here to help.”

You blinked at him, stunned. The words didn’t even register at first—not fully. Not until they echoed in your chest a second time.

“…Wow,” you managed, trying to keep your tone light, deflecting with a slight teasing huff. “How noble, Alastor.” You bit your lip at how Alastor’s gaze studied every detail of your expression like a hunter, his lips thinning as if he was waiting for more from you—a challenge wrapped in silk.

You swallowed down your nerves, catching on the way his intertwined fingers twitched in his lap. “...Did it leave unfinished desires… for you?”

He stilled, his eyelids dropping as he took in a deep inhale at your words. And when he looked at you again, there was no mask. His smile had turned into something so hesitant—so faint that it barely registered in your mind as a smile at all, the corners of his mouth barely upturned. A long, soft silence filled the room as he looked at you with such intensity, you forgot how to breathe.

“I’d be lying,” he said, voice suddenly deep and sure, “if I said I am not undoubtedly yours, ma chère.”

The world stopped. Your breath caught. The heat that had been simmering under your skin now rushed to the surface, electric and dizzying. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled. You hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

The man sitting in front of you was one of Hell’s most feared Overlords, a man who had crumbled the strongest of demons. And yet, he was also a man who had just confessed his feelings for you, just hours after french kissing you in a drunken stupor. Sure, Alastor had always seemed to be kinder to you than to anyone else in the hotel, but you had always just brushed that off to be mere acceptance of your presence—not a fondness for it.

Alastor simply waited patiently for your reply, legs crossed politely over the edge of the bed as he twisted his body to face you. His ears were flat against his head, his thumb tapping against his skin in a small display of nerves. And Satan help you, your heart surged at the sight like a moth to a flame.

“I—” you started, voice breathy. But as your brain failed to come up with a response, you didn’t try to say anything else.

You just leaned in, cupping his cheeks with your palms as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. The gesture was familiar. But this time—unlike the inebriated mess of a kiss you’d given him last night—you had the decency to pull back. The radio static in the room swelled, the old radio on one of Alastor’s shelves crackling to life, playing a charming jazz melody.

“Dare I presume that’s your way of telling me you share the same sentiments toward me, darling?” Alastor chuckled, pulling his hands away from his lap to lean in closer to you.

Before you could react, Alastor had leaned in close once more, stealing another kiss from your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle in response, “Yes, you ass.” You gave him a light kiss on the cheek, your eyes twinkling with joy. “I’d hope you’d think I’m better than to just snog any demon in the lobby, drunk or not.”

Alastor’s grin turned sly, humming in satisfaction at your words. You gasped as he pushed you down onto the bed, your body bouncing gently as you found yourself now facing upwards. Your mind blanked at the sight of Alastor popping off his shoes, rolling off the leather harness with practiced ease. He climbed onto the bed alongside you, draping a casual arm around your body as he laid beside you. 

“Oh, I knew your kiss seemed too passionate for me to be just a passing fancy,” Alastor teased, “Good news is that I’ve found a lasting obsession with having your lips on mine.”

He didn’t wait for you to react as he leaned in to kiss you once more, this time harder. You sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer. His hand found the side of your waist, firm but not forceful, fingers splaying like he was grounding himself in the moment. His lips were warm, steady, moving against yours with a relaxed confidence that stood in sharp contrast to the rushed, sloppy kisses from the night before.

And oh, the effect it had on you.

You shifted instinctively, hand coming up to bury your fingers into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. He hummed at the contact, the sound reverberating against your lips—low and pleased, a static buzz of delight that thrummed in your chest.

He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, nose brushing yours, and for a fleeting second you forgot what air was. His lips parted slightly, inviting you to meet him halfway, and when your tongues brushed, your breath hitched. That was all he needed to hear.

“Mmm… positively divine,” Alastor murmured as he pulled away just enough to catch your dazed expression. His smile was lazy now, lopsided and glowing with something deeper than amusement. “You make the air taste sweeter, chérie.”

“Flatter me more, why don’t you,” you teased breathlessly, though your voice came out more of a whimper than anything else. He chuckled, deep and velvety, as he leaned in again—no room left for anything between you now but fabric and heat.

This time, it was slower. 

Less fire, more honey. His kisses dragged along your lips like he had all the time in Hell to savor you—and damn, it felt like he would. He brushed his nose along your cheekbone, feathered kisses down to your jaw, then up again as you curled into his touch, the edge of your thigh sliding along his leg. His velveteen hand traced gentle circles at your hip, occasionally slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie just far enough to let you feel the scalding contact of skin against skin. But he never pushed. Never rushed.

Instead, he lingered like a melody stuck on a loop, exploring the shape of your lips with his own, pressing kisses that grew longer, needier, then softer again. He was addicted, drunk on your taste, his usual collected composure starting to become carnally hungry as he continued his kisses.

“You’re… you’re really not gonna stop, huh?” you asked, giggling between kisses as you tried to catch your breath.

Alastor nipped at your lower lip, grinning devilishly. “Darling,” he whispered, his voice dipping into a fond growl, “not unless you ask me to. But I do hope you won’t, because I am utterly enchanted.”

Again and again, he kissed you, each one a little different than the last—some chaste, some daring, all brimming with a dangerous kind of tenderness that made your body warm up. And in between those kisses, he whispered little nothings: praises, teases, threats of affection so sweet they made your toes curl.

By the time he finally pulled away, just barely, your lips were swollen, your face flushed, and your heart? Utterly, stupidly his.

“Stars above,” you mumbled, dazed and breathless. “You really do like kissing me.”

He laughed, brushing his nose against yours once more, eyes sparkling. “You’d be surprised how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

You were going to fire back something clever—something cocky, maybe flirty—but the words fizzled out the moment his hand slipped beneath your hoodie.

Fingertips ghosted over your waist, your body shivering at how soft his hands were. The contrast of his sharp claws against your delicate skin made your spine tense, a soft gasp slipping from your parted lips—and Alastor felt it. He smirked against your mouth, already chasing another kiss before you could even process the last one. He shifted beside you, rolling slowly until he was caging you in from above with his large frame.

Teeth grazed your bottom lip, not rough—teasing. His tongue slipped past your lips, curling against yours with surprising precision, like he was memorizing the shape of your hunger. You moaned before you could stop yourself, thighs instinctively shifting beneath him. He groaned in response, low and guttural, barely restrained, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest like thunder waiting to crack open the sky.

“Dearest,” he purred, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to your chin, then your throat, then just above your collarbone. “Those little noises of yours are going to drive me mad very easily.” He pulled away for a second, looking down at you as his red locks surrounded your peripheral vision—it was just you and him in this moment. 

“Is… is this something you want?”

You felt his hand rub circles into your stomach soothingly, his eyes searching yours to make sure every bit of your being wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You can’t help but laugh at the uncharacteristic sweetness of it all, shaking your head gently beneath him. “Who would have thought the Radio Demon was so respectful in bed?”

“Why, I am a Southern gentleman after all, sweetheart!” He drawled, his smile widening at your teasing remark. “But tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop immediately. No matter how hard it’ll be to—quell my hunger.” He finished his sentence with a sharp nip at your neck, making you involuntarily squeak at the pinch.

You hummed, intertwining your hands into his hair. “Thank you for the concerns, but I promise this is everything I want.” 

He groaned at the way you scratched his scalp, his ears twitching from the feeling. You smirked at the starry look he gave you, his lips once more meeting yours. Your eyelids shut as you mewled into the kiss, Alastor’s hands returning to underneath your hoodie with more need. Your breath started to shorten as his hands hesitantly reached higher and higher, your chest rising and lowering faster.

His hands cupped your breasts, your thighs instinctively pushing together as you felt your head spin from the contact. You had to withdraw from the kiss, gasping for air as Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes. He leaned down to kiss your neck instead, his fangs nibbling softly as he fondled your chest with such tenderness. You gasped when his thumbs rubbed against your nipples, and you felt Alastor grin against your skin as they peaked under his touch. 

Every caress of his sent a jolt of fire straight to your core, the heat between your legs growing. You were sure you were starting to seep through your panties, the room a thousand degrees hotter with how Alastor was groping your body. 

“You feel like sin,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I could get drunk off the heat of you alone.”

Before you could reply, Alastor removed his hands from your breasts, leaning back on his knees to pull you forward in a searing kiss. You were temporarily winded from the sudden movement, sitting up as you desperately tried to match his pace. His hands gripped the hem of your hoodie, lifting it up over your head as goosebumps littered your skin from the sudden exposure. He discarded the material somewhere off the bed, pushing you down once more as his hungry mouth met the skin of your chest.

You moaned out his name, your hands carding through his locks again as his tongue swirled around your left nipple. His thumb stimulated your right nipple in similar fashion, your eyes glazing over as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure.

His mouth detached from your mound, going lower and lower as he continued to fondle your breasts. Wet kisses were placed in a trail down your stomach, his mouth hesitating right at the top of your shorts. He glanced up at you, your core clenching at the way he locked eyes with you before pulling down your shorts and panties in one steady go.

Alastor wasted no time pulling your thighs apart, your cheeks suddenly warm at being completely exposed to him. He had you spread out like a decadent offering, laid bare before him, your body instinctively trying to fight the vulnerable position. You struggled in his grip, his strong hands holding the bottom of your thighs steady as you tried to push them together once more. Your stomach coiled in embarrassment when he took a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring at the scent of your arousal. “Alastor—”

Your complaint was lodged in your throat as your eyes landed on his expression. His pupils were blown wide, grin parted, as though the image of you—dripping, glistening with need—was something sacred. One of his hands moved to gently spread your lips, and his thumb ghosted over your clit with maddening care, pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

“My, my…” he breathed. “So wet already. And all for me.”

And then, without further warning—he devoured you.

His mouth latched onto you with terrifying precision, tongue flicking in fast, deliberate strokes against your clit while his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed. The sensation was immediate—sharp, electric, almost as if a wire had been connected straight from your core to your spine. You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you, kept you right where he wanted you.

“Easy now,” he murmured against you, voice muffled but amused. “Let me take my time.”

You were soaked—and he seemed to love it, moaning softly as his tongue dipped down to taste everything. He licked up your arousal like it was nectar, slow and indulgent, before circling back to your clit and sucking, gently at first—then harder. The lewd sounds of Alastor’s mouth mixed with the faint love song crackling from the radio, your eyes rolling to the back of your head from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

Your back arched. Your hands tugged on hair behind his ears, desperate for more. He groaned when you pulled on him—deep and vibrating against your sensitive flesh. The sensation made you whimper, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

“Th-that—Alastor—fuck—” You lifted one of your arms to cover your eyes, your face burning hot from the shameful sounds Alastor was eliciting from you. 

A shadowy tendril wrapped around your wrist, pulling your forearm off of your eyes. He pulled away only briefly, his mouth slick with your juices, a feral grin splitting his lips.

“Oh darling,” he purred, voice thick, eyes gleaming. “Don’t shy away from me.”

Then he buried himself in you once more.

His tongue moved with devilish skill—flicking, circling, pressing in just the right rhythm, while his fingers slipped lower, teasing at your entrance before easing inside you. One. Then two. Slow, curling motions that had your entire body clenching around him. You felt Alastor finger you with precision, the faint reminder of his pointed nails against your walls made your head spin. He could tear you apart in an instant, and yet here he was, devoting himself to giving you nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He fucked you with his fingers and licked you like a man starved—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. He’d groan when you moaned. Chuckle darkly when you cursed. Murmur “that’s it, my sweet, give in” when your hips started grinding against his mouth.

You were unraveling—gasping, writhing, begging for something you couldn’t name. The pressure was building exponentially, and you could barely form a thought beyond more more please don’t stop—

And he didn’t.

He knew. He felt the way your body tensed, the way your cries grew higher, the way your legs tried to close around his head—he pressed his free hand to your stomach, grounding you, keeping you open and his.

“Come for me, chère,” he whispered into your skin, voice thick and reverent. “Let me taste it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, snapping the invisible rubber band inside your stomach. You shattered with a cry, your orgasm hitting you like a storm, thighs trembling violently as your entire body curved off the bed. Alastor held you through it, lapping up every drop, groaning with delight as he worked you through the high with soft, slow licks until you were twitching, sensitive, your hands weakly trying to push him away. 

“Al—Alastor, too much,” You whimpered pathetically, your hands softly pushing him away from your overstimulated core. He finally pulled back, chin dripping with a mix of his saliva and your wetness, eyes black and gleaming.

And he smiled.

That big, sharp, genuine smile.

“So sweet,” he sighed, voice dreamy as he kissed your trembling thigh. “I could gorge myself on you for hours and still crave more, dearest.”

You were too blissed out to answer—just a panting, whimpering mess beneath him.

He crawled up your body slowly, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your chest. And when he finally reached your lips again, he kissed you with the same mouth that had just ruined you—and you didn’t even hesitate to return it.

You could taste yourself on him.

Alastor cradled your face in his hand, brushing your sweaty hair back gently, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. “Still with me, ma douce?” 

His voice vibrated against your lips, his hands coming up to his neck to quickly unbutton his shirt. His hands moved with practiced accuracy, your body still regaining strength from your orgasm. You glanced down at the strain in his slacks, your mouth watering at the sight of just how badly he needed relief. Withdrawing only enough to stand at the foot of the bed, he dragged his belt open with a snap that made your stomach flip.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?” he asked, even as he slid his trousers down his hips, freeing himself.

You nodded instantly, but your breath caught in your throat once your gaze landed on his member. He was long. Thick. Already dripping at the tip from how hard he was, how worked up you’d made him just from tasting you. His cock curved slightly upward, pulsing with anticipation as he crawled back over you, guiding himself to your entrance with one slow, grinding drag of his tip along your still-sensitive folds.

“Alastor, stop teasing.” You hissed as he continued brushing the head of his cock against your wet slit. A deep hum of amusement escaped his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he relished the way your lips invited him in.

When he pushed in—it was slow. Torturously slow. Stretching you inch by inch, making your mouth fall open with a sound that bordered on a sob. You were still so aroused, your walls fluttering, clenching down on him as he eased deeper.

“Ohhh, fuck—” you gasped, legs trembling.

Alastor groaned—really groaned—his voice breaking for just a moment as your warmth enveloped him fully. You clenched around him as he hissed out your name like a prayer.

“You feel—divine,” he growled, his composure splintering as his hips finally pressed flush against yours. “Like you were made to take me.”

He stayed there for a moment buried to the hilt, before pulling back and thrusting in again with a force that made your body jolt up the bed. The rhythm started hard and deep—slow but intentional, like he was trying to imprint himself into every inch of you. There was no frantic rutting, no careless pace. Every thrust was a symphony of tension and release. Your moans came unbidden, rising with every grind of his hips, every brush of his pelvis against your overstimulated clit.

And Alastor loved it.

He drank up your reactions as if it were ambrosia, glowing red eyes fixed on your face, on the way you gasped and cried out, on the way your nails clawed at his back. Your sounds were music to his ears, your blissed out expression making his dick twitch. You looked thoroughly fucked, Alastor’s chest swelling with pride as he felt his antlers start to grow ever so slowly. You bucked beneath him, hips grinding up to meet his thrusts, and he groaned again—sharper this time. The sound shot straight through you, and your hands flew to his hair, yanking him down into another kiss that had your teeth clashing, your tongues tangling.

“This pussy—fuck,” he mewled into your mouth, “this perfect little pussy—clinging to me like she doesn’t want me to leave.”

His voice was fraying now, strained, unraveling at the edges. “Is that it, darling?” he rasped, still kissing you between words. “You want me to stay right here? Fill you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yes—please, don’t stop, Alastor—”

One hand suddenly snaked beneath your thigh, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. The angle changed—oh God, the angle changed!—and you cried out, your back arching as he hit deeper, harder, grinding against that sweet, devastating spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“There,” he smirked, voice low and breathless. “There it is.”

He continued to pound into you until you were sobbing his name, clutching the sheets, tears brimming in your lashes from the sheer overwhelm of it. Alastor's smile turned feral as he saw your tears, his pace faltering as he kissed your tears as they fell.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, soft between the pounding thrusts. “So good for me. Taking me so well. You were meant for this. Meant for me.”

You whimpered at his praises, cumming again without warning—your body locking up, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave breaking against stone. Alastor groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, pulsing, twitching, milking him as he drove in deep one final time.

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a growl—deep, guttural, almost animalistic—his cock twitching as he filled you, spilling inside you with a heat that made your thighs quiver. You felt him pulse inside you, bury himself deeper, hips twitching with the last few, slow thrusts.

Alastor collapsed beside you with a sigh that was more satisfied than smug for once, his arm immediately curling around your waist to tug you flush against him. His skin was slick with sweat, his breath still uneven, but his smile—that damned smile—was gentler now. Calmer. Like some longing ache inside him had finally eased.

The two of you lay there in silence for a moment, your body still twitching with the occasional aftershock as your breath steadied. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, warm and safe as your hands gently played with the soft fur of his chest. He sighed at the feeling, inhaling deeply as he relaxed.

Then, with absolutely zero shame in his tone, he spoke.

“So,” he drawled lazily, voice low and playful, “did I cure your hangover?”

You tensed, lifting your head just enough to blink at him, eyes wide and incredulous. You paused for a moment to focus on your head, realizing your headache was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, laughter flowed out of you, your head thrown back as you giggled at his question—of course he still remembered.

“You know what…” you breathed, grinning at him like he’d just said the funniest thing. “Surprisingly, you did.”

Alastor chuckled, eyes glittering with delight. He merely leaned down to kiss your forehead, brushing away the hair stuck to your forehead. Cuddling closer, you dropped your head once more to the crook of his neck, his fingers stroking lazy circles on your back, and the silence that followed was heavy with comfort. After a pause, you tilted your head to glance up at him again.

“...Did you get me drunk because you knew I’d kiss you?”

Alastor gasped dramatically at your questioning. Hand pressed to his chest, all mock offense and theatrical flourish. “Oh contraire, chérie!” he insisted. “I was trying to get us both drunk so I could confess my affections for you—never did I expect you to do something so scandalous.” 

He paused, grin widening into its usual smirk. “But alas, it ended in my favor… so I must thank you for it.”

You groaned into his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed—a full, rich sound that rumbled against your cheek as he kissed the top of your head once more.

“Perhaps,” he whispered. “But I’m your idiot now.”

tag list: @railgunuzi @frompiscium @rose-in-blue @catticora @milkissesx + @lovingyeet @flannychan @ari-hatake24 [want to join/be removed from the tag list? check my pinned post!]

[aroacedaddy]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 42 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: domestic violence, period talk, pregnancy talk, talk of infidelity Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

With the presence of your cycle came a short reprieve from Laurence’s physical desires. He found the condition a disgusting reminder that once again he had failed to put a child in your belly. In his opinion, it was a personal failing on your part. Just another way that you were marked as unworthy. 

Never did he question if the trauma and bleeding may make it hard for his seed to stick. In his eyes, you were at fault and if you were honest; you thought that could very well be the case as well. It’s not like your cycle didn’t sometimes arrive at odd times. 

Would he have been kinder if a child took root in your womb? Or would he just knock it free with one of his blows? Had it happened before? Could you truly know? Was it you or him? If it was you, would Alastor- 

Stop thinking about such things. Don’t be a silly woman.

Laurence had taken to waking you in a new way, instead. Fear and panic were the first things you were aware of this morning. The weight of him sitting on your abdomen was the next thing your mind registered, chased directly by the inability to pull air into your lungs and the constriction around your neck. 

“La-” you croaked out, fingers digging into his arms as black spots swam in your vision. 

“Who is he?” Laurence yelled, voice reverberating off the walls. “Where were you?” 

“La-” It was hard to move your lips, to close your mouth. Your eyes struggled to focus on the red face looming above you, the fog of sleep quickly fading, only to be replaced by a different fading. “No-” 

Blackness was so close to taking you away when he pulled his hands back. Gasping, you filled your lungs greedily again and again as your hands clutched around your neck. Tears ran down your face as panic continued to run through your mind. 

“Why?” you choked out as he moved off of you. You repeated the question as you pushed yourself up off the bed, feeling safer only once you could curl in on yourself. With your knees tucked against your chest, you felt more secure. This was how Laurence woke you more times than not now. 

“Where were you?” Laurence’s voice broke. It wasn’t rage that he was facing you with as tears shone in his eyes, reflecting the warm light of the morning. “Where did you go?” 

“I was with my sister, you know that.” With your voice soft, it almost sounded like you hadn’t been near strangled. “I helped her birth her child.” 

“What did she have?” Laurence leaned on your vanity, hand resting on your jewelry box. “You said the birth went well, but not what she had.” 

“She didn’t want it announced yet,” you said without a chance to come up with something better. 

“What did she have?!” Laurence screamed, fingers tightening around the edge of the box. “What did she have?!”

“A girl,” you said in a panic. Your family was full of girls, it seemed a safe bet. 

The sound of your jewelry box scraping against the vanity surface was almost as loud as Laurence’s rage filled voice as he picked it up and screamed, “She had a son!” 

You looked at him, eyes wide as you struggled to make your mind catch up with what was happening. He took one looming step forward as you opened and closed your mouth, failing to find the right thing to say. 

“She sent a letter! Born early but healthy.” He shook your jewelry box in his hands as he shouted, drawers falling open and trinkets falling to the ground. Did he wish it was your neck in his hands? “His name is Johathan!” 

You heard the crash of the box before you felt it. His aim was poor and for that, you were lucky. The box crashed into your head, but it was a glancing blow. The momentum took it past your head, leaving a gash that sent red coloring your vision. The box broke apart as it hit the headboard. It was a miracle that it hadn’t sailed out the window, raining shattered glass down on the backyard. 

“You keep lying to me!” You cringe back, trying to keep as much distance between you and your husband for each step forward he took. “Where did you go?” 

“You’re scaring me.” You did nothing to keep the tremble from your voice as you whimpered the words out. There was nothing you could have done.“Laurence, I was- I was with my family. My mother. I- Please, stop. Please?”

“If I find out,” he caged you in with hands on either side of you, fingers gripping the headboard so hard that his knuckles were white. “That you’re running around on me,” He inched closer, “I will kill him and make you watch. Then I will fuck you on his fucking body. Only when I’m done, I will kill you. Do you understand me?” 

“Y-yes, Laurence.” You whimpered, “I swear- I’m not. There’s, there’s no one. Please?” 

The blood stung in your eye, but you feared blinking the redness clear as long as he was looming over you. Laurence sighed, reaching out and caressing your cheek. “Oh my darling,” He cooed, “You drive me so mad. I’ve got to go take my medicine, but I’ll bring you a towel.” 

“Thank you, Laurence,” you answered, lips moving without thought. They were the right words to say. It didn’t matter if you meant them or not. 

Each step he took away from you had you sagging against the headboard. You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him to move the broken remains of your jewelry box. 

Tears cleared the blood from your eyes. They mixed to run down your neck. The nightgown would be ruined, if you had a habit of throwing out bloodstained nightgowns. Trembling took over your limbs. Teeth clattered together, the sound loud on your head as you watched Laurence walk back to you.

Don’t cringe away. Don’t look away. Don’t show fear. It was over for now. If you acted like anything was wrong, he’d start up again. Smile. Thank him. Take it. Whatever he brought you, whatever he gave you, take it. 

“Here you go,” he said, softly holding the rag to your head. The cool water soothed the cut, but it stung still as it made contact with the gash. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ll grab you more aspirin on my way home, alright?” 

“Thank you, Laurence.” 

“Why don’t you write me up a shopping list while I’m away? I’ll do the shopping for you today and you can stay home, rest.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, “Thank you, Laurence.” 

You sat frozen in place, holding the wet rag to your head as he walked out of the room. You refused to look away from the doorway as you listened to him walk down the stairs. It wasn’t until you heard his car pull away that you blinked, shaking the fog from your mind. 

The gash on your head throbbed as you moved. Next to you, your jewelry box was irreparably broken, along with your heart. It had been a gift from your late grandfather for your sixteenth birthday. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he had passed, shortly after your family announced your engagement to Laurence. He hadn’t even made it to see you wed. 

For many years, you cried over the empty seat in the chapel, belonging to a man who should have seen you married. As time moved on, you got over the empty space, or at least, you grew numb to it. Now you were thankful for his passing. He never had to know the monster you were matched with. 

It was a challenge to dress while holding the towel to your head, but you managed. As you made your way into the bathroom, the bleeding had slowed to a slight ooze. Pain radiated through your body as you cleaned the gash as best you could, brushing hair from the wound. 

It would be a blessing if you didn’t come down with an infection from the wound. Would that be so bad? Would anyone miss you if an infection removed you from this life? 

Alastor would. 

You sighed, trying to force your mind away from the dark thoughts and back to the task at hand. The gash would scar, of that you were sure but if you kept it clean, that was the worst of it. 

What would you tell everyone? You tripped? Fell down the stairs? The house shifted and your jewelry box fell on your head? 

Tears fell freely from your eyes, dotting the floor in a trail back to your bedroom. Tremors ran through your body, making picking up the scattered jewelry more difficult. Here and there, necklaces and bracelets. One earring you had worn on your wedding day lay broken on the floor, stepped on more than likely by the man you had vowed the whole of your life to. 

Broken, like your marriage. 

Broken, like you. 

The apple tree granted you shade and privacy where you sat back against the hard bark. It was enough to keep you hidden from view of the home, something dangerous if Laurence returned home, but it was as close to leaving your prison as you could get. 

You curled in on yourself, arms wrapped around your knees and ankles crossed as you sobbed. It was closer to a wail, but you muffled it with your knees as best as you could. 

It was dumb, you knew, to bring the jewelry box out with you for your cry only to have to lug it back inside when you eventually returned, but you couldn’t stand the thought of letting it out of your sight at the moment. It was an irrational fear, despite that, you feared your husband would return and finish smashing the piece. 

“Darling?” You flinched at the sound of someone speaking to you before realizing it was Alastor. “What happened?” 

Opening your eyes, the sight of Alastor kneeling in front of you greeted you. A fresh sob tore painfully from your throat as you launched yourself forward into his arms, his name nearly unrecognizable as you cried harder into the chest of the only person you wanted to see.

“He’s- Something’s wrong with him.” The words came out in a rush, “He was never- never like this.” 

“What happened?” Alastor gathered you into his arms, pivoting on his knee to fall back against the tree as he held you to him.

“I- he,” It was hard to get words out between the shattered breaths ripping through your aching throat. 

“Breathe,” Alastor’s voice was firm but calm, “You’ve got to breathe.” 

“C-can’t,” panic was clawing at you, begging to be set loose, tightening around your throat with the same frightening force of Laurence���s hands.

Alastor shifted, unbuttoning his shirt after pulling his necktie free. Once the buttons had been undone to mid-chest, he took your hand and slipped it under the layers of fabric to rest your palm directing over his heart, directly against his skin. 

“Focus on the feel of my heart. The way my chest moves as I breathe.” Calm, commanding words that left no room for argument cut through the panic as you looked up at his eyes, so warm and framed with furrowed brows. “Breathe with me.” 

You nodded, though it was more of a shudder than an intentional action. The rise and fall of his chest was difficult to mimic as he took each breath slowly. The feel of his heart pounding against your hand reminded you he was there with you, even as your brain tried to push away the feeling of his legs and arms on either side of you. 

You calmed more and more with each breath you took with him, falling in line slowly. Rational thoughts filtered in through the panic. He did not rush you to calm, instead he just kept taking the slow deliberate breaths while he waited, trusting you to know when you would be ready to stop.

“There you go,” he cooed, hand running up and down your arm. “When you’re ready, what happened?” His fingers left your arm and ghosted over the cut on your head, scabbing now. 

“He- His hands were around my neck, squeezing. I don’t understand what I did wrong?” 

“Did he say anything?” Alastor asked, hands continuing to caress over bruises as soft as his voice. 

“He just- he wanted to know where I went. He was screaming. I- I thought he was going to kill me. I-” Fresh tears streamed down your face, wiped away gently by his knuckles. “My sister had the baby early. I guess she sent a letter. It was delivered while we were… And he knows.” 

“How much does he know?” Alastor whispered, his voice darker than you’d ever heard.

“That I wasn’t with my sister. I- I told him I was with my mother instead but, I don’t think he believes me.” 

“What happened to your head?” Alastor kissed the gash, hardly more than a brush of his lips against the drying scab but delivered with care not to cause you pain, indifferent to the possibility of getting your blood on his lips.

“Laurence, he- he was shouting and when I told him I was with my mother instead, he- he-” 

“Breathe,” Alastor reminded you as panic welled up again, stealing your words. “You must keep breathing.” 

One slow breath and another, mimicking Alastor’s continued breathing though you could feel his heart racing in his chest, the only tell that he was not nearly as calm as he seemed. “He threw my jewelry box,”

“It hit you?” Alastor asked the question he already knew the answer to. 

“Not very well. It- He broke it.” 

“Why did you bring it out here?” Alastor asked, eyes flicking up to the mess of wood. 

“It’s- it’s daft, really.” 

“I’m sure it’s not.” Alastor pressed. 

“It- My grandfather made it. He’s gone now. It’s.. it’s all I’ve got left of him, but now it’s gone. I fear Laurence won’t let me have it repaired and, if I’m honest, I’m not sure where I’d go to have it fixed, who I’d trust with it.” 

“Would you trust me with the task?” Alastor said. 

“You?” You leaned back in his arms to look in his eyes better. “Is that another hidden talent, Mr. Moreau?” The joke was a poor attempt to act like things were normal. 

Alastor shrugged, “I’ve dabbled. Before the radio, I did whatever I had to in order to make ends meet. I could take it, see what can be done. It would be safe from further damage, at least.” 

“Alastor,” you whispered. “I’m scared. I’m scared that he’s going to kill me.” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Alastor swore to you but the both of you knew that there wasn’t anything he could do if he wasn’t there to stop it. The bruises around your throat screamed the truth to his lie. 

“I need you to know I will not let him hurt you. He will, if he finds out, but no matter how much he hurts me, even if I’m dying, I won’t give you up. I-” Tears ran down your face, “I won’t let him hurt you. Your reputation or everything you’ve worked for. I won’t. I won’t be your undoing.” 

“I’m not worried,” Alastor soothed, “For anything but your safety.” 

Alastor sat, holding you as you shuddered, softly crying in his arms as panic and fear gave way to pure and simple sorrow you had yet to allow yourself to feel in far too long. Anger ran through him. It felt like every muscle in his body would rip apart if he didn’t move soon, do something soon, see red spilling out on the ground. 

As he held you, his eyes ran over the damaged jewelry box. It A few boards were splintered. Glass on the door was shattered, hanging in a jagged grin, but for the most part, it looked like a simple enough fix. Just some nails, a few replacement boards, a new pane of glass and refinishing. 

If only the rest of his problems could be solved as easily. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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[aroacedaddy]

Fuck Joke Around and Find Out (Part 2)

Part 1

Everyone say thank you to @dontfuckbutimfab for requesting this sequel with their donation! It very literally would have never happened otherwise bbs! f you enjoy this story (and can afford it) I still ask you donate and let the event organizers (like @fraugwinska ) know you did so we can keep track 💖 even 5$ is a lot, ya know?

A grey ace clueless reader thinks she finally knows what’s going on (narrator: she does not) when Alastor propositions they explore her interest by way of tormenting a stalker of his with some personal broadcasting she agrees… to help a friend, ya know?

A Piece of Cake

「Warnings/Promises:Ace Alastor x Ace AFAB reader, thigh fucking, voyeurism real or imagined, metaphors galore, not a food fetish I stg guys, grey ace, vaginal fingering, making out, smut divider」

smut begins when you see this divider

MDNI OR I STG YOULL BE LOCKED OUTTA THE HOTEL 🔐 🫵🏼🏨

You wished you’d been drinking. It’d have dampened the embarrassment of the situation. You’d never gone into those kinds of interactions with Alastor … raw. Alcohol had always been the lubricant that let you play without any guards up. 

It would be cruel and unfair to call it naïveté that you followed Alastor to his radio tower. It’d be accurate though to call you an idiot for not having noticed the shift in your friendship since the couch incident. Or realized how obvious you were being about your own concerns.

A movie night seemed cute when Charlie suggested it, but soon you and Alastor found yourself in common awkward situation. Charlie leaned into Vaggie’s side, lips bruising the curve of her ear. Husk’s hands wandered over to Angel’s thighs, thrown over his lap intimately. Niffty…Well Niffty couldn’t sit still long enough for an entire movie so she came and went with bursts of energy. 

When people paired up, even if already decidedly in pairs, it left you and Alastor in that uncomfortable position of being unlikely fifth and sixth wheels. 

So he recommended leaving, and you happily followed his lead. 

Alastor sat in his chair, small and wooden and swiveling side to side to his amusement, and you leaned against the desk of his studio. You’d never actually entered the tower before. No one had that you knew of. Taking in as much detail as you could you noticed equipment seemed more modern than you’d realized. Perhaps the 1920s wasn’t that long ago after all. 

“You turn all of this on and your voice carries across the ring?” You asked, gesturing casually with your open palm to the large metal boxes with dials and knobs and glass bulb lights. 

“It amplifies my signal, yes. Not an inch of the pride ring can hide from my broadcast.” His everpresent smile seemed a bit more smug as he said it. “Untethered to Vox’s power grid, there's nothing between me and my adoring listeners!”

You could only nod. Adoring wasn’t the word most would use, but you thought it was funny he saw it that way. 

With the room so silent, the air so still, you could hear a sigh and his clothes rustle as he leaned onto the desk with his elbows. Looking up to you from the side, his smile tugged to the left. 

“Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding my touch.”

You choked on your own saliva, eliciting a howl of laughter from Alastor. “Oh, now that’s a telling reaction! You know, normally you are very comfortable with me. I dare say you’ve rested your head on my shoulder at least twice. You’ve set your feet on my lap many times during morning readings. You never jump like the others when I come up behind you, brushing against your back. Until recently.” Alastor and his chair moved a little closer to your side, your eyes facing away and out the window. You knew it was important to hear what he was saying, but your mind was reeling trying to summon an excuse for your change. 

“Sooo, why now, when I touch you,” his elbow slid out to push into your thigh, your knees knocking together in a jerk reaction, “do you seem so skittish?”

Alastor could hear your heart pounding in your chest. The rush of blood to your neck and cheeks could be seen even in the red and hazy light of hell. 

Why?

You opened your mouth to lie, his hand coming to grip the side of the table between your thighs, “I’ll know if you’re being truthful, doll.”

Now with a very dry tongue and a small bit of sweat across your brow, you let your head hang low.

The truth then. 

“Last time,” You didn’t see Alastor’s eyes widen in excitement as you began to speak. Surely you would say something deeply uncomfortable for you and that was always a little fun for him. “I really liked kissing. It wasn’t just playing around for me, so, I thought it’d be,” this was going to sound presumptuous, “misleading to get into that situation again.”

Large red and black ears turned inward and down as his back straightened at the confession.

“I’d never kissed like that before. I always thought kissing led to touching which led to sex. An unavoidable series of events. So I avoid kissing. Well, avoided it. I didn’t think I’d get so into it.” Before then, you’d only ever mimed making out and being dramatically horny with Alastor. Maybe a mouth on your neck, or your hands in his hair, but never anything more. But it happened so naturally, the alcohol letting you get more caught in the nice sensations than in the lack of desire to do much more. If he wanted to mock the others again, in the safety of your shared disinterest, you couldn’t be sure you’d keep from reaching out for more. Once it started, it was good. 

So it was best to not start, atleast not with him. It felt like breaking an unspoken agreement between you both. A silent ‘don’t take this seriously’ between breaths. “I probably shouldn’t joke like that anymore, since for you it’s just messing around and making fun of others.”

Alastor was a little taken aback. He liked kissing very much, and getting his unsuspecting friend worked up was entertaining. And you’d seemed to be enjoying his company when you were shaking beneath him. Was that so wrong? His head cocked to the side. “Was that your first kiss then?”

“First like that. Like, with–,” you grimaced, “tongues.” His chortle cut you a little, “It felt good! All of it. But, so does listening to music and, and,” you searched the ceiling for help, “eating cake.” You frowned as soon as you had said it. Cake? But it was hard to say it without being crude. All your needs were met. Of all the avenues of feeling good, why exert the effort into anything different. 

Alastor hummed, “Shocking to hear you’d never had more than a peck.”

“Well, that stuff always leads to more.”

He tutted, “That’s a little naive of you to say. And sometimes more can be nice. If the mood strikes. If the right partner is near. With intention and a little effort…” His fingers flattened against their place on the desk, long nails coming to barely make contact with your inner thigh. You didn’t notice, to his slight annoyance, “Why do you think you solely decide how far my …” a devious look crossed his face, “playing goes? When I want to stop?”

Talks of kissing and touching always led to the assumed inevitability of sex for people, you thought. Was Alastor thinly speaking about it too? 

How far….it stuck between your ears like a stray hair in your mouth. You weren’t experienced enough to know the distance between A and B, just that kissing was where it began and full penetration was where it ended. Right? Was he….offering a short trip between the two, you wondered. 

Your silence weighed his ears down further. “Though, if the idea of me touching you like I did, or more, is something you detest, I can respect that.” You groaned, did you have to close the door on everything? Was there no grey space you could live in now and then? You hadn’t had time to think about this before the conversation was already starting around you. 

“I’m not a fan of sweets but on certain occasions I can enjoy a piece of cake. I know not everyone feels the same. I only went as far as I did because I thought we were of like minds in that aspect.” He added and you could tell by the tone he was also finishing the topic on his part. Alastor thought the safety net of your mutual disinterest in sex as a need provided could allow him to drop his walls a bit and relax more than usual. Knowing neither of you were going into the interaction expecting it to lead to sex let him enjoy things like heavy petting without concern. In truth he’d avoided comfortable touches like kissing quite a long time ago by then for the same reasons you had. His ears struggled to right themselves again under the weight of the idea he’d misunderstood. 

But he wasn’t one to show his sincere disappointment. The hand between your parted legs left and he sat back in his chair with a creak. Without meeting your desperate and confused stare, he began adjusting his bowtie and straightening his jacket. Alastor leaned back with a cross of his legs and tossed his microphone from the left hand to the right. The look in your eyes was akin to a turning sea. It was visible to him that you were struggling with articulating what you wanted. And that was almost as fun as your little quivers when he pressed you down onto his lap before. 

He wasn’t one to break another’s boundaries unjustly, but he reveled in watching someone come undone from his actions. Until you were clear in what you wanted and didn’t want, he was going to enjoy making you panic over it. 

“I like cake.” It sounded stupider outloud than it did in your head. You felt stupider when his characteristic Ha! followed. 

“Is this conversation easier for you if we discuss this in terms of food, then?”

You nodded eagerly. For the love of Lucifer, yes, please. 

A wicked grin spread from cheek to cheek as Alastor twirled his staff, “Do you have an appetite, dear?”

With another whine your head fell back now from its place hanging between your inward turned shoulders, “Not– usually, no. But we were already there, and you….” your hands came to hide your face, why did you say food?? “Made me…have a little sweet tooth. If someone puts a little piece of cake in my hands, ya know…why not, I guess. Just a couple bites even.” You were actually talking about cake at that point, but a flicker of the singular lamp on the table caught your eye and reminded you the conversation was not about desserts.

“Would you like me to test your mood? I can stop when you’re full.” Alastor bit back his own noise, the statement doing something to him he hadn’t anticipated. 

Your knees pulled up to your chest as you curled into a ball atop his desk, “But why? We just…start doing stuff? And go from there?” 

Hadn’t you fled the common area to avoid similar things?

Or had you left to just not be on display like before?

Alastor’s red eyes looked around the room, your form standing out in the otherwise dank setting. You needed a why? That was fair. He could manage that. Your reactions inspired a very gentle cruelty in him that he wanted to indulge. He could put in the effort of manufacturing a situation that let him do so. A reason to make you gasp like a fish out of water by putting you in situations that very much took you out of your element. 

“Would you like to help me with something then? I have a stalker of sorts who’d be dismayed to hear something illicit.” From your sitting fetal position you heard him stand, a small sound of a metallic click following. “I could just huff and puff into my microphone, but it’d be more effective to make him think I’m spending some quality time with a paramore.”

Tentatively, you dropped your legs. “You want to broadcast our sounds?”

“Just to him. Don’t worry.” His charm was rolling off of his tall frame, dark eyes and yellow teeth not dampening it an ounce. “What do you say? I won’t go any further than you see fit.” He saw your eyes flit around in consideration, “You’re just helping out a friend bully a creep.”

Well, when he put it like that. As soon as you let yourself meet his gaze, he turned on a switch without breaking eye contact with you and the broadcast equipment lit up with a soft green glow. 

Your body relaxed. No pressure, just letting yourself get carried away again for a bit for the sake of helping Alastor in his usual job as tormentor. That seemed normal to you. That seemed understandable. 

Humming, Alastor closed the distance between you and handed his staff over, “Hold this between your legs, will you dear?” It was cold, you could feel it through the fabric of your pants as your thighs held it in place. He waved his fingers to show they were free before setting his palms down on either side of you on the desk. “May I?” His face inched closer to yours, coming to stop with his nose a few inches from yours. He saw your complexion darken again, a rush of blood to your face. “Just a kiss between friends. A little swipe of naughty fingers through the icing.”

You’d never be able to see a cake in a normal light again. 

When his lips reached yours your eyes fluttered shut, you knew it was polite to close them. It was just as he had said; a peck. A little kiss, chaste and gentle. A second, a little firmer. A third, lips pressing into yours strong enough you had to reciprocate with a nudging of your lips into his to keep from falling back. Your shoulders relaxed. The pacing was good for you. 

Each parting made the tiniest sound. 

“A lick.” You heard his voice float from the radio on the table to your right, just beside the closed door. You noticed the lock had been turned. The click you’d heard earlier. But you couldn’t dwell on that for long,  immediately following the ring of his voice you felt his mouth open as he parted and returned with a soft tongue swiping across the seam of your lips. His head turned to let him get closer, and you followed suit in the other direction. 

Already your mind was floating aimlessly in your skull as his tongue pressed in and licked at your own shy muscle before retreating again. You braved a peek just to see him looking back at you, heavy and hooded eyes seemingly waiting for yours. His smirk could be felt against your skin for the briefest moment before his tongue was pushing against yours. 

You liked kissing. You’d be happy to do this for hours if your lips could maintain feeling long enough. 

One of his hands found your waist and slid behind your back. The action reminded you that you had arms and hands of your own. This part was easy, you’d played it before. Nails scratched down his scalp through his undercut like you’d done before. Like you’d seen others do in movies and open spaces.  Alastor’s deep moan in response shook your throat and made you whine. 

More sounds. That was the goal. With knitted brows you disengaged slightly and bit his bottom lip. You gave it a tug as you pulled away, only daring to meet his stare once you’d let go. There it was, the current of good feelings that swept you up once you actually got in the water. Quickly it took you out at the ankles and soon you found yourself floating with the rapidly moving events to whatever end they dumped you out at. First it was your mind going soft but now as you found the resolve to look directly into his eyes your entire self was atop the stream. 

You didn’t recognize the look he gave then. A flash of black, a spin of his pupils nearly missed by you. Had the room gotten darker? 

“What’s that face?” You asked quietly, the space between your lips so small. 

“Hunger.” Was the response, his hand jerking you closer to him. Your ass was now slightly off the edge. 

How dare you be so brave as to bite the overlord. How very dare you be so quick a learner. 

He watched your throat as you gulped at the reply. You’d been a hiding little ball-of-sinner just a moment ago but now you seemed so comfortable in his arms. Was that from your friendship or had you already grown accustomed to this kind of kissing, he wondered. 

His free hand gripped your face and turned it to the left, his breath soon blanketing your right neck and shoulder. Warm and wet, his tongue slid up from collarbone to jaw. The air quickly cooled the saliva left behind and made you shudder.

That was better, Alastor thought. Your little shakes pleased him. They excited him in the way he wanted now. 

Renewed kisses, his mouth hot and open leaving a trail back down your neck. When his nose brushed against the shell of your ear you remembered Vaggie’s shy smile when Charlie kissed her there. You knew how she felt now, able to decipher that soft expression it gave her. It tickled but a little bit of electricity sparked down from your belly button to your center.

Any ideas of softness were banished when his body made contact with yours. For a moment, the microphone staff slid between your legs before his right hand caught it and pulled it free. In it’s place his own hips slotted between your knees and pressed into your core. You drew in a quick breath as you felt his erection settle against you. 

He rolled his hips and huffed a breathy laugh at your body jumping from the friction. This felt like fucking, you thought. Surely. 

Another move into you, the pressure of his cock even through so many layers was taking away your breath. The blood pounding in your ears was partly nerves for every unknown second coming but largely from the rush of his scent. You’d turned your head forward again and looked down to see where you were connected now. Unlike the kisses, he wasn’t pulling away. His hair tickled your cheek as he began to nip and suck at the skin just above your collarbone. He smelled like peat moss and sea salt. And… and… you took a deep breath in through your nose; a faint scent of magnolia.

Odd, there were no magnolia trees in hell.

“Smelling me? That’s … new.” His grin widened against your body, your little sniff paired with the heat roiling up from your chest making him snicker. Your body reacted so honestly and with so little shame. 

He made you choke on your retort by sliding your ass further off the desk, your tailbone taking the brunt of your weight. His left hand supported you as he held you tighter against him.

“I think you’re being too quiet. He’s not hearing you well…,” Alastor pressed his lips into your ear as he said it. From head to center Alastor was monopolizing your senses. The staff was momentarily set down beside you, your eyes following it.

You noticed as it clinked on the table that none of the needles seemed to turn or move on the various gadgets supposedly broadcasting your interaction. But you did hear a faint noise from the radio. 

“Ah,” you hadn’t meant to say it out loud, as it was just a sound of clarity hitting you. He wasn’t broadcasting anything to anyone. It was looping through his personal radio.

Your head whipped back to him, your nose hitting his as he leaned down. His left hand was on the button of your jeans.

“A taste?” A question that was nearly more breath than words as Alastor said it.

You looked from him to his hand and back up.

“For your stalker?” You asked.

He grinned and you were sure he knew. With a rise of his brows he seemed to answer positively. 

Every point of contact was a new place you found yourself unraveling. Another?

You nodded, biting your lip as he popped the button open and wedged his hand between your panties and your skin.

Before you could focus on the fact you hadn’t expected him to go straight to skin on skin you were shimmying your hips and leaning back on a palm to give better access. 

Hot fingers slid roughly against your folds before one pressed forward and swiped up. For the briefest moment he dipped into you. Your body jerked forward at the intrusion.

The exploratory finger returned and pressed in. Concerns of balance flew away as your hands shot to his shoulders and gripped. You needed some nonverbal way to express how you felt. There was already so much humming in your veins that couldn’t be communicated any other way. You expected the obvious, an in and out motion. But instead he crooked his finger and pressed against something that gave a little to the pressure. Your breath hitched, it wasn’t fast or hard but the repeated action had an exponential reaction. The pleasure was building upon itself. 

And then he stopped.

Alastor was watching you pant and stare nearly unblinkingly at his arm and despite the growing fog of his arousal he stopped.

When the repeated stroking of your spongy g-spot ended the growing pleasure faded away. You wanted it back. 

Despite your dry lips you stretched your spine and kissed him, immediately licking at his lips for permission to enter. Kissing started it, kissing could revive it.

Tongues pressed together, slipping over each other as your kisses became sloppy. Kissing wasn’t sexual in nature, nor could you call the relatively gross sounding concept inherently romantic. Yet, with your nails digging into his coat and hips grinding down onto his hand, the feeling of his tongue behind your teeth was making you clench around his finger for more.

He gave as your pussy was begging, the petting deep within you starting again. With a gasp your kiss broke, your forehead coming to rest on his cheek as you honed in on the feeling of Alastor moving between your legs.

With a shrug of his shoulders he began slinking off his coat. Hurriedly you helped, not knowing what that meant but trusting it would lead to more of the same. You pulled the coat down both shoulders and only after one arm was free did it dawn on you both he’d have to remove his hand from your pants to fully take off the coat.

Alastor sighed through his nose at the sensation of his erection straining against his pants. Your upset sounds at the loss of his hand didn’t help the twitching. Reluctantly, he completely removed himself from your body.

He dropped the coat back on the chair and returned to your open arms, up and waiting for him. 

You both moved together, mouths reconnected as he crashed back into you. His hand was rushed, panties folding and catching at first on his nails before he managed to get past the barrier and return to your heat. 

Alastor’s mouth opened to swallow your first moan. His eyes downcast and focused on your lips.

“Don’t waste your pretty voice.” He whispered, bringing the microphone back to rest against your cheek as a second finger pushed into you. 

You felt full, but it didn’t hurt. The stretch at your entrance was uncomfortable but only sharpened the pleasure. 

His mouth returned to your neck when you let your head fall back. Eyes closed you could feel the rest of your body melt away. You existed only where his body met yours.

The microphone against your face was cool to the touch and grounded you a little back to your surroundings. 

“You,” you choked out, “you said he was your stalker. Your noises—,” you tore one of your hands from his shoulders and reached down between you both. “He’d want those.”  Your hand slid down the impression of his cock and held softly onto the round flesh at the base. “Husk did this to Angel once —- it seems so low but…” Alastor’s face was hidden by his bangs but when you gently squeezed and rubbed at his balls and the base of his cock his shoulders trembled. “Does it feel good?” When he lifted his head to kiss you again you moved the microphone to his mouth, “Tell him.”

Your boldness affected you both but in different ways. You avoided direct eye contact and Alastor hissed against a moan. He had been hoping to see you as overwhelmed and meek as before, but this turn of attitude was making equally strong waves through his resolve. How far could he take it? How far would your comfort allow it?

When your fingers slowly crept up his length his hiss filtered through static before an airy moan popped over the speaker of the radio.

His fingers quickened their sweet assault against your g-spot as your own hand began what was becoming a mock jerking off.

Every second seemed to loosen Alastor’s snarky facade. His smile was wavering as he cut into his bottom lip with the force of his sharpened teeth pressing into them. Groans and sighs littered the space between you both as neither of you could worry any longer about hiding how good your hands felt on each other.

Alastor tested the waters of his next step, fingers pulling out and spreading the slick from your dripping entrance. From hole to clit his hand moved with ease.

“Now, a bite?” His head pushed the microphone you gripped onto for dear life with one hand out of his way. “Just….” He took a moment to slow his breathing, your hand stilling to help, “a little more. I promise to not… I won’t be a glutton.”

You didn’t know what a bite meant, and he watched your wide eyes search his face for understanding.

“Just a nibble.” His chest heaved as he waited. 

The weight on the first word comforted you. That precious understanding of what was in jest was translating into what was too far. 

You nodded, the slight fear of the unknown in your eyes endearing you to him. Most fear he gave was something short lived, as was its bearer. But watching you trust him to guide you through that dark new place despite being scared of the uncharted territory stirred something in his chest. 

He could just eat you up. If you’d let him. 

“Take off all of this, and turn around.”

He pulled away, gesturing at your pants and panties. When you hesitated he grinned, the lamp going dark with a snap of his glistening fingers. Just the soft green glow of the assumedly unnecessary equipment and the red light of Pentagram City lit you now. 

You stood and began to lower your pants, “Niffty isn’t lurking somewhere is she?”

Alastor only laughed, the dim yellow backlight of the radio wavering with the frequency.

Naked from the waist down, you felt your arousal quickly waning. This was more than anyone outside of a doctor’s office had seen of you. But the extinguished lamplight helped.

“Oh! Yeah,” you’d forgotten the second half of his request. Turning around you stood stock still as you listened to his pants rustle behind you. Soon the heat of his body was against yours again. You tried to measure his size by the feel of it pressed into your ass and lower back. The height difference was making it difficult but you knew he was more than you’d seen in the few videos Angel shared of his work.

“Bend over and put your hands on the table.”

Just a nibble. was your internal mantra as you did as you were told.

“Cross your legs at the knee.”

That wasn’t … that was new. It was all new but that was truly unexpected. He stepped back, the skin cooling from the sudden loss.

You could hear the wet sounds of something happening behind you before feeling the heat floating off his body again despite him not quite touching you. But he was close, and it had your heart stuttering in your chest.

A bite. 

His cock slid between your thighs, swollen head catching on your clitoral head as he bottomed out. His balls were firm against the back of your legs as he stilled.  His breath shuddered above you. 

The staff had been forgotten, leaning against the desk to your side. 

It finally dawned on you that you were the cake in this meal, and you were fine with it as he began to thrust. Every pass was constant slippery contact with your clit, his head passing over twice for an added jolt each time.

This was a bite, you had to wonder how it’d feel if you let him devour you. The idea was becoming more and more agreeable with every slap of his body into yours. 

His own leaking precum mixed with what you assumed to be spit and made him glide with ease. There was that mounting feeling again, the build up of pressure. The table wasn’t cutting it anymore, flat palms didn’t let you expend the wild bouts of energy bouncing beneath the skin.

You reached tentatively for the staff and pulled it in front of you, perpendicular to your embarrassing position. Both hands around the long black handle, you tightened.

Alastor seemed determined to run every centimeter of his length between your thighs, pulling his cock out entirely before popping it back in.

His grunts were still soft, nothing bestial about it despite how much like animals you felt you acted. 

When your arms gave up and you let your cheek rest against the table, the new angle changed Alastor’s position.

A yelp, not of pain but excited shock, burst out of your open mouth as his head caught on your entrance before slipping back out.

You hadn’t wanted to go further than whatever this was, but every time his thick head threatened to fully penetrate you wished it’d just force its way in. 

Closing your mouth to keep from drooling onto his precious desk, you found your sounds didn’t stop. His grunts and groans accented with your own high pitched noises quickly filled the once silent room.

Tighter and tighter your core twisted. You wanted to ask him to go faster, and as if he was already in your mind a hard thrust knocked your head into a piece of equipment. The obscene sound of his balls smacking into the backs of your thighs grew in intensity as his pace changed. Alastor’s rutting was shortened now, a staccato as he kept his shaft buried against your lower lips. He only moved enough to keep his head entering and exiting the other side.

The hands on your hips had gone largely unnoticed until then, but the pain of his nails now digging into you opened your mind to the other sensations.

The ache in your thighs, the pins and needles in your feet, the dull ache in your head where you hit the metal. 

The stinging of raw skin being hit again and again with every return of his hips.

You didn’t jump when Alastor’s head came to rest atop of yours, his ragged breaths huffed into your cheeks and his typically pin straight hair curling with sweat as it stuck to your face.

The rhythm slowed, and you felt his cock twitching against you before you noticed the warmth spreading with each strong spurt. Strategy or luck, you fleetingly considered, Alastor came mostly into your folds than on the desk. 

It wasn’t luck though. He fought the instinct to cum deep, as in this case it’d just dirty his work station. And it’d be wasteful, as he felt sure he’d been successful in arousing your hunger.

You let your hips go slack, him slipping out from your thighs, before his firm hands pulled you up again.

“Full?” His tone was laced with mockery as his lips mouthed it into your ear.

When his hips began to move again and spread his seed like lube you could only keen for more.

“Needy.” He whispered as he focused his movements to bully your clit.

“That’s-,” you ground out, “How are you so good at this?” The question came out rushed and lacking distinction between the words. Deja Vu. 

He tutted, “I’m also a skilled pianist, but I don’t often find the desire to play. Should I speak of this in terms of musical instruments now or can we call an ace an ace?”

A wanton moan tumbled out of you. “S’not the expression. Spades.”

“What’s that now?” He dealt a particularly harsh thrust and slowed to a stop.

Shaking your head no, you tried to squeeze your thighs tighter.

When he didn’t move, you shook your hips a little. 

It was desperate, and Alastor loved it.

“Let’s call an ace an ace, fine, please —,” it ached, somewhere deep in your guts there was a frustrating desire for something. 

“Say it plainly.”

“I want more. I want you to keep going. Keep moving.”

“See, was that so hard?” He practically sang it.

Alastor waited for you to wet your lips to reply before beginning again, knocking the breath out of your lungs. If he remembered correctly, a steady pace always did the trick. With his own annoying fog of arousal lifted it was easy to focus on you. When he hit an angle that made you spasm and twist your hands around his microphone staff, he held you still in place and fucked your thighs with even speed.

You found your breaths shortening with each escalation of tension, each notch bringing you closer and closer to something you were uncomfortably in need of. You’d do or say nearly anything in that moment to reach that peak but you’d dissect that vulnerability later. 

A restrained scream let him know you were almost there, to not let up.

And then you tensed, body shaking from toes to shoulders, your legs twisted and he felt the squeeze as your own base instincts made you rock back onto his cock.

The wave hit, but as you kept your slow grinding you found aftershocks spiking through your body. From that same aching place in you there now we're hills of overwhelming pleasure spreading out until it bounced off your fingertips and echoed across your nerves. 

Only when you felt your muscles whining over the (just moments ago) deafening orgasm did you stop and let your body once again fall slack onto the table. Your lower half slid down until your knees found the floor and your head rested against the edge of the desk.

The room was silent beyond your pants, his soft chuckle, and the low static of an empty station playing on the radio.

After several moments to collect yourselves, Alastor broke the quiet, “What did you call it? A sweet tooth?”

You turned to sit on your ass and look up at him. He leaned down and offered both his hands to help you up.

Your legs were wobbly, so you clung to his forearm. “Yeah.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” You watched as he leaned over and turned off the broadcasting equipment, casting the room in relative darkness. When he offered you your pants and panties, kindly retrieving them from the floor for you, you chuckled softly.

“Still pretending your machines were doing anything?” Your panties stuck to your skin, making you grimace. The entire thing was pleasurable, that was a fact you couldn’t argue. But now that you were clear from the siren call of touch, you felt entirely disconnected from the experience. The mental image of being bent over the table with your pants at your ankles was mortifying and the fact you would have agreed to anything he asked if it meant he kept fucking you in whatever way that could have be called… cake was better, maybe. Easier. Less messy even if you ate it with your hands. 

Though if he asked, and if the friendly and playful kisses got carried away again… You noticed Alastor was staring at you in the dark, ears straight into the air as faint red light bounced off of them. 

“Who's pretending? Assuming he was home, Vox heard the whole thing from his stupid little AM/FM radio by his bed.” The glow of his eyes brightened.

You dropped your pants. “Vox?” Alastor hummed in reply. “The stalker was Vox? Of the Vees?” you slumped into his chair, hands sliding down your cheeks and pulling your skin with it so the pink of your bottom eyelids peaked out, “I thought you were joking.”

“Joking? I never joke, you should have figured that out by now.” He patted your head and picked up his staff, “Though…it was funny, wasn’t it?”

The embarrassment and shock quickly faded as your body gave up on the more difficult feelings, already too tired to carry them, and your only reply with a slightly unhinged laugh. 

“I knew I could make you laugh.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

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

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk  , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  @fizzled-phoenix   , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl  @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog  , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[aroacedaddy]

The Big Part (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

A huge thank you to @darling-dovey for their donation to the Lillith Fund in honor of making today Hell’s Greatest International Women’s Day! @hellsgreatestevents 💖 I wouldn’t have written this otherwise

Alastor x Recently deflowered fem reader

You thought maybe you could find some relief outside of the Hotelier’s arms, but couldn’t bring yourself to go very far. Luckily Alastor has the mind, mouth, and tentacles to bring you anywhere.

「warnings/promises: SMUT, pussy is food and friend, I am not beating the food kink allegations omg, Alastor eats pussy like an ice cream, voyeurism, slight hint of maybe danger, heights are scary but pussy goes brrrrr, weird tongue, Alastor politely tells you to stfu and let him COOK, kinda territorial Alastor, biting, scratching, stupid title is a reminder I don’t take myself too seriously」

The Big Part: The Wettening

MDNI or I will institute a bed time

smut starts at this divider

You’d tried and failed to avoid asking Alastor for another night together. Sincerely tried, and spectacularly failed. Somewhere in pentagram city a very sweet aquatic sinner named Samael texted your phone worried, having not heard back since you left the bar ‘Tease’. Angel had kindly recommended it when you asked about places to meet new people. He saw through the euphemism.

But when you and Samael made out in a dark hallway, you found your mind stuck on Alastor. 

When their hand slid up your skirt, you went still. They weren’t as soft as Alastor’s. They weren’t as warm. When Samael’s touch retreated to your hips, you felt another set materialize.

Alastor’s larger hands seemed to ghost over theirs as if he were in the wall behind you and pulling you back into his broad chest. A burning bright image of him flipping you onto your stomach in your bed appeared behind your clenched eyes.

Your tongue slowed in the sinner’s mouth. You could feel Alastor. You could sense him. Like hearing a sound that reminded you of a long lost feeling, every move made by your would-be new lover was mirrored with a triggered memory of the radio demon. 

Their hands slipped up your shirt, fingers reaching your bra. Alastor had never touched you there. 

“Little Doe,” echoed down the hall, your hands shooting up and pushing away the other sinner. 

And you ran. Ran back to the hotel.

Where now you sat, perched on the mezzanine balcony of the lobby with your skirt around your waist and Alastor’s mouth on your inner thigh. 

To see him on his knees outside of your bed was a fever dream. Maybe the liquor finally hit your bloodstream, maybe it was the warmth of his tongue, but you felt weightless at the sight. Did he know you were committing the scene to memory?

Dark red eyes watched your face intently. Every twitch of your brow was his to take in. 

But a loud buzz made Alastor stop sucking purple marks along your skin.

Your phone vibrated its way out of your scrunched up skirt pocket and tipped out. Your gasp was sharp and you immediately turned to the sleeping Husk on the bar. But the crashing of your phone didn’t come.  

Alastor’s shadow tentacle had caught it. Tenderly his appendage tilted the phone up so he could read the display.

Incoming Call

Unknown Number

Foolishly, you sighed the sinner's name, ‘Samael.’

And with that, Alastor dropped the phone and it hit the lobby floor with an echoing crack.

Your head tipped back to see Husk stir from his place on the bar, but your body kept moving. Your precarious spot atop the thin banister was lost as your body weight shifted too far in the wrong direction.

But much like the phone, you found your body cradled in several writhing appendages. Alastor was holding you safely above the lobby. As you caught your breath you peeked down at your phone. Shattered. Your heart fell a little with it, but bounced back and caught in your throat. Was he feeling jealous? 

Territorial would be the better word, if you’d asked him. It was rude to offer yourself to someone and then seek out others. 

The air cooled your kiss marked skin as the loss of his mouth started to settle in. Alastor was pulling his hair into a small pony tail and adjusting your position when you turned to see what his next steps were.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You croaked, a little braver now. 

“I’m not very nice.” His tone was darker than his usual way of speaking. There was a threat in the lilt of his voice that made a shiver creep up your spine. 

“Do you want to go to my room?” Your bravery waned as your suggestion came out a question.

On his knees, back straight, he brought your body upright. Through upsettingly long lashes, he stared up at you with an expression he hadn’t given before. A cutting edge to the gaze, a low level of agitation. 

The conversation from when you made it back to the hotel floated to the forefront of your mind.

“If you wanted your next first taken, you should have asked. I thought we had a deal. They’re mine.” He’d hissed against your hair when you’d returned home, having stopped you on your way to the elevators.

“We never said tha-,” he didn’t let you finish.

“Oh? How odd! To think I missed the opportunity to offer my help formally.” He slipped past you, turning on his toes to lean down and present his hand. “I’ll continue to be your literal bedfellow, but all first experiences are mine to take.”

And you took it. You shook his hand and saw the terrifying true face of the radio demon in the flesh. 

“Now, I believe I left off,” his hand slipped from yours and grazed your hip, “down here.”

“I was under the impression you liked open spaces like balconies, hallways.” His nails raked down the underside of your thighs. There was no pain, the scratch left unseen red lines behind that had a surprising reaction. Your pussy clenched at the stimulation. 

The comment slipped past you, mind focused on his nose sliding up your inner thigh and now slowing. You didn’t need to ask him what the next lesson would be.

When his face met your center he opened his mouth and licked at your panties from the bottom swell of your ass to the top seam. His soft, wet muscle pressed in causing the now damp fabric to cling against your lower lips.

Another swipe, harder and slower, of his inhuman tongue. 

Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth. If you tried to breath through your mouth you’d begin panting at the anticipation.

While you struggled to keep your composure, Alastor mused on how much he enjoyed eating. He found every piece of his meals delicious; every bite and every drop. 

That precious breath you tried to conserve was squeezed out of your lungs when your whole body tensed. Alastor’s open mouth was planted around your entire cunt, tongue rolling over the thin cloth between him and you.

Your next breath was a gasp, followed by a moan against your clenched teeth. Husk was still downstairs. Still asleep. Still present.

Mercifully, Alastor rolled your panties down, slipping one foot out and letting them fall to the floor.

His eyes stayed on your now exposed quim as he spoke, “All this mess just for me?”

As you squirmed, you heard the barely audible canned studio audience laugh track coming from thin air around you. He’d seen you naked twice now but every time it seemed he lingered more and more. You couldn’t call his gaze loving or aroused though. The dimly lit balcony allowed his eyes to glow a little more, the soft red illuminating your lap like a fierce blush. Alastor looked reverent, you dared to think. 

Alastor hadn’t considered sex that day, but this was something different. Some things were just enjoyable as they were, no pesky context or connotations. In life and in death he found himself always quite content to devour.

He’d hoped to elicit more from his virginal friend, to make you suffer and wiggle for a bit longer. But the sight before him, glistening and clenching pussy he knew only he’d touched before made him salivate. No one had eaten you out yet. No one knew your taste so directly. You’d yet to feel what a nimble tongue and fingers could do.

No, he couldn’t wait anymore. 

Your thighs instinctively closed around his head when his tongue licked up your slit. No barrier anymore. Flattened and not too strong, Alastor ran his spit covered tongue over and over your pussy.

You felt like an ice cream. And you felt like you were melting just the same.

With slow and deep breaths you focused on keeping quiet. It wasn’t that anything was particularly intense. It was the novelty of someone’s mouth on the previously unseen part of yourself. In less than a week you had gone from asking a near stranger to aid in losing your virginity to getting eaten out suspended above the hotel lobby. 

Everyone tasted a little different, everyone’s scent informing their particular flavor. He paused and buried his nose against the top of your clit and partially into your bush and inhaled deeply. He could sense the blood rushing beneath your skin. He could feel the faintest heartbeat in your now perky hooded bud of nerves. He could smell the sweat forming at the junction of your inner thighs and hips. 

You watched his eyes roll back and shut as he took in your scent. His thin brows knit together and the faintest groan reached you.

Without opening his eyes, his lips slid apart and his long tongue followed after. Gently, as the appendage was soft and malleable unlike fingers, it slipped effortlessly inside you. 

Small and thin, it seemed to push in for so much longer than made sense. You couldn’t tell if it was the new sensation being indecipherable for your brain or if his tongue was truly that extended.

His mouth lowered to bottom out into you, that pointy nose nudging the underside of your clit as he made small thrusts of the base of his tongue.

Weird. It felt weird. Not bad, just like something had slithered inside of you and was rolling around against your delicate walls.

A vulnerable moan from Alastor brought your attention back to the man behind the muscle. Your thighs were pressing in around him tighter with every push of his tongue against your internal g-spot. You’d found that button of sorts to be much more important than you’d known before Alastor’s lessons.

He pulled away, your legs parting with his sudden loss of contact.

“You’re too tense still.”

You huffed, eyes rolling, “How can I relax with your face on my… self.”

“I can feel it here.” A finger entered you, turned, and pressed up into the g-spot he’d just been licking. He pushed and you folded a little inward.

“This should be softer. Maybe I rushed in a little head long.” It sounded like he was thinking aloud rather than talking to you. 

Large hands crept up your outer thighs and yanked you back onto his face, tentacles cushioning your back against the harsh wooden railing now digging into your spine.

They were more solid than you’d imagined, but you’d only seen them on static interference laden TV broadcasts. Scrolling headlines, ‘THE RADIO DEMON RAMPAGES’ ‘CANNIBAL OVERLORD DESTROYS CITY BLOCK’

Looking over your own body at the sinner whose mouth was returning to you core, a new chyron was proposed, ‘HOTELIER EATS RESIDENT’.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to relax like this.” His finger languidly pumped in and out of you, not making the kind of friction you had gotten used to from Alastor. 

“You’re misunderstanding the use of the word here.” A gentle scolding spoken low and heady into your mound before a shockingly soft kiss to your pussy proper. Another, and then another. His mouth parted and again his tongue passed over your clit.

It reminded you of making out with Samael in the bar hallway earlier that night. Alastor had never kissed you, but why would he? This was purely a matter of checking off boxes for him. 

He withdrew his finger, without removing his mouth, and pushed back in with two. Again he maintained a very slow, almost teasing pace.

“I didn’t think you’d want to— have sex again.” You felt the tightening in your lower abdomen. His fingers were rigid and when you writhed under the slurping and wide tongue caresses of his mouth they pushed and pulled at your entrance.

“I don’t. Not particularly.” When he looked at you over your own mons with hazy eyes, the neediness grew in you. His smirk widened, your cunt spasming around his digits.

“Then what is this?”

He shrugged, “For me? A snack.”

A pause to his snacking as he sensed your focus shift from his ministrations to the topic. With a sigh he again unlatched, “It’s your body. You decide what this is.”

The idea rolled around in your quickly emptying skull. Did you want to call it sex? Technically you were pretty sure it was… you briefly wondered what people considered it during Alastor’s lifetime.

A gentle suck to the top half of your pussy, overly sensitive clit only touched by the slick insides of his mouth, banished verbal thoughts. You gasped at the tender touch and let your eyes close. The warmth was inviting, and if you weren’t so precariously situated you’d maybe chase that heat with your hips.

He huffed through his nose, unhappy with something. Alastor liked the visual of hanging you over the banister, and the challenge of making you forget the very real danger of falling with just his mouth. But you still seemed distracted. His hair fluffed in agitation. 

His forgotten claws gripped the flesh of your thighs, the slight tingle of the previous scratches was forgotten. Sharp pins of pain brought clarity to your loosening thoughts.

Alastor reluctantly lowered you to the carpet, head just shy of touching the banister. His shadow appendages, if anything so tactile can be called that, withdrew with a pop of static. 

Relief flooded your busy nervous system and you genuinely found your body easing into the ground. Which softened beneath you, almost coming up to hug the curves of your body.  

Your eyes opened to find the room darker than it had been. And when Alastor’s fingers crooked up with an exploratory hit to your g-spot your hands reached out and tried to grab the carpet. Instead you gripped and bundled blankets.

It was dark, but as your eyes adjusted you realized it was your room. The only light was the eerie sanguine color of his radiant eyes faintly seen between your legs.

And then they disappeared, and that flattened tongue style of licking like you were a quickly vanishing dessert returned in time with the fingers pulsing up and down inside you.

The mess of Alastor’s saliva mixed with your own lubrication was carrying the lightning shocks of pleasure like water with a live current. As he suspected, you weren’t giving in to the sensations properly in the lobby.

And he found it difficult to enjoy his meal when his dinner mate wasn’t comfortable with the venue.

In the lightnessless of your room, the absence of Husk’s snoring now a deafening silence that covered you and then dissipated like vapor, you could feel your body surrendering.

A wet noise rose to your senses, loud and sharp as Alastor’s tongue slipped up between your folds to gather and softly suck your juices off your skin. Another hungry moan from the deer demon and your hips rolled into his face for more. 

It felt good, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how to finish. The normal pressure of an orgasm wasn’t building. A very literal ache echoed in your guts for penetration, to feel your insides jostled with the fervent slap of Alastor’s hips.

“I need more.” You whispered, “I don’t know how long I’ll… need, like this.”

His mouth came to your thigh and kissed the slick flesh there. You could feel how wet his chin was. 

“Sex isn't all about the finish, you need to learn to just enjoy pleasure as it is.” That usual tone of his made the topic seem carefree and casual despite your twitching cunt just inches from his kiss-swollen lips. 

You huffed a laugh, “I thought this wasn't sex.”

A quick bite to your thigh, “Hush. Do you want to continue?”

You nodded.

“Oh, yeah. Yes please. Sorry.” 

“Little doe, leave your busy mind and let me enjoy myself.” He slid you down further on the bed and let his breath sink over your dripping sex. “Unless it’s praise or a boundary, stop talking.”

Another nod in the dark, you unsure if he could see or feel it, before his tongue returned.

Alastor lapped at your hole, his fingers not slowing as he traced your entrance around them with the tip of his tongue. He prodded lightly, briefly considering fucking you with all three, before he came home to his place at the top.

Every few minutes he would stop the somewhat erratic paced movements against your folds and clit to lick at the slick his fingers fucked out of you. The rewards of his tongue's labor. You were sweet. Not in the sense of a fruit, but in the way you made his taste buds rise and his saliva pool in his cheeks to taste more.

A taste only he knew. His hand lifted your legs and pushed them back, your pussy was squished between your thighs as they were a little closer together than they could be when his head was between them.

Soft. Your flesh was so soft as his face pressed in to get as much of his mouth as possible into contact with your body. His chin rested on his palm as his fingers bent and bullied your g-spot. It was squishy and gave away much easier, his sign you were unwinding beneath him. 

Unlike the other times, Alastor found himself completely drifting away. A small trance set in as he found a deep pleasure in eating you out. Your gasps and pleas of where and how hard to lick were a drifting song. When your thighs began to shake in his palm, pussy tightening around his fingers, he opened his eyes to watch you in the darkness.

Your face was screwed up in focus, blanket fisted and pulled taut. He watched, enjoying your full body shakes as a small orgasm rolled through you. He knew one would bubble up if you just gave in. Alastor’s head moved side to side in small movements to let his lax tongue jostle your clit as you finished and began to unclench around him.

A sigh into your muff, his fingers pulling out slowly. He lowered his face and let your legs go slack before entering you one more time with his tongue to gather and suck what precious sweetness he earned. 

You felt him adjust himself on the bed, the weight shifting on the mattress as he moved towards you, and wondered if he’d suddenly disappear again. 

But instead you felt your face gripped in his hand, lips brushing against your. A flutter in your chest if you’d get a real kiss from him. 

“Please do remember our deal. You’re not too cute to devour whole.” He tilted your head back and took a tiny nip at your jawline, “Next time you're wanting, come to my room.”

His body slid away from yours and made its way to the door. A pause in the sound of his steps as he considered something.

Alastor was a fair man. He gave warnings before he gave punishments. 

“I don’t share.” 

And as if entirely for the dramatic effect, he used the bedroom door to exit and shut it a little too hard behind him. 

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

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

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk  , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  @fizzled-phoenix   , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl  @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog  , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[aroacedaddy]

Black Antler Buck

This is absolute filth and I am not sorry.

Alastor X Doe! Reader. Rut fic. Word Count: 5K.

Absolutely no minors, Zero, zilch, na dah. I mean it, this is 18 + Adults only.

It always started as an itch.  

Not in the metaphorical sense, it always started as a physical itch.  

Alastor's skin would become hypersensitive to the point that any slight variation in cloth would cause his skin to itch. He had ripped out any tags present on his garments by the seams many many years ago. Yet every year his nerves always managed to find something. A raised stitch here. A pulled section of the weave there. A wayward thread.  

Every year, without fail, he would find some ways to itch.  

And that was only the beginning.  

He hated the fall.  

What was once one of his favorite times of the year became his season of torture. Memories of frightful masks and chilled air were replaced with hot skin and a boiling pot of lust read to spill over. Hell had two options, blistering heat or frozen wasteland. It was quickly on its way to the latter as Alastor made his way down the darkened street. The wind was cutting and cold would creep in to the bones of any uncovered fingertips. Yet Alastor was fine, the cold air felt rather pleasant on his heated skin.  

The building and general crowd of the city began to fade as he made his way further and further into the outskirts. As the sidewalk ended it gave way to endless desert, which would become tundra as the cold progressed. Nothing. No building, no road, no person ahead as far as the eye could see. Or so it appeared at least.  

Alastor allowed himself to slip into the shadows. Transporting himself to his destination in a matter of minutes. While it wasn't the flashiest of his powers, it was the most useful. The journey to his destination was at least a four-hour drive by car, supposing you didn't run into any trouble along the way. It would have been a full day of travel if you decided to walk there. How anybody else got there he had no clue, and that was by design. Anonymity was a key part of its existence after all.  

Alastor manifested out of the shadows near a small collection of rocks. Completely innocuous to most anyone. Alastor checked the time on his watch before fastening up a black jacket over his clothes. He then pulled up its black hood over his head. Allowing the black mesh attached to the front to fall in front of his face before securing it to the jacket with the attached buttons. The hood was irritating on his ears, and the mesh was hot and hard to see through but it was mandatory dress code.  

Now properly dressed Alastor knelt down to the rock, pressing a small custom coin onto a discoloration in the stone. The quiet click of a latch reached his ears as he lifted up the rocks. The hinge of the trap door was well oiled and silent as Alastor made his was down the stone stairs.  

 He wasn’t sure what triggered it this year. Normally he could handle his season. Or at the very least keep himself cooped up for the worst of it. But something about this year- probably stress from the hotel- drove him to near madness. He was sure he had worn down the finish on the floor from how much he paced in the night.  

The stairs led down to a solid wall of stone. Another defense mechanism. Alastor found the crack in the stone and slid his coin through. It was clear this place was designed for animal sinners, considering it expected its guests to find their way to it with no light whatsoever.  

Alastor waited for a few breathes, double checking the time in his mind again. He was at his assigned window of entry he was sure of it. Just as panic started to swell, the stone slid to the side, the low light of the room welcoming him as he stepped in. The lobby was empty, save for a singular woman who sat at the front desk. “The Watering Hole” was craved into the stone above her, lit with low warm fluorescent lights.  

An establishment that catered to animal sinners seeking partners for their season. Completely anonymous and secure. Nobody outside of it knew about it and nobody inside of it talked about it. Alastor himself wasn’t even sure how he’d been selected to join. The coin and instructions written in code were slid under his door one day. Once he figured out the code and went to investigate, he had been stopped at the wall at the end of the stairs. A force unlike anything he had seen or felt before or since came over him and he woke up in a small room. A voice prattled off his information, aspects of his life that he swore only he knew. After being thoroughly intimidated he was made aware of the rules.  

Everything is anonymous, unless an individual wishes to disclose their identity, which they do so at their own risk.  

Everything is consensual.  

And once you step out of the facility everything you heard, said or saw becomes something you didn’t hear, say or see.  

Follow these rules to the letter or else, no exceptions bar one. Should something you do in these walls follow you out of them, the facility will contact you and handle the issue on a case-by-case basis.  

For the longest time this vague clause in the rules confounded him.  

If the whole point is anonymity what would follow you out? At first, he thought this may be for a stalker situation. Only recently-- in part thanks to the hotel's resident porn star-- that it occurred to him this probably referred to STD’s.  

Perhaps it was a catch all sort of thing, giving the facility and whoever ran it, grounds to meddle if they felt so inclined.  

All could be true or none could be, Alastor wasn’t particularly worried about it at the moment. 

Right now, all he wanted was the fog in his head to dissipate and the hard on in his pants to go away.   

Alastor waited for the receptionist to wave him forward before placing the coin on the desk and stepping back. The woman grabbed it and placed it on a small square plate that glowed once it was placed. She then reached under her desk, the sound of a drawer pulling open and files being sorted through drifting up. She reemerged with a thin file, opening it and flipping to the second of the two pages that were in it.  

She grabbed the page and placed it under the desk once more, a thunk sound could be heard, like the sound for punching in and out of a workplace. The page was then set back at home in the folder and put back in its drawer. Her movements were crisp and meticulous like this was all she did every day.  

Maybe that is what she did all day.  

The stone was placed toward him once more, the woman leaned forward, pointing to a hall off to the side.  

“Down this way, turn right at the second hallway, third door on the right.”  

Alastor retrieved the coin once more, beginning to make his way down when he heard the receptionist speak once more.  

“So are you gonna...” She made a vague gesture to the top of her head with both her hands. Alastor was confused a moment before getting the hint.   

Alastor closed his eyes a moment, feeling the top of his head shift as he allowed his antlers to extend out from there compact structure to the full spread. The bone slid through the top of the hood like butter, splaying out to the 8 points they currently were. 2 more were sprouting towards the ends, soon he’d be a proper 10 points. Internally Alastor chuckled, knowing in his life he would have loved to bag a 10-point buck.  The thick bases, normally cumbersome felt comforting and natural in his rut addled state, focusing his mind back to the task at hand.  

“Well well” the receptionist muttered under her breath as he passed her to head down the hall.  

~ 

The room for the cervides was cool, ambient rustling and chirping noises being pumped out from some unknown source. It was a little too ‘on the nose’ for you personally. Just because you’re a deer doesn’t mean that the meeting room had to be a damn forest. You supposed however, that maybe some of your fellow deer demons, or deermons as you jokingly called them, needed that atmosphere.  

In any case you appreciated the temperature control.  

Your heat this year was killing you.  

It was so bad that you’d finally took the time to rummage around your dresser to find that stupid coin that let you into this place.  

It was clear you were the strongest in the room so far, by a large margin. The second you had stepped in your scent had overpowered everything. Most of the other females flocked toward you. As you settled atop a large stone structure against a far wall, they all settled near you, awaiting your judgement on any approaching males.  

And approach they did.  

Strutting, calling, posing, running into each other and locking antlers.  

All of them perfectly serviceable, but none of them were what you needed. This heat felt different. Normally your heats consisted of a throbbing ache in your core, paired with a sensitivity and skittishness that was annoying as hell. This time it felt like a pain from the top of your throat to the tip of your hooves.   Every time your walls convulsed, begging to be filled, your chest would follow suit causing spasms.  You’d fucked yourself thoroughly with every toy you owned before coming here, just so you could keep a level head.  

But that was only a short-term solution. You needed a buck, one that could properly chase you, pin you and mount you. Your heat craving power and protection, you needed someone as strong or stronger than you. To quell this heat, you’d need a near bombshell of a buck, and the only adequate spread before you simply wouldn’t do.  

Leaning back on the stone you relaxed, allowing your mind to drift as you waited for something worthwhile to walk through the door.  

~ 

An enclosed path greeted him as Alastor walked into the instructed room. Tight and narrow, foliage crowding either side. He’d always appreciated the attention to detail this place had. He moved swiftly following the sound of clanking antlers to find where others may be.  

The path branched out to a ‘clearing’ in the room. A wall supported a large mound of rocks and before it bucks were showboating. As Alastor stepped out into the clearing, he walked into a wall of scent. It was addicting, sweet, salty and rich like some combination of sweat drying on perfumed skin and old leather. Distinctly feminine, it made his palms sweat and his dick twitch. His spine now stick straight, his head swiveled to find the doe that was emitting such a rich aroma.  

Paying closer attention to the center of the action, Alastor noticed that it was only bucks on the ground before him. All of them trying to win over females that weren’t there.  

That was until he paid even closer attention. Following his nose, he moved closer, at first what he thought were shadows of the rock pile were actually the cloaked figures of does. Heads all turned to the action in front of them.  

Yet strangely none of them moved.  

Not a wave or sound, not a single inch of acknowledgment. 

None of them were as great as him, but these bucks couldn’t be that bad, could they?  

As he pondered the peculiar scene a nasty little scrap finished. A slightly smaller buck with blue antlers having successfully pushed his opponent aside, the other conceding defeat.  

The head of the victor, and the heads of the does all lifted up to the top of the rock formation. Following their line-of-sight Alastor noticed a singular doe perched at the top. Casually reclined, her head tilted back to drive home the point that scene in front of here was completely uninteresting to her.  

Ah, now Alastor saw what was going on here.  

A pecking order had been established, and the lesser does were waiting for their leader at the top to pick her mate before they pursued theirs.  

Their leader at the top who was most likely pumping out that devilishly pleasant perfume.  

Well if it was a show she wanted.  

~ 

The heat was cooking you from the inside out you were sure of it. You’re only comfort the cool stone beneath you, cutting through the fabric of your anonymous attire to provide its soothing chill to your heated skin.  

Gods above why did this lot have to be so average.   

All of the struts and battles were barely worth a passing glance.  

Perhaps it would be better to go home at this point so at least the rest of your fellow does could get some.  

A crack, like a strike of lightning rang out, sitting up you tried to locate the source. A buck with a thick sprawling black rack had just used said antlers to rip a limb, the width of your torso, off a tree.  

You were glad you didn’t leave earlier.  

He turned his head expectantly, waiting for one of the other bucks to challenge him. The previous victor began to charge, but he didn’t even get to lock onto him. All it took was one swipe of his head and the black antlered buck had thrown the other to the ground. He raised his head and squared his shoulder preparing for another challenger.  

Two bucks, one on either side of him charged, apparently going for a team attack. The black antlered buck was too fast and clever for it though. He ran quickly toward one of them, locking antlers. Then with a mighty swipe he lifted one challenger and swung him into the other. The two crashing into a heap.  

You’d seen all you needed to see. Your heat wouldn’t hold out much longer, and things were turning just a bit too violent for your tastes.  

~  

Perhaps he had been wrong about his earlier assessment. 

Maybe these bucks truly were that bad.  The second Alastor made his presence known, a majority of them stepped back, conceding then and there. And the three that had tried to fight him were pathetic. One with a blind charge and the other two with a cheap double team tactic.  

No wonder the doe at the top was bored.  

Peering up to see her reaction, only an empty spot at the top of the rocks greeted him instead.  

Alastor felt his rage begin to stir. He took a deep breath in just before it could rise through and he was hit with that scent, infinitely stronger now. It made him want to buckle his knees and jump into the sky simultaneously. Sensing someone behind him, he turned quickly, expecting to face another challenger.  

The doe from the top of the rocks greeted him instead. He had been correct before, that salacious scent was coming from her. It caused his heart to skip and his breath to hitch. Every instinct in his body begging him to grab her, puller her down and mount her right on the spot, but he quelled it just barely.  

Her hand raised, and Alastor swore he almost heard the does behind him gasp in anticipation. 

Her hand hovered just next to his face; in almost any other context Alastor would have assumed he was about to be slapped.  

Maybe he was.  

Mercy was on his side however as the doe’s hand moved down, tracing the outline of his arm without touching him. Diving down, down till it finally moved and grabbed his hand. Lifting it up, the doe then splayed her palm against his, seemingly comparing the size difference. Then she held his hand in her own once more and began to lead him along. Walking backwards for a few paces, slowly, giving him time to retreat if he so wished.  

Fat chance.  

Once it was clear he had made his choice, the doe turned forward, continuing to lead him to the path leading toward the exit.  

~ 

The hall with the suites could only be described as plush. All red and brown and dark lacquered wood.  Once they reached a room that was free, each deer moved to their respective door. Each suite at facility came with private rooms for either partners, each containing a small living area and bathroom. The room proper would have the bed, a fridge and other necessities both for living and for pleasure.   

“So, how do we want to do this?” Alastor spoke before you could open your door, his voice was low and deep, hoarse from heavy breathing. He’d stopped himself from producing the radio static just before speaking. Reminding himself that this was all anonymous after all  

“Heh” you let out a small laugh. “Normally I’d just advocate for dropping trou and getting down to it, but...” you walked over to the tall buck. Getting into his personal space, basking in the raw musk and power that was rippling off of him. He dwarfed you, and your pussy couldn’t help but clench at that fact.  

“After that little display, I think i need every piece of you I can get. So, I say we turn off the lights, take off our clothes and you show me exactly what your made of.” The laugh he gave in response sank into your ribcage, bouncing around causing your heart to flutter.  

“I couldn’t agree more” he replied.  

You sauntered back to your door, hazarding on final glance at the thick antlered buck’s cloaked figure.  

“I’ll meet you on the other side then.”  

~ 

The bottom of the bed was rimmed in red lights. Far too dim to be of any use outside of marking where the bed was. Still, you were able to make out the faint silhouette of your buck’s sprawling rack in the dark. As your door closed, the silhouette turned to face where you were. Hooves met hardwood as he made his way toward you.  

Your palms were splayed out in front of your naked torso so you could stop him before he bumped into you. The sudden shock of warm skin caused your shoulders to jitter. His hands met yours giving himself a reference point as he then moved higher and higher. Cradling your neck with one massive palm he squeezed slightly in warning before pulling you into him. His lips were plush, pillowy and soft as they crashed into yours. His other arm snaked around you, hand against your back so he could pull you even closer to him.  

The kiss was a mess of passionate chaos, the two of you pushing into one another in a fervor. Your hands began to wander, mapping out his torso as his tongue pushed forward to map out your mouth.  

He was thinner than you’d expected, his figure being helped greatly by his massive shoulders. As your hands wandered up to his head, mirroring him by splaying your hands on his neck he began to dip you backwards. The pleasant feeling of your thighs meeting his causing a small gasp to escape you.  

He returned the noise with a pleased hum before moving his head down. Sharp canines bit at your neck before those plush lips attached themselves to the thin skin just under the base of your ear.  Sucking and nibbling, your toes curled and chest convulsed at the sensation. Getting to hear in high definition the delicious noises he was making as he devoured your skin. The vibrations from the noise causing a shiver to run up your spine.  Digging your nails into his shoulders, you desperately tried to ground yourself as he chuckled. Releasing your skin, he licked his way across your jawline before diving tongue first once again into your mouth.  

You couldn’t help the moan that left you, the way his lips crashed into yours once more. You could taste the salt from your skin on his lips. He relented a moment, allowing you to breath before attacking the skin underneath your other ear.  

Becoming jittery once more at the sensation you began moving a hand along his side. His ribs were prominent. You let your fingers ghost over them, feather light touches on the little hills and valleys. You swore you heard him laugh slightly before a sharp bite to your jaw caused you to grab his hip.  

Your fingers found the divot there, allowing it to guide you lower and lower to your prize. Just as you began to feel curls of hair he spoke up.  

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice somehow lower than before.  

“This” you replied moving before he could stop you to grip the base of his cock.  Just like his antlers, it was thick. A vein bulging out at the bottom. You followed it with the tip of a finger, reaching his uncut tip before following it back down. You could hear how ragged his breathing was becoming, his rut surely making him sensitive. You leaned your head into his neck, allowing him to feel the smirk on your face before you moved lower.  

His balls were hot in your hands, heavy with seed as you began to squeeze and massage. Experimenting till you’d found just the right pressure, knowing you’d found it by the moan he let out, quickly followed by a growl. 

“Watch it little doe” he warned.  

“Or what? You gonna stop me? Buck?”  you taunted. You knew challenging him, riling him up was a bad idea, but it was the only way you were going to get what you wanted.  

What you needed.  

The tension was palpable as neither of you moved. If you were going to back down now was your opportunity.  

Fat chance.  

To prove your point, you squeezed his sack once more at that exact pressure again, lips finding purchase on his chest as you sucked, surely leaving a deep hickey on him.  

The growl he let out shot through you as in one swift motion he grabbed your ass and hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.  

Marching over to the bed he threw you down onto it, a hand reaching out and grabbing an ankle before you could get your bearings. The dim lights underneath allowed you to see more of his silhouette, though no real distinguishing features. Gripping your ankle tightly he wretched your leg out of the way, pushing it as far as it would comfortably go.  

Then a swift sharp slap smacked against your pussy lips. An audible wet sound could be heard as he growled and smacked you again.  

You hadn’t even realized how wet you were. The sting from his palm causing you to spill even more.  In this moment you very appreciate that this wasn’t your own bed you were ruining. 

As his massive palm gave your lips one last love tap, he kept his hand still. Using his outer two fingers to splay you out, your walls pulsed at the sensation of open air. Before it could become uncomfortable, he sank his two middle fingers into your pussy without warning. A sharp gasp ghosted out of your mouth. After feeling so empty, finally, finally warm thick skin was coming to fill you.  

He wasted no time as he began to drive his digits in and out of your hole. The sounds in the room now a mix of wet, gasps from you and creaking as he leaned forward above you on the bed.  An overture of sin, lust passion and desire. He began biting at your chest, pain blooming as he played with skin of your breasts in his mouth. Your clit switched in irritation, his hand angled away from it, and his torso blocking your arms so you could not take care of it yourself. The rhythmic pumping of his digits, in and out, forward back, filled and empty was driving you swiftly toward the edge.  

You became restless underneath him, trying to wiggle and adjust yourself in such a way that you could get some friction on your poor neglected clit.     

By the grace of the gods he got the message, a smug and amused chuckle spilling from him as he adjusted his thumb to press against your bud. Your heat addled brain turning to mush, making you convulse and jolt under him. Anything to get him closer, faster, deeper, all you wanted was just more of him. Finally, you reached your crescendo, walls clamping down on his digits in a vice like grip, that you knew would only get tighter with the heat. As pleasure surged through your body your back arched off the bed. A high pitched whine rattling out of your skull.  

As you came down from your high, his hand did not stop. Overstimulation now poking at you, scratching the raw parts of your freshly orgasmed brain.  You huffed at him to stop, kicked your legs out but he kept going.  

Finally, you’d had enough, lunging forward you grabbed the black antlered buck by his shoulders and pulled him on top of you. Removing his hand from your depths to steady himself on the bed. Your grip shifted as you dragged clawlike nails, or nail like claws down his back, while you lifted up and began biting on his neck.  

You need him to mount you and you needed him to do it now.  

Locking your legs around him your rubbed yourself against him, wet arousal coating his hard on. He made no movements for a moment, small whimpers and moans leaving his lips as he took in the sensation. They almost sounded... staticky?  

Your lips moved up to bite at his jaw and he seemed to snap out of his trance. Dipping down he lined himself up with your hole he pushed forward. Your previous orgasm and heat allowing him to enter with minimal resistance. His head neck to your, large antlers keeping you down, unless you wanted to lose an eye, he began shallow thrusts. Sighs let the both of you as your instincts were being satiated. 

You felt hot and cold running up your back, dancing between your shoulder blades. Hands itching to roam you moved toward his ribs again. As you made contact, he stiffened, back rod straight. A low growl rumbled through his chest, he removed himself from your walls and lifted you. Pivoting so the pair of you were lengthwise on the bed.  

On his knees between your legs once more, your felt hands grip your claves, lifting them out and up so eventually your ankles rested on his shoulders. As he entered you once more, he took a sharp breath in. Those massive hands grabbed your arms, his grip sturdy and sure. A warm comfort as your chosen mate for the season began brutally pounding into you.  

Those strong muscled legs thrusting him forward, burying his cock deep into your core. While those lithe arms simultaneously pulled you back, impaling you on him, forcing his length to go even further into your channel.  

The pace was constant and quick, the head of his member pushing over and over against the entrance of your womb.  

You were redeemed and gone to heaven, or at least that’s what your heat was telling you.  Bliss coursed through you as he grunted above you, cockhead bullying your cervix. HIs body rubbing against your button with each thrust. Long loud gasps and moans left you involuntarily. The room filled with moans from the pair of you, wet slapping and thrusting. The symphony grandiose and full.  

You were much, much to far past the point of common decency to mute yourselves. If the people running this place didn’t think to soundproof the rooms, then that was on them.  

You could feel your pleasure scaling once more, calling out to your mate.  

“Fuck i.... Buck please...” You had no idea what you were crying out for. 

“Doe” he gasped out to the air “let me fill you with fawns”  

“Yes, Yes” You cried out, finally losing yourself to pleasure once more. A whine, bordering on a scream left you and your walls clamped down, milking the buck still thrusting into you.  

“Ah, ah, fuck doe, take it take it.” He moaned above you, thrusts stuttering as a final choked moan left him and you could feel the hot release of his seed filling you.  He let go of your arms, dropping forward and caging you under him as your both caught your breath. 

As your breath steadied, sleep began tugging on the edge of your brain.  Normally the idea of sleeping like this, sweaty, smelling of lust, covered in spit with seed dripping out of you would be gag inducing. But right now? Right now, you were a heat heavy deer, content for the time being, freshly mated, with your chosen buck next to you.  

Right now, sleep seemed ideal.  

The black antlered buck seemed to agree as covers moved under you, arms searching you out to drag you next to him.  

Your heat would still be a few more days, as would his rut. But now that prospect didn’t seem as daunting.  

Small breaths against your neck told you and your inner doe that now you were safe and now could sleep.  

[aroacedaddy]

A Misdemeanor Of the Heart: Chapter 40 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

AN: Bonus chapter brought to you by donation from @ladyadrasteia666 in honor of Woman's Day and as a part of the Hell's Greatest International Woman's Day Fundraiser, hosted by @hellsgreatestevents CW: Laurence, talk of murder

Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

Warm arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you each stole goodbye kiss after goodbye kiss in the shade cast by the apple tree’s canopy. Alastor said he needed to head to the station. Scripts needed writing, and he still needed to prepare for tonight’s show. Instead of taking even a step away from you, he kept sealing his lips over yours for one last taste. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you confided in him, lost in the warm brown of his eyes. Everything about him was warm, threatening to burn up the summer heat and you couldn’t be bothered to care. If his fire consumed you, so be it. 

“I don’t want to go either,” Alastor whispered, kissing you between each word. “But I must. And you’ve got a friend to call on.” 

“One more?” you asked, leaning up on your toes, chasing his lips with yours. 

“One more,” Alastor agreed, closing the distance. This kiss was deeper than the others, stealing your breath from your lungs. His fingers flexed on your hip, grip tightening. He pulled your body closer to his, ensuring you were pressed tightly against him. You gasped and his tongue slipped between your parted lips. You tasted the apple you had shared on his lips, sweet and crisp, as he held you tighter. 

“I love you,” Alastor said as his lips left yours, leaving all of you yearning for his touch. “I will do anything for you,” he promised, face serious and smile small.

“I love you too.” You leaned your head into his hand, enjoying the soft caress of his thumb against your cheek. “I’d do anything for you, too.” The words were truer than you dared think about. 

Alastor squeezed your hand in his and let his smile grow brighter. He had to leave, but he could continue his day now, having had his eyes on you. That was all he had needed. He had told himself that as he stood just behind the apple tree. Once he had set eyes on you, he needed more. 

To hear your voice, to feel your body in his arms. Then it was the taste of his kiss he needed. Now he’d had it all and still he was struggling to part from you. He sighed, stealing one last sweet kiss before letting his arms slip from around your waist, stepping away, feeling as if a part of him was ripping from his chest as the distance grew. 

“You’ll come back?” you begged, letting your hands graze his chest as the distance grew greater by the second. “You’ll let me know when I can see you again?” 

“Of course,” Alastor kissed your hand, one last fleeting contact as he moved out of reach. It took everything in you to not follow him. 

“I’ll leave a note,” Alastor promised, “let you know when I can next come by.”

“I’ll leave one too,” you swore, “With my plans when I know them.”

“I love you,” he said, as if he had never said it before.

“I love you too,” you answered as he stepped back. It felt like your feet were rooted to the ground. It was only the strength of those roots that kept you from chasing him. It didn’t matter, you could feel him taking your heart with him.

“Have a good show,” you called as he ducked between the boards in the fence. He turned and smiled at you. One last parting gift before you were alone. 

You stepped into your home, wrapped instantly in the soothing classical music that played between radio shows, records filling the dead air. The house smelled clean, though dust still clung to the surfaces. That would be a chore for another day. If too much was done, it could bring forth questions you could not answer honestly. 

Looking around, you decided the thing to bring Mrs. Montemuro was a pie. There would be plenty of dishes, creamy casseroles and rich comfort foods coming her way, but what a woman needed when she had a broken heart was often something sweet. 

As you pulled open the lid to the heavy flour bin, you cocked your head to the side. At this time of day, it wasn’t common to hear cars on your road. Even less common was for them to stop in front of your home. It wasn’t like people called on you often at all. 

Hesitantly, you stepped from the kitchen toward the living room, hand resting on the stair railing as you listened to footsteps make their way up the walkway. Alastor was the only one that called on you and he had just left. 

The fabric of your apron was rough around your fingers, scratching lightly with each twist of your hands. Every muscle in your body tensed as you stood, waiting to see what would come. Would they knock? Put some sort of delivery at the door? Was it the police coming to arrest you for being an adulteress? Only when the key slotted in the lock did you relax. 

“Laurence?” You called out, trying to force yourself to wear a mask of innocence. How well it worked, you could never know. 

“Baby,” Laurence called out, sweeping into the home. “I’m home for lunch. What have you fixed?” 

“I-” You stumbled over what to say. Laurance always told you when he was coming home for lunch and when he didn’t, you rarely fixed more than food for yourself, if that. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have a slice of crusty bread with preserves. “I wasn’t expecting you home. I haven’t made anything.” 

“Why not?” He asked as he wrapped you in arms you didn’t want touching you. “You’ve clearly been up to something.”

Panic flooded your nervous system, feeling as if lightning struck you. He knew. He saw. Someone had told him. 

“What do you mean?” Your voice trembling only slightly as you spoke.

“You’ve got flour on you, Doll!” Laurence laughed, holding you out as you felt all the strength leave your body. He was talking about the baking. Of course. How else would he know?

Something ate at the back of your mind, a memory you could catch sight of but never grasp. It felt like it was important, but it fled from you each time your mind reached out for it. Something about this morning, when his hands had been wrapped around your neck. It had to be important. 

He had strangled you; you remembered that now. The soreness in your throat made sense once you remembered the fearful feeling of being unable to draw a breath into your lungs. You thought you sobbed it raw, that your mind had checked out as Laurance finished, but his hands stole from you the memory of what was done. 

You put that memory to rest. There was no more reason to chase after fleeting fragments of it. The last thing you wanted was to remember more of what it felt like when he strangled you, when you thought he’d kill you. 

“I was making crust for a pie. Mrs. Montemuro is grieving.” You avoided looking at Laurence as you spoke, leading your way into the kitchen. He walked behind you, only lagging for a moment to switch off the radio, plunging the home in silence. 

“I… I heard on the radio, Mr. Montemuro was found killed this morning.” Killed. It was much more delicate of a word than what they had reported. ‘Murdered’ wasn’t a word for women. Neither was ‘dismembered’. Those were not ladylike words and didn’t belong in the mouths of women. Laurence wouldn’t be pleased to hear you speak in such a crude way.

Alastor wouldn’t have been bothered by it though, would he? 

“I read,” Laurence said, eyeing the neatly folded newspaper. “It was in the paper.” 

“Oh,” you feigned shock. “I- I thought I’d make his wife a pie. She’s going to be getting so many dinners in the next few weeks. I- I figured when a woman is sad, when I’m sad, I like something sweet.” 

“I see,” Laurence looked around, not really paying attention to your words. 

“I- I got a good bit of the cleaning done. The floors and changed the bedding.” You were rambling, struggling to fill the silence, to excuse away a day’s worth of chores done in the morning. “I can- I’ll make you a sandwich- there’s some bread still.” 

“That would be acceptable.”

You glanced at him as he turned, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your task while he disappeared up the stairs. Chewed your lip, wondering if there was any sign of Alastor’s presence up the stairs. A hair? A smudge? The lingering scent of him? 

You didn’t think so, but that did little to help you relax as you sliced the last of the bread. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. It left a bit of the heel of the bread for you, but that was alright. You’d eaten a lot in the last few days. It wouldn’t be a problem to miss a meal. 

“Wrap it up.” Laurence called from the doorway, startling you as you finished the simple sandwich. 

“You won’t be staying?” You asked as you pulled the pie crust from the oven before turning fetching paper to wrap the sandwich. There was an annoyance you tried to hide. If you had known he wouldn’t have been staying, you wouldn’t have dirtied a dish and would have wrapped his small meal straight away. 

“No. Business.” He sneered, “Not your concern.” 

“Right,” you forced a smile on your face as you wrapped the sandwich in butcher paper. Be pleasant. Server your husband with a smile. “Here you go.” 

Laurence took the wrapped package from you but was quick to wrap the arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “No kiss?” 

You swallowed the bile that tried to rise in your throat, ignoring the way it burned. Laurence wasn’t often one to expect displays of affection within the home. More often than not, he ignored you unless he had need of you. 

Leaning up on your toes, you placed a soft kiss on the corner of your husband’s mouth. That wasn’t enough for him, though. Laurence pulled you tighter against his body, crushing you with the force. 

His lips met you in a kiss that demanded entrance into your mouth. Timidly, you parted your lips as his tongue fought to delve inside. Never had he kissed you like this, with the possessiveness that you’d only learned could be communicated within by Alastor. His kiss muffled your cries as he tasted you in a way only Alastor had. 

“Laurence?!” you gasped, stepping away from him as his grip slackened. The scandalized look on your face was far from a farce. Trembling fingers pressed against your mouth, feeling the wetness left behind by his kiss. 

“I simply wanted to kiss my wife goodbye.” The smile on his face had the hairs on the back of your neck raised. “Are you going to walk me to the door?” 

“Of course, Laurence.” You walked stiffly to his side. At that moment, every ache in your hips came back. Fear sent the memory of broken ribs and finger dislocations back to the front of your mind. Being within Laurence’s reach was never safe. 

You didn’t know what was going on, if anything, but you knew that something was off with your husband. 

“I’ll be finishing the pie and then bringing it over to Mrs. Montemuro. As soon as I get back, I’ll start dinner.” You forced a smile on your face as he opened the door. “I’ll see you after work?” 

You hadn’t been able to get Laurence off your mind while you finished the pie. He stalked across your mind like a demon, waiting to destroy the very thought of Alastor should he show himself. 

 Nonsense. You were losing your mind in a sea of nonsense. Laurence must have just been around and needing lunch. There was nothing more to it. You needed the reminder to be careful, but that was all there was to it.

So why did it keep nagging at the back of your mind as you stepped outside of your home, pie cooling and wrapped in your hands? 

It wasn’t a terribly long walk to the Montemuro home. You had hoped to find people there, family and friends eager to support the new widow, but there were just a few reporters milling about. They asked questions that you swiftly ignored as you made your way up the short walk. 

The knock on the door seemed too loud on the still street. The windows were open, curtains rustling in the slight breeze. It was quiet in the house. There was a distinct lack of the voices of friends and family you had expected to hear. Nothing about the home seemed to match what you expected to find. 

“Mrs. Montemuro?” You called out as you knocked again. “I thought perhaps you’d like someone to sit with you.” 

“Mrs. Latimer?” The kindly woman with dark brown hair, neatly cut short in the latest fashion, opened the door to you. She was your elder by a good ten years, but she had always been kind to you. She was dressed neatly now as she always was, clothes in order and shoes on her feet however, they were unbuckled. “Come in?” 

“I had heard what happened,” you said, stepping inside the home. It was grander than yours, more updated, but comparable in size. 

“Please, call me Sarah.” She said as she shut the door, latching the lock. It was clear she had been crying. There was a puffiness to her face and redness rimmed her eyes, but she was also smiling softly.

“Sarah.” You agreed, standing awkwardly as she slipped one foot and then the other out of her shoes. 

“Off with them.” Sarah motioned to your feet. “There’s no need to be uncomfortable right now. No one else is coming.” 

Awkwardly, you toed off your shoes. Thankfully, you’d worn shoes that didn’t have any straps or buckles today. Sarah led you through the house once you tucked your shoes neatly by the door, silence broken only by the ticking of the clock. 

“I- I brought a pie.” You offered, desperate to say something, not sure what the right thing was. 

“I saw,” Sarah said, turning to take it from you as you entered the kitchen. “Shall we share it?” 

“Oh, we don’t have to?” You looked around, waiting for some sibling or parent to jump out of hiding. 

“You wanted to sit with me, did you not?” Sarah shrugged as she set to work slicing the pie, still slightly warm. “Oh, it’s fresh!” 

“I baked it today. I used canned filling. I didn’t have the fruit on hand to make it fresh. I can go, if you’d rather be alone?” You were rambling, but it was so hard to stop it. It wasn’t often that you got to sit and enjoy the company of a friend. Sure, you had grown comfortable with Alastor, but he was something more than a friend. 

“It’s fine.” She waved you away. “Sit, sit. Tea?” 

The fork clattered on the plate as Sarah set it in front of you. It was joined with another serving on the other side of the small table and a pitcher of tea sat between you. It was summer now and the hot beverage was replaced with cold, refreshing sweet tea. 

“How are you doing?” It took effort to force the question out. You hadn’t expected to be alone with the grieving widow without anyone else’s lead to follow.

“I’m alright, all things considered,” Sarah said after a moment. “I can stay here until the estate is settled and perhaps after. That is to be determined. If the house needs selling to cover debts, then I’ll go stay with my brother, I suppose.” 

“You already are thinking of such things?” You asked, eyes wide. “I thought surely you’d have time to grieve before such decisions had to be made?” 

“I am and I do.” Sarah said. “I would rather get things settled sooner. The pie is lovely, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” You were not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your husband seemed to be a great man.” 

“Did he seem so?” Sarah set her fork down neatly. “Because he wasn’t.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You’re a lovely young woman to call on me at such a time. Have you not heard the speculation? The Shadow Butcher rarely takes a victim who is sinless.” Sarah spoke casually, as if she was not disparaging her husband’s memory. “Such was true about my husband.” 

“You seemed so happy together.” Words failed you, fluttering away as you tried to catch the right ones to say. 

“As do you and Mr. Latimer.” Sarah challenged. Your body grew stiff in your seat. “But I’m not a nieve girl. I know what it means when a woman does her makeup heavier than she normally would, when her hats are pulled down over her face or when she wears far more bangles than is typical. I know what it means when she wears long sleeves on a warm day.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” The tremble in your voice called you a lier before Sarah ever could.

“He hits you, doesn’t he?” Sarah’s hand reached out, wrapping around yours. “You can say it here. You can tell me.” 

The laugh you forced out was brittle and near breaking into a panicked screech. “Isn’t that the case for everyone? A woman steps out of her place and it’s the husband’s job to correct her.” 

“Not to that extent.” Sarah’s hand squeezed around yours. “Most wives are not beaten like our husbands beat us. It isn’t normal, it isn’t right. The fact that you, you think it is- oh sweet girl.” 

“It’s not?” Tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at the woman who had all the right to be the one crying right now. She was the one that should cry, had reason to be crying. It felt like you were somehow stealing that from her as a tear ran down your cheek. “I’m sorry,” you said as you wiped it away. 

“It’s not.” Sarah pressed, “The Shadow Butcher? He did me a favor. He saved me. For all the sins he has committed, he is my hero. I’m free now.” As she took a drink of her tea, letting your hand free, she shrugged her shoulders. “I will have standing, his estate and if I do not remarry, society will not fault me.” 

“You’re happy he’s gone?” It sounded absurd coming from your lips.

“I am,” she confirmed. “Don’t get me wrong, I grieve. You can’t share near twenty years of your life with someone and not feel their absence no matter the pain that they brought but, between you, me and the pitcher of tea- I’m glad.” Her smile grew wider, even as a tear ran down her cheek. “I’m glad he was taken out to the bayou. I’m glad he was hunted for sport. I’m glad a part of him is missing. I’ll never be whole again, after what he’s done to me, and now he will never be whole again either.” 

“Do you not fear hell’s fire for what you’re saying? It’s not our place-” 

“Piss on our place. It wasn’t our place to vote until two years ago. If your husband is as harsh with his hands as mine was, I can only hope that he’ll be visited by the Butcher too. Then you can be free to run around with your gentleman.” 

Sputtering protests were interrupted by choking coughs as you inhaled your tea. Sarah passed you a napkin, laughing lightly as your face burned with shame. Fear shone in your eyes. 

“I do not know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh come now, you’re not the first to take up with a lover. Does he treat you well?” Sarah flapped her hand at you while she talked. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t-” 

“Hush with that nonsense. I only know because I spotted him from Mrs. Smith’s tea room. If you want to sneak him into your back garden, he should walk closer to the wall, but Mrs. Smith won’t tell and neither will I. We’ve both had our lovers in our time. If men can have their lovers, why can’t we? Your secret is safe with us.” 

“Thank you,” you said instead of protesting, though it felt wrong to say that too. “He- Laurence would kill me if he knew. I’m sure of it.” 

“Does your fellow treat you good?” Sarah asked. 

“He does.” It felt strange to talk about Alastor with anyone. He had been your secret all spring. “He- he took care of me when Laurence hurt me real bad. Came and checked on me and patched me up. Not once has he forced me to do anything. I’m sure to go to hell, though I’ve not lain with him I’ve…” you shook your head, changing your train of thought before you said too much, “I love him in a way I’ve never loved my husband. But,” 

“You’re stuck.” Sarah offered. “Unless something happens to your husband, that is. I’m so sorry.” 

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