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[ieatcocoa]

Should he do this? No. Would I be mad if he did this…….eeehhhhhh I JUST WANT TO PLAY HOUSE OKAY !

He deserves someone to dote on him! Alastor who injuries his dominant hand and is unable to properly do basic tasks for a while, you come over and cook for him as well as feed him and he’s so embarrassed!! I mean let’s be honest last person to look after his was his mama. Doesn’t stop you, I mean you’re helping him dress, writing out his ideas for potential scripts for future broadcasts, scolding him for trying to use said arm…you kiss his fingers that stick out from his sling <3 he’s so greedy even after he heals he pretends that he still needs you’re help and you’re more than happy to oblige !

This is so cute >.< for this ask we will imagine that Alastor x Reader from Misconduct are in an AU where Vincent doesn’t exist and they’re romantically involved. Poorly written again because I wrote this at uni lmaooo warning for suggestive content, mention of murder and self harm

He didn’t mean to hurt his hand to this extent when he badgered his knife into the neck of a man who wouldn’t stop flirting with you; he tried so hard not to let his pain showcase when you were near him, even when you would thread your fingers through his, he tried so desperately to not make you aware of his pain.

But you were, fortunately, very perceptive of your lovers tells; and when you held his broken hand, you noticed the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly.

It took a while, but you managed to get him to admit that he had hurt himself; whether he told you how depended on whether you knew about his morally malevolent habits or not.

You reprimanded him; obviously, it made you feel so inadequate that he didn’t feel as though you were a safe space for him to tell you of his pain, but you brushed your feelings aside to tend for the man you loved.

He struggled with everyday tasks you had come to figure out; hiding the pain he endured whilst attempting to complete those tasks. So you decided it was best to temporarily stay at his home, regardless of your own responsibilities; you wished to help and assist the man you planned to marry one day.

And he had agreed, rather quickly to your idea, seeming like a child excited with a new toy they had just been gifted.

You began completing every little task for him, even so far as washing his body and hair for him; you always ignored how he would get just a tad excited below the water whenever your bare hands scrubbed his skin clean.

He always held an arm around you as you cooked and washed his dishes for him, forcing you to always become flushed as he only spoke words of endearment into your ear whilst stroking your waist with his free hand.

Whenever he would try to help you, or give you physical affection through his broken hand, you would again, reprimend him. Scolding him like a child before you would inevitably apologise, stating you only wished for him to get better.

And when you laid in his bed, no matter what the two of you were doing during that time, you would place kisses along his broken hand, telling him of how much you loved him, how much you cared about him; how much he meant to you.

He basked in it, loved everything his broken hand had brought him; how it had brought you even closer to him, basically moving you into his home whilst you played the part of his little housewife.

A wife he would make you.

And as the weeks passed by, and his hand ultimately began to heal; he would, to simply have you always with him, break it. Purposefully.

He won’t tell you that though.

He just wants you near him.

[ieatcocoa]

Gonna be honest, I’ll always favor fluff. Don’t get me wrong I can get dirty ! But there’s something about a conversation so silly like this it just makes so so giddy. I cant explain it. Anywho, Frau is the queen of versatility, I can read a toe gripping smut from her then be crying 5 mins later at tooth rotting fluff. She deserves all the flowers ! 💐

Silly Imagine - If I was a worm

When you're chatting in discord with @macabr3-barbi3 and you get dumb, silly Imagine ideas - you have to write them.

Put your pretty finger here to see what she had in mind ;>

*****************************************************************

If I was a worm...

„Would you still love me if I was a worm?“

Alastor looked up from his newspaper, his red mug hovering just before his lips, steaming with hot coffee.

„Darling, that's a ridiculous question.“

You pouted and wrapped your dressing gown tighter around you as you pulled up your legs onto the kitchen chair. „And that's not an answer, Alastor.“

He sighed, folded his paper, set down his coffee and leaned forward, chin resting on the back of his intertwined fingers.

"Yes my sweetling, even if you woke up tomorrow and you were a worm, I would still love you. If you were an amoeba, a snail, a tree, an eel, a snake or a whale."

His grin was amused, but the softness in his eyes, and the tender, loving smile he gave you, made you beam happily.

"Even a dog?"

Alastor picked up his mug and paper again, turning a page while sipping his drink, humming thoughtfully with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Mhhh... No."

"ALASTOR!"

"There has to be a line drawn somewhere, darling."

[ieatcocoa]

am I contemplating drawing a scene for this? Yes, yes I am.

Follow up idea to the person who suggested that lovely birthday doodle request,, Reader who can draw proficiently as a hobby and often sketches folks at the hotel in their sketch book. Alastor is a bit offended that no matter what it seems as though he’s no where in this book, when they retire for the night he brings it up almost as if he’s jealous and they laugh at him. He’s upset because now he feels as though they are making fun of him until they retrieve another book and turns out they draw him in privacy (he’s so special he has his own book) It’s so cute too theres little heart doodles and them holding hands everywhere

Darling, how can I say no to 1) you *handheart* and 2) to such a cute pürompt? Make way, guys, gals and non-binary pals, here comes the fluff-queen!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Pictures of You

“ME NEXT! ME NEXT!” You tugged your sketchbook out of Niffty's small but surprisingly strong fingers. The little demon giggled and almost fell from your shoulder, making you laugh.

“Niff, any more doodles of you and I'd have to pay you royalties. Also, Angel asked first.”

You grinned, turning another page of the thick binder to an empty canvas and twirled the coal pen in your hand. Husk had just involuntarily changed his sleeping position from 'face in hands' to 'face on counter', groaning at the impact, so you wanted to start anew. Niffty resumed to braid your hair – you often let her just do what she wanted, she had a knack for it anyways – and huffed. “You only want to draw him because he can do impossible poses.” “Well, he is flexible.”

“Comes with the job, sweet cheeks.” Angel, who had entered through the door, grinned at you, taking his pink heart-shaped sunglasses off while he walked behind you, leaning over your shoulder. “Aw, toots, you really are talented, Husky looks like a snack there. Can I have that when 'ya done?”

“Have what, my effeminate fellow?” Angel jumped as Alastor materialized behind him without warning, releasing a startled 'Jesus Christ on a cracker!' while his lower set of arms clung onto your tensed shoulders. The radio demon laughed heartily, bending over slightly to look past Angel's head. He craned his neck and reached with his cane, forcing you to lean sideways so he could examine what you were drawing.

You flinched at the contact with the strangely warm metal, but didn't look up from the page. You only gripped the black coal tighter, feeling it beginning to crack. Alastor hummed in what sounded almost fond praise, giving a brief tap to Husk's shape on the paper.

"Marvelous! What a talent you have." he proclaimed. "Although I have to ask again, my dear, how come you never draw me? Surely I could..."

You lifted a finger, face scrunched up in concentration and shook your head, eyes firmly on the almost finished sketch. Alastor clicked his tongue in a displeased way, clawed fingers impatiently tapping the microphone at the end of his cane.

"Really, dearest. I have a great interest for-"

"Hold on!"

"-a unique idea of the possibilities-"

"Done!"

As you finished, you stretched your cramped hand, setting down the charcoal on the armrest of the red plush sofa and rubbing your fingers to get rid of the black stains. You ripped the paper out of the sketchbook and handed it to Angel, carefully avoiding Alastors burning eyes and ignoring the angry static pops sizzling on your skin.

"There you go, Ange. You can lock it in with a little coat of hairspray, otherwise it will smudge easily."

You hastily stood up, letting Niffty tumble down your back onto the sofa with a wild giggle while you quickly assembled your things. You saw Alastor open his mouth and interrupted whatever speech he might've wanted to deliver you, your heart racing and mouth unusually dry.

"Oh, would you look at the time, I promised Charlie to get laundry done by the evening, I better get going. Maybe another time, yeah? Okay, bye!"

You were already through the door by the time he had registered you leaving, mouth half-open and ready to protest against whatever injustice he felt you had done him. His eyebrow twitched slightly at your retreating figure, eyes flickering between the corner you disappeared around and Angel Dust, the latter laughing mockingly at the deer.

"Aw shucks, failing again, deer daddy? What is it now, the fifth time she blew 'ya off?"

"The seventh.", Niffty corrects him, scratching on the black spot where you had set the charcoal in between your work. Alastor gave her a sour expression, while Angel leaned back, eyeing the sketch of his subject of interest with lovingly.

"Maybe she took 'ya by heart, Smiles. Don't 'ya always say 'ya got a face for radio only?"

***

Alastor was fuming.

Everyone was in that damn book, everyone. And yet, he was nowhere in it to be found.

In his opinion he was far superior in beauty of aesthetics then, for example, Angel Dust, or Vaggie. Hell, Husk had even made an entry, and all he did was lay around and drink himself into oblivion. Why would you take the time to sketch these nobodies in detail instead of him? Was he that unimportant to you, did you deem him that unworthy? Or was this your subtle way of making fun of his appearance, his laughable predicament of being a predator in a prey body?

He thought he'd have been generous enough not to reprimand you, or destroy that damned book all together after all this time. It was your luck that he had developed a strange fondness of you. Alastor only ever bothered himself with a few souls since his arrival in hell, and his encounter with you was a happy coincidence indeed. You were so much less annoying, so much more quiet and respectful than most of the demons around him, with your charcoal pen behind your ear and a keen eye for beautiful things that you turned into artworks like it was your second nature.

And even though you've always seemed to take a liking to him, his patient questions for a sketch, a portrait or just anything of him was met by you with dismissiveness, awkward excuses or outright evading, only ever drawing other sinners, even the cursed piglet Angel called a pet. But never, never him.

This couldn't go on any longer. He would talk to you about it, and either you would draw him willingly or you would draw nothing at all.

Your room was located only three corridors down his own suite, right across of a broken down door. Despite the late hour you had left the door cracked open, music faintly streaming through it along the orange light of your desk lamp. Which meant you were still awake. Still working. Still drawing.

The door made no sound when he pushed it open, carefully peeking his head inside. He was right, your back was hunched over your desk, completely lost in your work while your voice hummed along with the little melody from the radio.

The radio he had gifted you. He snapped his fingers and the music screeched loudly before coming to a stop, the radio dying instantly and making you jump in your seat.

"JESUS!" You whipped your head around, clutching your heart. He gave his best charming smile, red eyes narrowing in on you.

"No dear, it's just me." he smiled maliciously and closed the door behind him, it clicking ominously shut. Locked. You laughed awkwardly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face and hastily closed the thick, black sketchbook on the desk shut, a different one than the one from before. A new one. Another cursed one without him in it, surely.

"Haha, thank satan, I'm not dressed to meet the son of god." you quibbed, avoiding his gaze and twirling your pencil, something you always did when you were nervous.

He didn't join into your joke, instead he walked over to your dresser, where the filled sketchbook from before laid. Open, showing a detailed drawing of Keekee stretching in front of the fireplace. The blasted cat was the last straw.

"Why," Alastor spoke sharply, barely registering his antlers sprouting in angry cracks, "are there any and every sinners and creatures depicted in that... doggone, ridiculous thing?".

His words were spat with so much anger he missed your scared and confused look when you pushed your chair back, almost tripping and scrambling to get away. "What? Alastor, I..."

He hit the book once, almost tearing the thick parchment. "And not one mention of me? You have no idea how utterly vexing and insulting it is to feel ignored, or rather unnoted! What did I do, oh do tell, dear, that makes you think of me so below you that you just outright forget my existence?!"

Again, he hit the book, feeling it starting to rip from the amount of pent up frustration tightening his grip. But it did feel good, immensely so, to take it out on the damn thing he would have shredded weeks ago, if you didn't enjoy it so much.

"N-Nothing, you really don't... you don't understand...", you laughed nervously, eyes too pleading, too soft for his liking, as if you mocked him or worse: Pitied him. The thought alone fueled his anger further.

"Then I advise you to make me understand, my darling.", he growled, shoes scratching on the wooden floors with each step as he neared you, pressing you against the desk. "Because otherwise, I have no inhibitions to incinerate every single one of these god damn..."

"I draw you all the time. In your own book."

You grabbed the sketch book from the desk and thrust it in his face, spouting more nonsense with teary eyes that went deaf through his ears, only glaring at the cover and then opening it, ready for anything.

Nothing. Nothing but him.

There was no mention of anyone else.

There was nothing but him. His face. Portraits, stills, sketches, whole sceneries, doodles even.

Pages and pages full of his own features, his eyes looking back at him, so carefully captured in coal lines that his head reeled.

There he was, walking in long strides through the lobby, hair perfect and suit straight, the drawing so detailed it could've been a photography. On the other side was a picture of him, his eyes narrowed, showing no emotion as he stared down at the hotel papers in his hand. The next page, he was captured in a fight with that buffoon Sir Pentious, his is mouth cracked in an evil smile, claws stretched and ready to snap the snakes' airship in half.

And ever in between those artworks: Little doodles, as if drawn with an absent mind, of him and you. Holding hands. Embracing each other. Laughing together. Gazing into each others eyes. Silly hearts all around them.

Alastor almost dropped the book and the shakily uttered your name, for once truly at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Alastor...", he finally heard your muttering, voice trembling with tears. "I didn't know how... I was just... so... so embarrassed, and..."

Embarrassed. The absolute absurdity of it all.

Here he had been, worried you found him beneath the beauty you held in such esteem, wounded even so much as to bring out this unjustified anger. The fool he was. He was an idiot to have not considered the other possible explanations for your reticence.

Slowly, carefully, as if you'd spook and run should he move too fast, Alastor wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, still holding the book safely in his hand, pressing it into your back. At his will, his shadow lifted a hand and turned the radio on once again, a low hum resounding from the speakers as the soothing, quiet music continued.

"Mon cœur, the unnecessary pain you caused us both. And yet, I'm the one who has to apologize.", he said with an honesty he rarely spoke with. "We're both, evidently, quite hopeless. No use in keeping these feelings and words unsaid any longer then, hm? Can you forgive this old fool?"

You stared at him bewildered, at a loss for words yourself, before a relieved smile cracked your worried frown. Shiny tear streaks were running over your reddening cheeks, he wiped them off your face with a soft swipe of his thumb.

"Of course... As long as I can continue drawing you." You chuckled and pushed your face into his chest, Alastor was more than certain to hide the flush of your cheeks. He chuckled, gripping the book in his hands tighter as he buried his nose in your hair. You smelled like paper, paint and charcoal. And underneath it all lingered the scent of something new, yet familiar. Something... very much like him.

"Draw the both of us like this to perfection, darling, and that would be a deal worth to agree on."

[ieatcocoa]

I would pay A LIMB to see human Alastor wearing a dress in your art style ❤️‼️

No need to pay a limb, you gave me one more idea for some drunk shenanigans XD

[ieatcocoa]

COLLAB OF THE YEAR, YALL BETTER COME GET SOME OF THIS !! 🥘🍴

DoubleTrouble No. 1 😈👿

The awsome, lovely, talented @macabr3-barbi3 and my humble self officially collaborated, and we present: The first (of hopefully many) DoubleTrouble Fic! One prompt, two Writers, two POV's! While I wrote Alastors POV, find the Reader POV over here

Here's the prompt (from her AO3):

And with that - enjoy, fellow sinners ;> See you on the other side! And a big THANK YOU to @macabr3-barbi3 for being the absolute MVP <3

Alastor x Reader - 5.4k words - NSFW 🔞 - Minors DNI TW: Period Sex, Graphic depictions of violence, Mentions of Blood (duh)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌

Sweet as Cherry Wine

Alastor considered himself to be a man of many things. Power. Class. Self-discipline. Taste.

But that one, innocent drop of blood of that damned girl had shaken every pillar his once firm foundation had been built upon. One drop what all it took to make him feel weak, for the first time in decades.

What had been an unfortunate accident, a moment of innocent misjudgment came around to become his biggest curse. When the knife cut her finger instead of the pepper she had been holding, everything could've been avoided if he had acted right. But the sharp blade broke her skin, and since he was a gentleman, he had foolishly aided her, his little helper in the kitchen. One band-aid later, everything could've been fine - She had returned to her tasks, chatting happily. But Alastor had a drop of the crimson liquid resting on his thumb, calling out to him to not be wasted. Instead of wiping it away with one of the towels, or wash it down the kitchen sink, he had let his 'culinary tendencies' get the better of him, had it been just too long since the last time he sampled fresh blood from another sinner, and what would be the harm, really? Oh, how he regretted that question now.

Once the taste of her blood had hit Alastor's tongue, he knew he was doomed. It's aroma invaded his palette, rushing through him with the intensity of a lightning bolt. He had never understood demons like Husker or Angel getting addicted to substances like alcohol and drugs, with no willpower or restraint to not be a slave to their cravings, until this very moment. One drop was all it took to make him feel like he would never be satiated again. It had taken everything in him not to bite down, shredding into her flesh and devouring her right at the spot, in front of the princess of hell and the residents of the hotel, who had been painfully oblivious to the monster that clawed on his insides, desperate to be set free and dig it's teeth into the girls throat. His only thought, echoing in his head, was: More, MoRe, MORE!

The following days felt more like what the living depicted as hell for Alastor than anything he experienced since his arrival in this pandemonium. Torture, end- and merciless, whenever he was near her. Her proximity became almost unbearable, the urge to rip into her delicate skin, to peel her layers one by one, to tear her open and feast on her flesh grew stronger with each encounter. But he couldn't. His work towards the hotel, and the ties he had carefully tied to Lucifer's blue-eyed daughter were too important to sever – Alastor's entire afterlife depended on it, to stay in good graces with her, and mauling this girl would ruin his carefully crafted plans. Alastor felt trapped, a feeling he thoroughly despised. Trapped, again, not by external forces this time, but by his own inability to control his irrepressible hunger for her. Soon enough, he abstained the communal dinners or skipped the princesses daily bonding activities, just so he wouldn't have to smell her again, to remove the temptation, at least for one moment, all the while cursing the girl for simply existing.

Of course, his internal turmoil didn't go unnoticed. The princess had started to pry, as did her suspicious, annoying companion, demanding to know why Alastor made himself more and more rare, and it would only be a matter of time until they wouldn't take any more of his many elusive excuses. The source of his problem, the girl, had noticed too, sensing somehow the danger she was in and she started to distance herself in the unfortunate event of meeting him, her eyes wary and inquisitive. He had to give it to her, she was smarter than the rest of the bunch.

But when he set foot into the corridor outside of his room after another, sleepless night, his sensible nose picked up the faint trail of that sweet, metallic odor he came to crave and curse. His throat went dry, itching to be moistened with the sanguine fluid that haunted his dreams. Was the girl hurt, was there an attack he missed? Alastor felt his heart beat faster – no, she better not be. If someone was to open her veins, it would be him, or the perpetrator wouldn't see the light of hell's sun no more. He followed the scent with hurried steps, and soon found himself at the girls door. The musk was heavy now, flooding thickly through the cracks. He felt the monster rumble, and straightened himself to maintain grip on his control. Through the wooden barrier, he heard her groan, skilled ears categorizing it as sounds of pain. He knocked at the door, willing himself to stay collected.

“Ugh...fucking hell... yes? Come in...”

Her voice sounded sleepy and strained. Alastor knew she mustn't expect him to be the one knocking on her door, but he took this careless invitation nonetheless. He needed to find out why the smell of her was so damn potent, so he pushed open the door without a response..

She was cooped up in her bed, laying on her side with her knees pulled to her chest, her thick blanket wrapped around her tense body. Her head lifted, turned to face her visitor with tired eyes – they widened when she saw him in the door frame.

“Alastor?”

He entered the room, preparing himself for the scent to completely swallow him once he closed the door behind him. The corners of his lips stretched painfully with every drawn breath. “Pardon my sudden intrusion,”, he said with as much nonchalance as he could while his tongue almost tasted the overwhelming smell of her essence, “I just happened to walk by and heard sounds of distress. Are you quite alright, dear?”

She sat herself up, flinching in the process. She quickly ran fingers through her slightly messy hair, the movement sent new gusts of the maddening fragrance his way. He held his breath, even though the monster in him snarled and roared.

“More or less. It's...”, she eyed him with a strange look – Was it apprehension? Or maybe Incredulity? “... that time of the month.”

Oh. Ooooh.

How easy and yet damning of an explanation. Alastor knew he was called uptight and old-fashioned, but he wasn't stupid. He knew about the torture women had to endure each month, a nice little memento of the original sin that preceded the living world to continue in hell as just another form of torment for all eternity. Alastor realized that she, indeed, had been at the hotel for less than three weeks, meaning her cycle must have just restarted when she first arrived. What a cruel coincidence.

“I see. That's... unfortunate.”

She raised an eyebrow at his remark – Although not stupid, Alastor knew he wasn't very eloquent in regards to that matter. But given the situation, sealed in a room whose scent made all his senses scream for murder, eloquence wasn't his first priority.

“Very unfortunate.”, she said with an enigmatic smile. “It's even worse than it was when I was alive, and that was certainly no picnic then either. I'm feeling like I'm being ripped in half.”

“Shame that I can't be of any help with that, little one.”

His ears flicked at the quiet gasp, barely audible, yet he heard it quite clearly. “Actually...”

He tilted his head at the progression of small events playing out before him – chest heaving slightly heavier with a tint of pink flashing from under the collar of her shirt, brows furrowing, as if in conflict over a thought and little, pearly canines softly biting into her plush lower lip. Alastor felt a familiar sensation running down his spine – the exhilarating anticipation of a deal about to be made.

“...there is something you could do.”

She avoided his eyes, the blanket that covered her tightly bunched in her firm grip. He stayed quiet, letting the silence continue the work for him.

“I... um... I know from past experience it helps me when I..” The girl closed her eyes and took a deep sharp breath. “...when I have sex.”

He stared at her, for the first time in a long time truly at a loss of words. He wondered if the maddening scent finally drove him over the edge of insanity, but no. She finally met his stare, and he knew he heard right. Of all the things he expected her to say – this was definitely none of them.

“So, I propose a deal.... ugh, shit.”, she continued, shifting under the sheets with her brows twitching as apparently another wave of pain made her cringe.

“Dear, not to offend you, but I think you have an utterly misconstrued perception of my proclivities.”

His burning throat ached when he took another breath as she chuckled quietly, her voice missing any humor.

“I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of your proclivities – I think that you want to eat me ever since the day we cooked together.” Alastor felt the static that filled him pulsate out of him in almost hurtful intervals, mirroring his fastened heartbeat.

Clever, clever girl. Suspicions confirmed, the monster growled in him, eager for the hunt, and the kill. “I don't exactly know why, but since you haven't done it yet, I suspect I must be kind of off-limits. Well... here's your chance.”

His talons dug into his arms, folded behind his back. Flashes of his fevered dreams ran through his mind, images of him biting down on that delicate neck, drinking his fill of her blood while he ripped her apart, limb for limb. He lost control over his face for a second, feeling the snarl he and her heard, barely holding himself together. He cleared his throat, voice thick with fizzing and popping feedback as he tried to appear calm.

“Are you proposing to become my meal, dearest? I can't imagine the pain could be that bad.”

“No! No meal, but the closest thing to it, really.” Her voice vibrated with nervousness, yet her gaze was steady and strangely determined, not leaving his intense, hungry glare. “My offer is simple. Whenever I'm on my period, you get me off so these god forsaken cramps are at least bearable. And in return, you get my blood during that time. Only that, and only during that time.” She tore her eyes away from him, looking at her fidgeting hands in her lap. “With that, it's a win-win for both of us.”

Alastor's thoughts raced. However disinterested he was in sexual intimacy – the deal she wanted to make was tempting enough to entertain the thought. She had a point, it came close to the 'real deal', although he wondered if there could be a backdoor left open for him to actually consume at least some part of her. But he became unfocused at the prospect of tasting her again, dare he say: desperate to revel in the nectar he craved. He would simply look for a workaround later.

“Well, little one, you seem to have thought this through well enough... how very eager of you.” He stalked forwards, stopping in front of her with baited breath. “Very well, let's make the deal, then.”

He held out his hand, green light emitted around him, swirling and swiveling like snakes. He could see the glimmer of hesitation in her face, the faint moment of instinct telling her to back out before it would be too late. He knew the expression all too well - In that way, sinners were all alike. But the moment it appeared it was already gone, and he felt the warmth of her palm in his before he saw the green light wound itself around her arm, exploding into shimmering dust.

It was done, the deal was sealed.

Without a moment to spare, Alastor tore the blanket off her, not a care given to the pieces of fabric he ripped from it in the process. She let out a surprised squeak when he grabbed her bare ankles, pulling her into the center of her bed. Urgency made him careless, almost pouncing to her core, the scent of blood stinging and oh-so inviting in his nostrils, luring him nearer and nearer as he ripped the pants she wore apart with skilled claws. His ears flicked at her quiet whimper when he parted her legs and pressed his nose against the last barrier; the laughable, thin piece of fabric that younger sinners wore as underwear. Alastor smelled heaven, the kind of redemption he had no problem in chasing after. He wanted to savor this moment, draw it out as long as he could, finally able to indulge but not wanting to rush through it.

Patience, he thought, forcing him to withdraw, the wait will be worth the while. He knew better than to spoil the meal by getting greedy too soon.

The girl writhed under his touch, face painted in a shade of red that suited her well. His smirk grew wider when he hooked a sharp talon under the hem of her garment, his eyes fixated on hers.

He could see how hard she swallowed when his claw scraped her sensitive, vulnerable skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he slipped the piece of clothing aside. His nostrils flared at the fresh onslaught of her scent, making it even stronger, thicker, heavy and pure and divine, before him a beautiful mess of all shades of red, glistening, ready and waiting to be taken.

Patience.

With great restraint Alastor swiped a finger softly along her opening, circling the outer lips, coating it with the delectable fluid. When he reached the nub at the apex of her slit, he heard her gasp at the sudden contact, involuntary squirming under him. With closed eyes he put the digit in his mouth, expecting but not prepared for the sheer ecstasy the taste ignited - so much better than in his faint memory, the fresh blood lit up sparks before his eyes like burning starlight, making him groan out with rapture. He looked down on his prey, a victim in so many ways, but also a willing participant – while she looked up at him in tense anticipation, albeit her embarrassment of her clearly vulnerable position clearly displayed on her face. The trust she seemed to have in him was ironic, almost absurd, yet it was that look in her eyes that finally made him snap.

Patience could go to the seventh circle of hell for all Alastor cared, he threw all remnants of his caution to the wind, wanting to have it now. All of it, now. Immediately.

He dove down to the source, pushing his tongue through her heated core in a forceful swoop, a predatory snarl ripping through his throat as the monster in him cheered. She mewled under him, trying to suppress the sounds he managed to bring forth, hands buried in the fabric of the pillows, but that was but a side note to his consciousness. All that mattered to him right now was to devour, to lap up every last drop of the essence he had been longing after, yearned for, desiring and hating and cursing and praying for. The taste of sugar and iron on his taste buds flooded him with intense fervor, pushing his primal instincts over the edge – wilder and wilder he lapped at any patch of blood painted skin he could find, with little to nothing of his usual rationality left, eyes darken into black pits and antlers growing with loud, cracking sounds.

Never, he thought, never, in the span of the countless days, weeks, and months he lived through the seasons of hell, had the act of feasting been this fulfilling and overwhelming. He pressed his entire mouth against her, rubbing his nose against that soft nub, her small yelp muffled through the frizzing in his ears. All his dreams were unable to compare to this, for reality was all it promised.

"Delicious...", he heard himself utter, the tone of his voice dropped an octave lower than usual, "You taste like perfection, darling..."

He sensed the soft tremors that ran through his little partners body, how her labored breathing turned into a set of drawn gasps, a quivering whine when he plunged his tongue inside her, curling against her inner walls and coating it with the pulsating substance flowing through her cunt. The desperate whimpers and sighs, for once not a result of inflicted pain and suffering of his victim but desire and pleasure, only spurred him on more. His grip on her hips tightened, wanting to pull her impossibly closer, take more and more until there was nothing of her left to take, even with the risk of leaving him empty and wanting.

Yet she didn't shy away from him, didn't flee his grip – instead, her hips bucked against him as she prayed his name with a voice dripping with sweetness like honey, her thighs quivered on the sides of his head with each thrust of his appendage, each curl on her inside walls, and with a stifled groan, a rush of fresh blood flooded into his mouth. He drank it greedily, the flavor indescribable, a culmination of all the wants his past and present possessed. Alastor's teeth grazed the sensitive, thin skin of her folds, dangerously close to actually cut through. The thought of biting down was tempting, his teeth tingled with the desire to do just follow the whim, to bite and gnaw and rip. He felt the urge to shred, to devour, his hunger a force not to be reckoned with. It would be so easy, she was in his arms, in his grasp, completely vulnerable and at his mercy, no one could stop him, no one could interfere, his prize, his prey, his to have, his to consume.

But no.

This was not what their deal had been made for. This was not the right way to go about this. Alastor knew better than to risk the consequences, and he had other ways, even better ways, to achieve the satisfaction he sought. Her sudden loud whimper, shaking from strain and desire brought him back from his thoughts to the present. He realized his vigor, his obscene consuming noises filling the air. Oh well, it was her own fault, really. If she wasn't such a damn delicacy, he wouldn't have lost himself so easily. He could sense the girl was slowly getting close to the edge, her core clenched around his tongue, her voice grew louder and higher with each lustful moan. He would make sure she would never forget the experience he'd give her, leaving her desperately wanton for him - his grin widened at the thought.

His free hand wandered up under her shirt to her chest, squeezing her soft breast firmly. As new as the sensation was, Alastor found himself to be rather enamored to the feeling of her mounds of flesh, the weight and fullness in his hand a new, surprisingly welcome discovery. A sharp nail teased her hardened nipple, rolling and pinching it, which caused a shiver to run through her body, the girl's breathing turning into short, shallow gasps.

"Alastor... please..."

Alastor chuckled, the vibration rumbling against her, causing her to mewl in response. He withdrew his tongue, and the whine of displeasure his victim emitted was music to his ears.

"Pleading usually doesn't work well with me, little one."

She huffed, her fingers gripping the sheets harder.

"Don't... don't play around... shit. How are you so good at this?"

Oh, was she complimenting him, now? How sweet, even in the middle of her undoing, with short breath and clouded eyes. Alastor laughed, sucking teasingly on her swollen nub which elicited a soft gasp from her.

"Flattery on the other hand will get you far with me, darling."

And with that, he returned his tongue where she desired it most, but this time, with most of her blood already consumed, he focused his attention more on how she reacted to him. His hands went back to her hips, holding them steady while he lapped her up, her muscles twitching at his now tactically placed licks and calculated sucking. Soon enough, her body began to tremble, her whimpers grew louder and louder, her breathing turning irregular and harsh, her voice growing desperate, her hands burying themselves in his hair, almost desperately avoiding the sharp ends of his enlarged antlers.

"Oh, oh my god, fuck! I'm-", the girl's back arched, a silent cry on her lips, and she came with a last rush of hot liquid and a tight clench around his tongue. Alastor felt a new surge of satisfaction rush through him, a feeling of victory as he licked her through the waves of her orgasm.

For a moment, both stayed quiet and unmoving, the static buzzing in his ears calming down. He took a moment to savor the aftermath of the moment, the sweet, warm taste still lingering on his tongue, her blood on his chin, and the girl lying in front of him - panting and sweating and thoroughly ravished. Alastor found a strange beauty in her flushed figure, in the way her breath heaved, in the pink tints of her skin where he had touched her. With the monster inside satiated, he found himself still craving, not for blood, but for her. The way her eyes had met him, with no fear or contempt, how she slowly came undone by his doing, her voice crying out for and to him, sweet and melodious - He wanted to hear it again. He needed to hear it again.

"Better now, dearest?", he asked, licking his lips to collect the few dried streaks of blood that stained his lips and chin. The girl sighed, a slight smile forming on her lips.

“That...", she began, a small smile on her lips, "that was something. Definitely better. And the pain's not that bad anymore, too."

Alastor chuckled quietly, his hands trailing the insides of her thighs. "Indeed, dear. Although I'm not sure if this was enough to really sate me. It was but a mere appetizer, you see."

His hand found its way between her legs, a single digit slowly circling the oversensitive skin around her clit. She shuddered at the touch, her breath hitching. Her eyes flickered between him and the room as she laughed nervously.

"Ummm, I think you kind of sucked me high and dry, so..."

Her rambling instantly stopped as he crawled onto the bed and over her, pulling his bow tie off in a single movement before he caged her, his lips just hovering above hers.

"Mmmh, the main course doesn't have to be that bloody, darling. I found myself to be quite hungry for a more traditional entree."

He didn't leave her a chance to reply, a chance to refuse - his mouth pressed against hers with a bruising force, tongue slipping past her lips and teeth. Alastor knew she was able to taste the traces of her own blood, and he couldn't help but moan softly as he felt her reciprocating his kiss, slinging her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

A wave of static flooded over him, his body humming with energy. He wasn't sure if it was the ambiguity of the deal they made, or if it was the taste of her, her blood, her arousal or her lust. Whatever it was, Alastor knew one thing for certain – he wasn't ready to let go of it just yet, eager to satisfy the sudden, strange curiosity that had awakened in him.

"Such an eager little thing."

With a quick movement, he pulled his shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the room. With nimble fingers and an amazed expression, her hands wandered over the soft fur on his shoulders to his chest, leaving hot trails of her own heat behind.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing...", she breathed with a playful smile, her legs parting to allow his hips to settle in between. The gesture was subtle, yet not missed by Alastor. He could feel the growing heat emanating from her, could see her pupils dilating as she looked up at him.

"It seems I have to retract my previous statement about knowing my proclivities..." Alastor mused, his smile widening as he sat up to open his trousers, his eyes not leaving hers as she shuffled out of her shirt. "You seem to know I like my food adequately spicy..."

With the pants discarded, he lowered himself again, leaning his weight on his hands on each side of her head while skin touched skin. The feeling of another naked body so close to his own bare one was foreign, but Alastor didn't feel the repulsion the thought always brought out. On the contrary, he felt a strange kind of excitement, anticipation almost, a sensation that was so new to him, it was nothing less than thrilling. She chuckled at his remark, a sound that became all the sweeter when she gasped as he tentatively pushed his cock along her slit.

"You... ah, you really love food metaphors, don't you?", she groaned, her hips jerking at the contact, her voice trembling with need. He smirked, grinding against her, watching her writhe under him, the friction between their bodies and the way her nails dug into his skin sending sparks of electricity through his body.

"Mhh... maybe. Food is my preferred source of pleasure, after all."

Alastor could feel her wetness on him, and his patience was consequently running thin. With one last push, his lips met hers once more, the kiss deep and fierce. His hips bucked, the tip of his member pushing through the folds of her core. His breath hitched, and his mind blanked.

"Well then, little one. Shall we continue our dinner together?"

Alastor couldn't recall ever having felt something quite like this as he entered her fully, the intense heat and tightness, the sensations her body elicited, the reactions he got out of her, not to mention all the ways his own body was reacting to the stimulation. It was a feast of different flavors, a banquet of new sensations, and Alastor relished in all of it.

She cried out, her nails digging into the fur of his shoulders as he pushed inside her, stretching her out slowly, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust, a courtesy he didn't expect himself to grant her. But then again, he thought, he didn't expect to ever end up in this situation in the first place.

When he was completely sheathed, he stilled, letting himself get used to the strange and overwhelming sensation. He was still grinning, but his mouth was slightly agape, his breath uneven. He looked down at her, and to his surprise, his heart skipped a beat.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Her chest was heaving, arms laid sprawled above her head as she looked up at him with her glowing eyes half-lidded. Her skin glistened in the dim light, sparkling moist with a thin coat of sweat, the color of her cheeks a wonderful rosy shade.

Beautiful.

His mind had stopped working properly, it seemed, the only thoughts being the overwhelming urge to move and the wish to see more of this side of her, hear more of her moans and sighs, feel more of her twitching neediness, just more, MoRe, MORE.

His hips bucked, causing him to pull back a little, before he pushed back into her with a slow, steady rhythm. He could feel her walls tighten and pulse around him, her sinful cries echoing through the room, each thrust forcing out more and more of those lovely noises, his name on her lips a melody that was his alone.

"Al... Alastor.. Ah, Alastor!", she cried, her head thrown back and eyes closed, the arch of her neck alluringly inviting. Alastor couldn't resist, he leaned down, pressing his lips against the soft, smooth skin. His tongue darted out, licking and tasting her. He groaned as his teeth grazed her pulse point, and the urge to bite down resurfaced.

"Say it again."

The girl blinked, dazed from her haze of pleasure, mouth agape and heavily panting. A growl escaped his throat, the desire to sink his teeth in her becoming hard to ignore. "My name, say it."

"Alastor...", she moaned, throwing her head back in a wanton cry, exposing her throat even more like it was an invitation. This, he decided, was the ultimate form of possession, a sound that was exclusively his to hear, his own symphony to command. He was the conductor of her pleasure, the one who brought her to a climax, the one she desired. The thought drove him crazy, and his pace picked up as he strained himself preventing his teeth to break her skin.

He felt her hand in his hair, her fingers curling against his scalp. She tilted her head, looking at him through half-closed lids, her gaze meeting his with a soft nod. "It's... It's okay... Bite me."

His control broke as the words rolled of her lips.

With a relieved growl he bit down, his teeth piercing the flesh of her shoulder. The metallic, coppery flavor filled his mouth as well as his senses, his hips never ceasing their movements, fucking into her with vigor, a newfound desperation and hunger for her taking hold of him. He heard her scream, a sound of sweet pain and desperate ecstasy, of pure lust and desire and longing, and with a final thrust, she came once again, her cunt tightening painfully around him, squeezing his length so intensely his own release rippled through him, and he spent himself inside her in a few powerful spurts.

He rode out his own orgasm with a few more weak, uncoordinated thrusts, his mouth still attached to her shoulder. Alastor groaned as he withdrew his teeth, licking at the blood that welled up from the small puncture wounds. The taste was still there, still perfect, the essence that had him so crazed the last days now flowing through his system in its raw, unrefined, and potent glory.

He collapsed on top of her, his nose pressed against the crook of her neck. Her heartbeat was strong and rapid, a melody to his ears, her heavy breathing slowly calming down. Alastor felt her fingers tracing his skin, a strangely soothing motion.

"Wow.", she breathed, Alastor felt his grin widen, and a small, content laugh bubbled out of him. He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at her.

"My sentiments exactly, darling. I do believe the food was exquisite."

She rolled her eyes laughing, her hand wandering to the side of his face, a gesture he graciously allowed. Her fingers ghosted over the corner of his mouth, where a small trail of blood had remained. A smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth, his gaze flickering between her eyes and the finger as she wiped away the remnants of her blood. She raised the finger, her smile mirroring his and a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

"But, you know, I always like to end my dinner with..."

Before he could say anything, her finger disappeared in her mouth, her lips wrapping around the digit as she sucked on it, licking the blood off of it. His eyes widened in disbelief, the girl giggling as she released her finger from her lips with a pop.

"...dessert."

Alastor laughed.

He laughed, loud and bright, the kind of genuine laughter he hadn't had in ages. Alastor felt alive, an elation running through him, as if he had the world and its possibilities right within his fingertips. The look she gave him – a wide smile and soft yet impishly playful eyes – felt more exhilarating than a well-made kill could have.

It seemed his greatest, most troubling hunger couldn't be satiated for good – no, Alastor grinned, a smile that would have raised many alarms in an observing witness. Perhaps he needed more variety to his diet, after all.

[ieatcocoa]

BEAUTIFUL WRITING PLS CHECK OUT THEIR WORKS

Ghost in your home.

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 8.5k

or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance. (have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.) tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor

1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.

“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “

Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.

“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “

“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.

“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”

His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.

“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.

“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.

“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”

“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”

At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.

Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.

“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”

You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.

“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”

“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.

Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.

“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”

2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.

“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.

It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.

He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.

Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.

“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”

But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.

Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.

Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.

He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.

“Darling,” a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”

He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.

In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.

Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.

Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.

It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.

For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.

3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.

Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.

Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.

Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.

He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.

Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.

Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.

The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.

Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.

And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.

Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.

So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.

4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.

You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.

At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.

Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.

He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.

From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.

When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.

For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.

Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.

“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.

“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.

You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”

“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.

“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “

The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.

“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “

The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.

“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”

You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.

“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”

“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.

“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.

His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.

Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.

With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.

It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.

So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.

5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.

It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.

Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?

“I’m home, love!”

Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.

You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.

Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.

He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.

Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.

If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.

He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.

Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.

The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.

It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.

Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.

When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.

Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?

Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.

For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.

Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.

His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.

Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.

Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.

The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.

“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”

Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.

Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.

“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”

Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.

His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.

“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”

And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.

But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.

Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.

“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.

Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.

He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.

(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)

[ieatcocoa]

Lmao is now a good time to share that I’m preparing to become an airman? I take my asvab in a week! So in a couple of months it’ll be pure radio silence from me as I’ll be in basic :(( I’m hoping to push out some more chapters to my main fic I want to have at least 8 before I go!

it’s crazy how i don’t know what any of you do for school/uni/work? who are you guys outside of tumblr? what do you work as?? 

[ieatcocoa]

I love their banter <3

Lil' aftermath☕

( First part Second part Third part Fourth part )

[ieatcocoa]

HAUAHAHWHAHI LOVE IT

Pls draw oogly deer alastor eating a sandwich

Silly deer

[ieatcocoa]

This is still on my mind, as it has been for days. The best ask I’ve ever conjured up in my head and delivered so wonderfully by the amazingly talent muse above!!!! GAWJJHRHHSJH THIS IS LIKE CRACK I KEEP RE-READING

How do you think Alastor would act if the reader has a big scent kink? They like to sneak sniffs of him or if there’s ever a chance, smell on his discarded coat. His natural musk makes them horny!

Hazel Imagines…

Alastor would notice immediately that you are trying to take in his smell, as he notices anytime someone enters his personal bubble. I think he would do everything he can to just fluster you without actually saying anything. It’s amusing, almost cute. He definitely appreciates the non-sexual aspect of the kink. Just his scent to get you excited? He can offer that easily and without trouble.

You are looking at some books, Alastor decides to lean across you to grab something utterly unimportant and unnecessary to him. Neck practically touching your nose. “Excuse me.” Opens the book, watching you swallow hard. “Oops, wrong one.” How many books can be grab before you break and run away?

He sees Niffty returning clean laundry to your room. Alastor would slip off his bow tie and set it on top of the neatly folded clothes. He would watch you all day, your eyes avoiding him like the direct stare of an eclipse. How long would it take you to return it to him? How should he punish you for such a wait?

Everyone is gathered for a meeting in the lobby, Alastor ensures the seat beside him is the only one available to you. Jacket off, he rests his arm behind you on the sofa and watches you take poorly hidden deep breaths in. Your thighs come together.

Hell isn’t known for cold weather, but for fun he would slip is suit jacket onto your shoulders, his musk enveloping you. “Hold this, will you?” Whispered directly into your ear from behind. He would go to his room and wait. And when you finally find the courage to knock on his door and return the clothing, he’ll offer you a more intimate chance to appreciate his scent and the pheromones therein. Perhaps he could even manage to break a sweat in his efforts?

ଳ⊹₊ ⋆ masterlist

[ieatcocoa]

While I love mean banter,, I’m such a sucker for sweet moments like this

um hi! can I request an embarrassed Al with s/o who likes to kiss on him repeatedly? :))

Hey there Anon! I hope I got it right? =D I just needed a bit of fluff and sickly-sweetness! ❤️ Thank you for your suggestion!

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Pandoras Box

“You are looking grumpy today, my love.”

“I’m not grumpy. “

You and Alastor sat on the sofa next to the fireplace in the salon, a common occurrence that you had developed over the past few months. Whenever one of you had some time to spare, you'd find yourself on this very sofa, with the other magically appearing to keep you company. Sometimes your read together, sometimes you listened to music, most of the times you talked, about this and that, about light and heavy things, whatever came to mind. 

One fateful time, you had told him that you loved him. and a few other times later, Alastor had told you he loved you too. 

Everything could've been perfect if there wasn't the huge difference in need for physical affection. While you were a very touchy-feely person when it came to the people you liked (much less, loved), someone who loved to hug, kiss and cuddle - Alastor was reserved, to say the least. 

You understood, he came from another time, another culture, his tight-wound manners and gentlemanly behavior deeply ingrained in his personality. You loved him because of it, wanting to give him time to maybe someday get used to the idea, but sometimes the wait frustrated you - seeing Charlie and Vaggie lovingly hug each other every day on their way to the kitchen before breakfast, or Husk and Angel sneaking around the hotel (like no one would see them), making out in dark corners. You wanted to be respectful of his boundaries, but that didn't mean you weren't longing for more - or any - PDA. 

“The little wrinkle between your brows says otherwise, little doll.”

He looked up from his newspaper and rubbed the space between your brows with his long, slender fingers. You swatted them away and huffed. 

“I'm not grumpy. I'm…”, you searched for the right words, feeling Alastor's worried gaze on you. “...restless.”

He tilted his head in confusion, his smile more tense than usual. you knew him well enough to know he was worried. “And why's that, dear?”

You decided that the time has come where honesty was the best measure. 

“Because I want to kiss you.”

He stiffened, his fingers dug deep into the newspaper he held. You fiddled with the edges of a throw pillow - now pandoras box was opened, so you had to see it through. You lifted your eyes to look at him. His ears were folded back on his head, his smile seemed strained… and from under his collar, you could see the beginning of a flush. 

Oh. That was interesting. 

“Right now, here? That's a little... inappropriate, don't you think?”, Alastor said quietly, smile still tapered on but his eyes quickly scanning the empty foyer. 

“No one's here Al… besides, I just… Sometimes I just want to kiss you, or hug you, without care where we are or who might see it.” you say softly. “But I know you don't like that, so… I repress it.”

Alastor sighs, the redness creeping from his neck up to his jaw. 

“I suppose,”, he starts, voice slightly distorted - he's looking away from you, fixating on the double doors of the entrance, “since we are indeed alone, I could allow… “

Before he could even end the sentence, you darted forward, taking the vague opening he gave you, and pressed your lips on his. 

Different than the kisses you shared in the 'secrecy' of your bedroom, this kiss felt daring, exciting and oh-so-sweet. You could taste the way Alastor was flustered by your sudden brazeness, although he reciprocated. Hesitantly at first, but when you sighed into his lips he visibly and audibly relaxed, his hand tenderly weaving into your hair, scraping your scalp and pulling you closer. 

You broke the kiss, radiating happiness, it must've shown on your face because Alastor chuckled quietly, cheeks now as flushed as his neck. 

“My, that wasn't half as bad as I thought it… “

Another kiss cut him off again, like an addict you moved onto him, straddling him while you couldn't stop yourself, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his temples, searching for any spots that haven't been covered by your lips. 

Alastor had no chance in stopping you, mumbling things like “Enough dear!”, “Silly girl, you!”, even coming as far as “Give you an inch and you take a mile!” while you attacked him with feverish pecks. 

With a last, soft and long kiss on his lips, you slid your arms around his waist and let yourself rest on his chest, giggling content into his lapels. 

“Are you satisfied now, little vixxen?”

You nodded happily, still tightly pressed into him. 

“Good.”, he mused, wrapping his arms around you. 

“And you.” his voice fell an octave, and you lifted your head to see Angel, Husk and Niffty standing not too far at the end of the foyer, visibly shaking with - in order - suppressed laughter, horrification and morbid curiosity, “will cease that memory from existence if you value functioning organs.”

You couldn't help but laugh and kiss his nose as he sent death glares to the retreating demons, his ears flicking and cheeks still painted in the sweetest shade of red. 

[ieatcocoa]

Moe's Cookbook (´ ˘ `)

Hello and welcome to my blog ! Here you can find my masterlist as some general information !

Ingredients

This blog is 18+ minors please do not interact.

I write exclusively for Hazbin but that is subject to change based on my hyperfixations. Dw I'm balls deep rn so this isn't going anywhere.

My requests/asks are currently open and I'll try to get to as many as I can when I am able to !

Divider credits to plutism !

Recipes

Main Story !

The Moirai's Loom

Alastor x POC! Reader

You, a victim of forced relocation, head south in search of a potential job opportunity. Never would you have expected to get caught up with the likes of New Orleans favorite radio host. Perhaps it was fate?

One Shots !

Sweeter Than Hunny

Alastor x Reader

In which Alastor indulges in your sweet tooth.

A Lasting Impression

Lucifer x OC x Lilith

Ciel is an upcoming overlord in the Pride Ring, yearning to expand her influence she receives an invitation to the yearly gala...

Taste Testers

General Information about Alastor

[ieatcocoa]

hey!! i read you lucilith x ciel fic and omg it was so good!?? do you have an ao3?? i swear you'd do numbers on there!! def looking forward to more writing from you!! 🫶🏼🤍

Hello!! Thank you so much, you’re too kind!!!! I do have an AO3. My main story is on there and I will post other workings as well! \(//∇//)\

[ieatcocoa]

Sweeter Than Hunny

Characters: Alastor/Fem!Reader

Reader's POV

Word Count: 1.6k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. established relationship (?), accidental food play, use of honey, teasing, hickies, kissing, suggestive

In which Alastor indulges in your sweet tooth...

Divider credits to plutism !

The hotel is quiet. There is no sound except for the occasional creak of old flooring, caused by a particular serpent slithering around in the dark. While his hobby may be relatively harmless, it is still unnerving; the sizable goose egg on his forehead is a reminder of what you detest. During your stay, you have developed an interest in zodiac signs. Unfortunately for you, snakes embody stubbornness, and you are far too exhausted to give his knot a twin.

In your hands, the small porcelain cup radiates a comforting warmth that seeps through your fingertips and palms, soothing away the remnants of your tension. You take a moment to savor the aroma of the delicate brew before bringing the drink to your mouth.

The hell?

Immediately, your eyes widen in surprise, a deep grimace forming on your lips as you register the unexpected taste. A sharp bitterness lingers on, contrasting the anticipated sweetness. With a determined resolve to salvage your tea time, you set down the cup and rise from the couch. Making your way to the kitchen, you move around the familiar area effortlessly, and the pitter of your footsteps reverberates softly against the tiled floor. There is only one thing that could salvage a brew that harsh:

Ah ha!

Nestled among the pristine shelves sat your beacon of hope—the honey jar. As you retrieve the sweet treat, you cannot help but notice the signs of wear and tear that mar its once-pristine surface. The edges of the ceramic vessel are chipped and worn from its countless journeys to and from the pantry. Traces of sticky residue cling to the sides of the pot, and the substance adheres to the surface of your hands, creating an uncomfortable sensation. Would it kill folks to wipe it down after use?

Your gaze trails along to the lid; it sits slightly askew, showing signs of repeated twisting and turning, an ode to the desire with which it has been opened and closed numerous times. You shift your grip to the handle and run a finger over the smooth texture. The once-vibrant color faded to a dull patina. And yet, despite its weathered appearance, there's a certain charm to the honey pot—a sense of history and nostalgia that lends it a unique character all its own.

Almost everyone utilizes it, and is probably the only thing you can all agree on. To see it so well-loved and appreciated brings a smile to your face, knowing that the gift aids in adding a little extra sweetness to the lives of those who call the hotel home.

Corny. Maybe Charlie's exercises are starting to rub off on you?

Balancing the pot carefully, you retrace your steps to the living room. As you enter, you are frozen in surprise at the sight before you. There, seated comfortably on the couch, is Alastor, his crimson eyes glinting with delight as he regards you with a ceaseless grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite resident! I seem to have caught you at an unfortunate time; don't you agree, sticky fingers?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." You release a sarcastic chuckle before softly placing the container on the end table next to your cup. "Just indulging in a little tea break, nosey. I was in need of something to sweeten up my evening." As you settle onto the couch, a mischievous impulse stirs within...

With a dramatic, drawn-out hum, you casually prop your socked feet up near his thighs. "Ah, of course! I should have just called on you! You're sweeter than Hunny." Alastor, ever the picture of composure, arches an eyebrow at your antics, his expression a mix of amusement and bemusement. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he not-so-gently pushes your feet aside, his movements refined yet firm as he maintains his personal space. Undeterred by his subtle rebuff, you respond with a pout, forming your lips into an expression of dismay. "Nevermind, I lied. You're as bitter as death."

"Oh, you wound me, crude woman! Boo hoo. I'm afraid my legs aren't meant to serve as a footrest." He quips his tone light and teasing. With a roll of the eyes, you relent, withdrawing your feet with a dramatic flourish. "Fine, fine. I'll behave... for now." You concede that your impish demeanor was undimmed by Alastor's gentle reprimand. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" It is a silly question; however, that does not stop you from asking.

His gaze flickers to the poorly paned ceiling above before emitting a deep sigh, the faint rumblings of his static audible to only the most precise listener. "You know me well enough to know that sleep is but a distant acquaintance," he responds. Of course, you did; this isn't the first time you've graced each other in the dead of night, and it certainly won't be the last. Though the longing to know why always leads you to ask such foolish questions, some things are better left unsaid.

You sit up; your attention is now drawn to the end table, where the tea waits. With deliberate movements, you reach for the dipper, plunging it into the golden pool of honey snuggled within the pot. As you drizzle the viscous nectar into the cup, a sweet aroma fills the air, mingling with the soft glow of lamplight that bathes the room in a warm embrace. The gentle clink of wood against the ceramic echoes in the quiet of the night. "If you're up for a chat, I'm all ears." Alastor leans forward slightly; his expression reflects mock seriousness as he addresses your suggestion. "Well, my darling doe," he begins, his voice dripping with lively charm, "I'm afraid the only topic of conversation that truly piques my interest tonight is your rather unhealthy indulgence in sugar."

As you stare him down, a snort escapes your lips. "Really now? Is that what you want to talk about?" Alastor nods solemnly. "Indeed. I'm afraid I simply can't let such an important matter go unaddressed," he replies, his tone dripping with exaggerated concern.

Oh please!

"Don't be such a killjoy," you say while shaking your head in protest. "A little sugar never hurts anyone. Besides, eternity is too long for me not to indulge now and then." He lets out a scoff while waving a hand dismissively through the air. "A little sugar, you say? From what I've witnessed, your intake is hardly what I would call a little. I'm quite surprised your teeth haven't rotted out of your mouth by now.” While he spoke, you took a hearty sip of the tea, hoping that the addition of honey had tempered its bitterness.

However, much to your dismay, the drink remains as bitter as before, causing you to smack your lips. You make a mental note to avoid buying products from this brand in the future.

As Alastor continues his tirade about the perils of sugar, you half listen with a good-natured smile. "Well, I'll be! I didn't realize you had become the new spokesperson for Hell's Dentistry. Should I expect to see your face on toothpaste commercials anytime soon?"

His expression shifts almost imperceptibly as his once-toothy grin tightens into a thin line. The sudden change in his demeanor is comical, almost cartoonish, and you can't help but burst into laughter at the sight. While you laugh uncontrollably, you attempt to add more honey to your drink. The fit of giggles proves to be too much, causing you to fumble clumsily with the pot. With a sudden jolt, a small stream of honey escapes the confines of the container, dribbling down the wooden dipper and onto the carpeted floor. Determined not to waste any more of the precious nectar, you quickly lean down, attempting to suck the excess honey from the dipper. However, your efforts only result in more hilarity, as the honey dribbles messily down the side of your mouth. It beads slowly onto your neck, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

"Shit." A mumbled curse leaves you while you place your cup down. Resigned to the mess made, your hand attempts to wipe away the sticky residue, only to find it stubbornly clinging to the skin.

Alastor, ever the opportunist, rises from his seat and approaches. Without a word, he leans in close, his tongue darting to lap up the mess that coats your neck. The sudden sensation sends a violent shiver down your spine, and a sigh catches in your throat from the warmth of his tongue. His lips close around the spot where the honey pooled, his mouth sucking at the sticky sweetness with a hunger that nearly has your knees buckling. Oh, how you wish he'd bite down. Your hands reach out to weakly grasp onto his shoulders for support, the material of his coat bunching up under your hold.

He remains an enigma; his actions are always veiled in layers of mystery, and this moment is no exception. Any questions floating around in your head about why are fizzed out. After all, some things truly are better left unsaid. With a soft pop, he releases the patch of skin, and his tongue trails upward to linger at the corner of your mouth. His touch is delicate yet possessive, a silent declaration of his presence and desire to explore.

Weakly attempting to lighten the atmosphere for your sake you manage a joke, your lips curling into a faint smile despite the lingering heat between you.

"What happened to sugar being an unhealthy indulgence?"

Alastor’s response is immediate yet measured; his gaze gleams with a newfound intensity as he finishes lapping. His tongue traces a final path before your lips meet in a sickeningly sweet kiss.

"I suppose I am starting to see the appeal, my dear!"

Thank you so much for reading ! <33 Inspired by hazelfoureyes !

[ieatcocoa]

General information about Alastor you should know ! Just a few things that I want to talk about, as I've seen so much discourse around aspects of his character. I will try to make this less of an opinion-based post and more of facts/canon. Divider credits to astralnymphh !

To begin, I've seen so much fuss over his cultural identity. Alastor has been stated by Vizz to be mixed-race Creole. He is a black man. When having this conversation, some people make the mistake of correcting others who refer to him as black over mixed-race while the truth is both are correct and interchangeable when referring to him. Saying he is black is not wrong and is a way of affirming his racial identity. Mixed. Black. Creole. He's all three.

Moving on, Alastor is not a Wendigo. He is not a Wendigo. He shares similar themes to one but is not one himself.

A lot of folks can get confused because they are unaware of the folklore surrounding Wendigos so I will give a quick summary; The "Wendigo" is a mythical creature that has been part of Native American folklore for centuries. It is often seen as a powerful symbol of greed, hunger, and cannibalism and has been the subject of many cultural and artistic portrayals. It is believed by some indigenous peoples that the Wendigo spirit can possess those who have sinned or committed taboo acts, resulting in a transformation into the creature.

So the question is why is Alastor not a Wendigo? Well...

It is unclear to me whether or not Alastor practices Voodoo or Hoodoo. I've seen Voodoo be the overall answer however that could be wrong. Regardless, the Wendigo is a part of Indigenous folklore, while Voodoo is a syncretic religious tradition that originated in Africa and developed in places such as Haiti and Louisiana. These two practices are distinct and have their own cultural and historical contexts, and it is important to respect and understand these differences. Saying that to say, his practices are not entwined with the folklore of Wendigos. He is a deer. A gross smelly cannibalistic deer.

Lastly, I wanted to touch on what could possibly be the most controversial element of his character. His sexual orientation. Canonically stating Alastor is in fact asexual. If you aren't familiar with the term, generally, asexuality refers to a lack of sexual attraction or desire. Something that people tend to miss is that asexuality is a broad spectrum that is not defined by one set of rules. Do not attack other fans for how they envision him on this spectrum. Whatever someone derives from canon, as long as it's respectful, is not an issue. You choose to see him as sex-replused? Awesome! Someone else chooses to see him as non-sex repulsed? Also okay! There's no one correct answer.

i'm done my rambling now ! thank you for reading ! (✿◠‿◠)

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

[ieatcocoa]

Interested in reading a story about this stinky deer? You should check out my own on AO3 !

Human!Alastor/Reader

Synopsis: You, a victim of forced relocation, head south in search of a potential job opportunity. Never would you have expected to get caught up with the likes of New Orleans favorite radio host. Perhaps it was fate?

Currently there’s two chapters out! Chapter three is in the works.