#Alastor x reader

[lvsmdilemma]

Alastor x fem!reader pt 1

Alastor¿ who teases you till you scream just to "see how your voice carries."

Alastor¿ who tilts your chin up with the tip of his cane and calls you "darling" like he didn’t just slaughter a room full of sinners for looking at you the wrong way.

Alastor¿ who chuckles darkly after ruining you and says “oh, you’re trembling…” as if it’s a compliment

Alastor¿ who helps you fix your lipstick, but makes you hold still with his fingers around your throat

Alastor¿ who brings you flowers picked from a graveyard

Alastor¿ who licks his fingers after touching something unspeakable, then asks if you’d like a taste

Alastor¿ who says “ladies first” but presses a hand to your lower back and makes you walk ahead so he can watch you

Alastor¿ who smiles too wide when you’re scared and says, “there it is—real beauty.”

Alastor¿ who watches you sleep—not because he’s romantic, but because he’s planning what to do next time

Alastor¿ who pulls your hair back for you just to lean in and whisper, “you look divine on your knees.”

[parallaxdemon]

Alastor x Fem!Reader Headcanons

Warnings— 18+, Brief Sexual Content, Demiromantic Demisexual Alastor

Being in a relationship with Alastor means being under his protection. He won’t let anything happen to you ever.

He has old fashioned chivalry. He’ll hold the door open for you, pull out and push your chair in for you, and give you his coat if you’re cold.

You’re the one who is allowed to touch him without his permission. Also the only one who is allowed to tease him a little bit.

He loves you more than absolutely anything and will be the most loyal partner you’ll ever have.

Not a big fan of PDA, but will hold your hand and kiss your cheek in public.

Cooks you delicious food. Creole food of course, but he’ll modify it if you have a certain allergy.

Confides in you and tells you if something is troubling him. Might even ask you for advice if he’s really struggling.

Wasn’t attracted to anyone before he met and got to know you. Then he was craving you like crazy.

As for sex, he’s a service dom who loves giving more than receiving. He’ll eat you out happily and even ask if he can do it again.

His favorite position is missionary because he loves to kiss you while he’s making love to you.

[safination]

Shadows

|Masterlist| Pairings: Alastor x Reader Tags/ Warnings; f!Reader, Demon! Alastor. [TLDR: Charlie calls you back to the hotel. Something seems wrong with Alastor.] A/N: Woowwiee? What's this? A post? After how many months? This is a re-write of Crimson Nightmare. I always did want to make it into a proper fic and why not do it now to slowly get back into writing? So yeah, I'll be accepting requests again. No promises that I'll be able to finish it. Give me your ideas and I'll do my best with the 2 hours that's allotted for my free time. This will be my practice. How much can I write within an hour or two. They probably won't be too long unless the words take me. And unlike a CERTAIN SOMEONE, when I say short, I actually mean it. You know who you are. Work bitch!

The doorknob to the Hazbin Hotel buzzes your skin. The slightest touch sends a current that runs up your arm, warning you of the danger inside. This door shouldn’t be opened.

In the end, Charlie swings the door open, the action so fast that the hinges strain. She’s in her pajamas, and her hair spikes in different directions. “Sorry for calling you out of work,” Charlie says, twiddling her thumbs as she rambles a little. “I know you work nights, but I didn’t think the hotel would last any longer.”

“It sounded like an emergency,” you tell her, ignoring the buzzing claw that bites your skin. “I’m not sure how I can help, but I can try.”

Charlies grabs your arm, yanking you inside before the door locks. The hallways are darker, with a distinct green lining the walls. The further Charlie pulls you, the dimmer it gets. It hit you all at once – the air buzzes with . . . with Alastor. The prickles going up your skin are familiar ones. There’s a charge in the air that caresses you.

It’s almost comforting, in a way.

Charlie holds your hand, trying to give you a smile – she doesn’t try hard enough. “It’s Alastor,” she says. “Or at least we think it is, we don’t know what’s wrong and he won’t respond to us! Every time we get closer it just keeps getting worse. So, I thought maybe you kno—”

“I think I understand,” you say, pulling here away from the inky pools of shadows that crawl down the stairs. “This hasn’t happened in quite a while. How troublesome, indeed.”

“We removed everyone near your floor,” Charlie says, squeezing your hand. “I’m a bit worried. Vaggie is keeping watch. Maybe we could throw a phone and we could talk to him?”

You slide a foot into the shadows, watching as it pulls on you. “Just give me time,” you say. “Oh! And maybe some hot milk?”

There’s a look on Charlie’s face, and you know she’s going to try and stop you. You walk towards the stairs, leaving her with a dismissive wave. From the corners of your eye, you see Charlie enter the kitchen.

The deeper you walk, the harsher the pricks of static become. Still . . . the darkness seems to part for you, letting you into its shadows.

“My deer.” You knock on the door to your room. “Could you open the door for me?”

Nothing.

The door’s unlocked. So, with a deep inhale, you step inside.

The fireplace lights the room with its green blaze; its light being sucked into the darkness of the bayou. Alastor is somewhere in there.

You stay by the light, letting it keep you safe. You’re not vain enough to think you were special. Alastor is lost in the deepness of his head. There’s nothing pulling him out when all instincts scream at him. The only kindness you can offer is company.

So, you go straight to the record player, letting a familiar tune fill the room.

Black tentacles slither out from the dark bayou. It slides across the air until they’re wrapping around your waist. One tentacle slides up your leg, wrapping around it like a snake on a tree. You allow yourself to be pulled deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper.

From the darkness, glowing radio dials peer at you. They stare straight at you, wide and unchanging.

“Alastor,” you say with a small smile. “Hello, my deer.”

The tentacles drop you into his palms. He’s so much bigger in this form. The antlers on his head sprout like overgrown tree branches, and his neck is snapped in three places. That smile of his never wavers, even as the shadows pull on his mind.

Radio static scratches at the air. Still, you reach out for him, wrapping your arms around him, pressing yourself into his cheek. You press a small kiss on his nose, nuzzling closer. Blood trails out of his mouth, staining your work clothes. You only hold him tighter.

So, this is how the night goes.

Alastor, lost in his own mind.

You, waiting until he returns.

[redvexillum]

YOU VOTED. AND I LISTENED.

This request was actually sent by @redfoxwritesstuff a year ago. A year ago, I was super f♡cking egotistical. A correction must be made: not sure I can do it, quote on quote, "gut wrenchingly well." But I will try, nonetheless! 💖

Also fun fact: if this choice didn't win, I was gonna send a 3 letter apology to Kit and drop this request. This was the ONLY WIP in those three choices that was gonna get the boot too. What are the odds? Seriously.

Fun Fact #2: this request is probably the smuttiest one out of the three as well.

[sweemmy]

It’s been a long time since you stopped loving yourself. So long, you didn’t even notice. The space you abandoned—once yours—was quietly claimed by him. Not with tenderness, not with care. He didn’t come to protect you. He came to consume you. Not with teeth, but with the slow violence of his voice, his gestures, the way he looks at you like a piece of the world made solely to be digested.

He doesn’t love. He devours.

And you, unknowingly, opened your body and soul to him with the docility of someone who believes they’re being chosen, when they’re really just being prepared. You gave yourself completely, like an offering, hoping for redemption and receiving dismemberment.

Every word you speak is chewed through. Every thought absorbed. No sanctum remains—not in your silences, your doubts, not even in your fears. He has slipped into every crack and made you an extension of his hunger.

At first, you mistook it for love. Later, for power. But it’s neither. It’s something older. More sacred and monstrous. A biological need disguised as ritual. The cruel alchemy of desire when it no longer seeks pleasure, but total possession.

When he calls you “my love,” it’s with a voice that scrapes, that drags flesh from the inside out. There’s no sweetness in his tone—only the clinical certainty of someone who knows they’re necessary. He watches you like a man timing a precise incision, and you smile—damn you—because you want to be torn apart. Because there’s no deeper ecstasy than knowing you are his sustenance.

Your story with him isn’t written in kisses, but in blades. Not in whispers, but in slow, wet cuts. There is no tenderness untouched by the edge. Every gesture he makes is a brutal lesson in how to shred a soul without breaking the skin. And you learned. You learned to yield, to moan as he peeled you open, to be grateful when he left you trembling in his hands.

Now you exist only halfway. Suspended in his emotional saliva. In his breath that smells like you—because you live inside him now. You are echo. You are sacred residue. Your voice has become his. Your eyes no longer see; they reflect. You don’t think; you repeat. And you don’t want to be saved.

Because in this covenant—in this cruel feast—salvation is meaningless. To love here is to surrender. And surrender is to be consumed to the bone.

Sometimes, he leaves pieces of you behind. Bits he doesn’t finish chewing. Shattered ideas, withered desires, unfinished gestures. He does it so you feel the cold. So you remember love is not a constant. It’s a brutal rhythm between absence and satiation. Like the pulse of a wound. Like the music of an ancient tribe dancing around a sacrificial fire.

And when he calls again, when he draws you back with the sacred desperation of someone starving for too long, you go. You enter him. You sink. You let yourself be swallowed. And you moan—not from pain, but from the black joy of finally, finally, disappearing.

Because now there is no name.

No will.

No “I.”

Only what he chews.

You are part of his affective digestive system. A living organ in the symbolic machinery of desire. A burning ruin still beating inside him, feeding his hunger with the constant offering of your existence.

And you know it. You know it with the kind of twisted clarity that only comes with absolute love. You know the day will come when he will burn inside you. That the moment will arrive when you’ll devour him with the same blind faith he once used to consume you.

Because true hunger—the kind that has no bottom, the kind that burns beyond flesh—is always mutual. It folds in on itself. And when both have eaten the other, when there’s no skin left to separate or bone left to name, only one thing remains.

One.

And one is enough.

[itzahazbinwriter]

why is this so cute?!

shortest silliest Alastor x Reader imagines EVER brought to you by the minds of @fraugwinska and Barbie (find hers here!)

🪱❤️🪱❤️🪱

“Alastor?”

The deer demon hums into your hair. “Yes, darling.” His arms are wrapped around you, a book held in his hands for the both of you to read.

“This is so stupid- if I got turned into a worm would you still love me?” 

He pauses behind you. “I… suppose that depends,” he says. “Do I know that you’re the worm I’ve awoken to in my bed?”

“What if you didn’t know?”

“If I didn’t know that you were the worm,” he said, “then I’m afraid I would have to say no. After all, why would I be seeking love from a worm?”

Your mouth twists in thought- he had a point. “That’s fair. What if you did know that I was the worm?”

He leans forward enough to rest his head on your shoulder. “In such a case I suppose I would have to find you some sort of terrarium,” he muses. “Keep you safe and sound in my room until I could find a way to undo whatever trickster magic transformed you in the first place.” He brushes his nose against your cheek and you giggle.

“And if it wasn’t possible to change me back?”

He sets the book aside, wraps his arms around you fully and buries his face in your neck. “You underestimate my ability to do the impossible when it comes to those I love, darling. I would find a way.”

You lean back into the embrace, turning your head to meet his lips in a soft kiss, suddenly very glad that you were not, in fact, a worm.

🪱❤️🪱❤️🪱

[pannman]

Reader meets Vox for the first time

Alastor: this is an unexpected visit old pal. Tell me, what makes you think you can just waltz in here and pretend like you own the place?

Vox: I heard you have a new little pet and I was hoping to meet them. Do they know any friend of yours is an enemy of mine

Reader enters*

Reader: Hey Alastor what's- Oh... oh my God. How... how does your head work?

Vox: ...

Reader: ar-are you waterproof? If you get wet do you need to lie in a giant pile of rice?

Reader begins laughing*

Reader: if-if your signal gets weak do you need to go to higher ground? Oh! Oh! Do you recharge at night?

Vox: very funny 😒

Reader barely breathing from laughing so hard: when you get lost in thought does a little version of your face bounce around the screen?

Alastor: I knew there was a reason I loved you

Reader is now wheezing*

Reader: can-can you use emojis on your face?

Vox: a match made in hell, that's for sure...

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Hi Kit! I saw your poll about MisD Ask Party! I missed a couple few before and hoped you won't mind me asking a question early for you! I love this story so much and I always wanted to ask you,

How do you approach writing intimacy when emotions are so complicated. Do you lead with the emotional or physical side first?

Ask party! Ask Party!

The poll is technically still running but why not start the party a little early? (I'm trusting you that ask party is in the lead- I haven't voted so I'm blind!)

I tend to first decide if the intimate encounter is lust based or emotion based. That really determines which way we go. A lust based encounter will have a lot of focus on the body and the sensations and I tend to write it very external based. When the encounter is emotion based it tends to be more internal and we're focusing a lot on feelings, thoughts and the way those impact what is seen and felt.

As for when the emotions are complicated- I don't honestly see emotions *during* an individual encounter as complex. The before and after, shure- but in the moment? It's just two or more people having a moment.

Get your MisD asks in! Depending on the results of the poll: I'll answer as many as I can on MisD's birthday OR I'll answer them all in the next month as a extended celebration!

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 26: a kiss good luck

Summary: Alastor finds an archivist who can translate Old World texts. Equally bound to their duty, reader and Alastor traverse the tricky landscape of love and commitment…but to whom and to what?

Chapter Synopsis: Plot moves steadily forward, and Alastor gets injured yet again. Over 5k words for you :)

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take long to figure out why Alastor couldn't hear the morse code messages coming from Vox's radio. A few pages into the manual revealed two types of radio frequencies: AM and FM.

We sat at the dinning room table with a couple of his radios scattered across the surface. I used his screwdriver to remove the back ends of the radios and found that some of them had information engraved on the inside flap. I translated them on a small piece of paper and within half an hour we had concluded that Alastor used FM to make his broadcasts. This meant the morse coder must be using AM.

I sat quietly in the dining room chair as Alastor closed his eyes and played with his magic. Every now and then the radios would sputter, crackle, then fizzle into silence as he tried to switch his frequencies. I watched him closely, now able to observe his features.

His eyebrows were slightly knit together in concentration and his ears frequently flicked or shifted, as if trying to hear the frequencies that were immune to my own ears. His cheeks were smooth but structured, his jaw line defined, and his eyelashes rather long. His hair was straight and perfect today because he wore his red button-up instead of pulling a sweater over his head. It was a little disappointing.

My eyes traced down the lining of his shirt until his arm obstructed my view. He was leaning on the armrest of the chair, fingers hugging the edge of the wood perfectly, while his other hand nestled perfectly in the crook of his elbow.

He had one leg crossed elegantly over the other and, to my dismay, wore his usual black shoes to hide his deer hooves. Though I didn't pay much attention to them as my eyes traced the fabric lines hugging his thighs.

He had always seemed very thin and elegant, even when I had healed him from his chest wound. But there was strength behind those lean muscles, and it only made my mind wonder how strong his legs were, too.

I jumped when a single radio crackled to life in the middle of the table—the only one tuned to AM. It struggled for a moment before a series of beeps began to fill the air.

"There you are," Alastor hummed, eyes still closed. It made the hair on my arms stand up, a reminder of who I was sitting next to.

We listened to the ryhthm. Just as Vox said, it repeated the same ryhthm twice, paused, then changed. It was intelligent. And it was definitely morse code. Did the archive in Lucifer's castle have a book on morse code?

The radio coughed and sputtered. Then fell silent.

I looked over at Alastor as his eyes opened. His smile turned devilish. "This is going to be a wonderful surprise for dear old Voxy."

I leaned back in my chair. "Why?"

He lowered his chin and looked at me through his long eyelashes. "Because the signal is coming from his district."

It should've been off-putting, the way his lips curled in a smile that could only mean trouble, or the way his eyes lit up at the idea of confrontation, or the way his teeth seemed to glow in the dim morning light of the storm.

But it wasn't.

It made my stomach turn, yet not in a bad way, and I couldn't help returning his smile. I watched the small movement in his eyes as he observed me this time.

He unfolded his arms and held out his hand. I placed mine on top and, once again, watched his fingers curl perfectly around my hand, squeezing gently. I loved the way his thumb moved across my skin and left a burning, invisible line in its wake.

He took it one step further and raised my hand to place a gentle kiss where his thumb had just been. His lips felt cool on contact, but it quickly spread heat across the rest of my hand. My lungs tightened. I clenched my jaw, unable to look away from his steady gaze.

"You are a miracle, my darling." He shifted forward in his chair and leaned his lips against my fingers and stayed there, searching my eyes. Goosebumps ran along my arms and I had the sudden urge to kiss him. But I was too nervous.

The radio in the living room revived itself and deep voices called for Alastor's response. He grumbled against my hand and the vibrations reached up my shoulders. With a roll of his eyes, he kissed my hand then carefully let go.

I busied myself with screwing the backs of the radios back on in a desperate attempt to ignore the heat in my cheeks. But then I froze when his hand touched the back of my neck as he passed behind me, light enough that it could've been an accident, but we both knew it wasn't.

I waited until he was seated in his chair in the living room, then reached up to rub the area he had touched. My cheeks burned as much as my hand and neck. I quietly hit my forehead with my fist then furiously screwed the radios back together.

{|}

Alastor was determined to keep you out of Vox's district as much as possible.

The storms let up long enough for Vox to build a windmill to charge that ancient canon of his from the underground fortress-ship. It required the labor of his men, Carmilla's people, and the magic of Alastor's people.

He decided to take you along as well—for good reason. Vox's district was the last one to receive your naturalistic care against the storms, but Alastor had devised a plan to keep you from spending too much time in that district.

While he demonstrated his anger-management skills by supervising his mages in Vox's presence, you and Husker walked around the smaller district and made notes of where the necessary trees and shrubbery were needed. This meant he and his mages needed only to follow your written directions, keeping you out of Vox's claws and giving you some much needed time with Rosie in the Agriculture District.

Husker and I walked the rather empty-looking surface of the Technology District. I carried a pad of paper, a pencil, and the district's roughly drawn map in my arms. I made small sketches and notes as we walked the platforms and narrow streets.

"Hey Husker? Do you think Alastor will ever give me my wings back?"

I had been watching the way Husker's red tipped wings swayed and rustled in the wind every time he turned at a sound or approaching figure. He was on high alert.

"Well kid," he said. "He uh...he's..."

"A paranoid freak?"

Husker smiled. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it." He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled down at me, though it quickly shifted to one of sympathy,

"Eventually," he answered my previous question, though the hesitation in his voice wasn't very comforting. He saw the way my head fell and hands made a pointless mark on the map.

He sighed. "When he first brought me under him, he took my wings away, too."

My eyes widened, though I shouldn't have been surprised. "He did?"

Husker nodded. "After awhile, when we were in a bad spot, he brought them back." We slowed to a stop as he lost himself in the memory. "It really was a risk on his part. I could've flown away right then and there. I could've left him to die on that ship with the rest of his crew. But...the way he said it when he gave my wings back...it made me...it made me want to stay. It made me want to use them to get us out safely..."

I waited patiently, hanging on his every word.

Finally, when he came out of the memory, his yellow eyes found mine and he gave a twisted smile. "Alastor likes his theatrics. He might be ready to give your wings back but he's waiting for the right time to make it count."

Ever the manipulator. I sighed internally, ignoring the itch in my back. "When do you think that'll be?"

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My guess? After Storm Season."

It felt like a million miles away, but we were already more than halfway through the season. Could I wait that long? It's not like I had any other choice.

Why wasn't I more upset about my wings? It was annoying, sure, but I didn't feel nearly as upset as I had been over other things when I first arrived in the city.

My feelings, I realized.

My feelings were getting in the way. They were a buffer.

Spend long enough dealing with something and it becomes normal.

His manipulation was becoming normal.

Yet I still couldn't get myself to be upset. I just felt...tired.

I directed my gaze upwards and caught sight of the figures moving about on the surface to build the windmill.

I really needed that talk with Rosie.

A flash of light. Then a clap of thunder—in the ground. My entire body vibrated for a split second as something exploded overhead.

I looked up as fire and smoke bellowed over the ravine's edge. Husker tackled me into the wall, using his wings as a shield. The fire sailed right past us and collided with the ground on the level beneath us. It shook the ground on impact.

Husker peered up through his wings but there was only a fading smoke trail. He looked sharply around, nose twitching and ears swiveling as he furiously scanned the area for danger. He then grabbed my hand and yanked me down the pathway, back towards the center of the city.

"What happened?" I asked, frantically looking over my shoulder. Deep smoke rose into the air, darkening the already gray sky. I could hear people start to scream.

Husker abruptly stopped, swiped me off my feet, and took off. He stayed below the surface of the ravine but just high enough off the ground without crashing. I hung onto his shoulders and stared over his back as the smoke climbed higher in the sky.

Had the White Angels attacked us? Was it a malfunction? A sabotage?

All I could think about was Alastor.

Husker dropped me off at Rosie's then immediately flew off again. I paced the length of Rosie's cave, bitting my nails and ignoring her attempts to calm me.

Trees and bushes crowded the opening to her cave, as was with every cave in her district, but I still couldn't focus on anything other than Alastor. What had happened? What was happening? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was there a fight going on? How many people had been hurt? Killed? Died?

My footclaws rapped the stone floor as I continued my pacing. Rosie waited by the cave entrance, just as anxious, but more experienced in hiding it. She stared up at the sky, waiting for word about the explosion. She had ordered her people to remain inside their own caves until further notice.

Those thirty minutes felt like hours until Rosie caught sight of Alastor and called out to him. I ran over and accidentally crashed into him as he walked in. He gripped my shoulders hard and pulled me away.

His clothes were singed—barely hanging on him and revealing bright red, blistering skin underneath. My mouth dropped open at the sight.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. He grabbed my chin and jerked my head up, searching for wounds on my neck and shoulders. I yanked my face away to examine his injuries.

"Are you hurt?" he repeated more forcefully. He patted me down at all the vital points of my body, and that's when I noticed the way my clothes stuck to his hands slightly.

"I'm fine." I snapped and grabbed his wrists to look at his palms. They were just as blistered and bleeding as the rest of his arms, but it was obvious which side had taken the brunt of the impact. "My god, Al—"

"Rosie, send some of your people to the center," he ordered. "Lucifer has already rounded up the healers but they need more help. There's too many injured."

"Right away." She whisked away in a matter of seconds.

Alastor turned back to me, the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked exhausted. The thick smell of smoke that clung to him had clogged my nose and was making my eyes water.

"Sit down," I said, pushing him backwards to the bench. His legs stuttered but he managed to sit, grimacing as he did. My eyes surveyed him from head to toe. I grabbed a knife from Rosie's sewing drawer and began cutting away the remains of his clothes—only the bits that were loose and not sticking to the blisters.

"What happened?" I asked and raced around Rosie's home in search of a damp wash cloth to cool his burns.

"An attack," he said thinly, "from the White Angels."

"What kind of attack?" I moved quickly but carefully, dotting his face, arms, neck and chest with a damp wash cloth. He hissed through the pain and I was grateful his adrenaline rush had not yet slowed because he would've been spitting and fighting me against the pain. But he will soon, though.

"An explosion," he answered. "It's...they've never done this before." He swayed a little. "It must be a new weapon."

"How do you know it was them?" I knelt beside him and started cutting away at his pant legs to expose the ugly blisters, clenching my jaw at the sight.

Alastor's silence made me look up. His eyelids sagged, as did the rest of his body, and his hand fell limply from his lap. I panicked and grabbed his shoulders to wake him, only to be met with the snap of his sharp teeth mere inches from my face. I could see in his eyes the moment he recognized me.

"M-My dear..."

"Stop. I know what you're going to say." I went over to the counter and filled an empty clay mug with water from a nearby pitcher. "Just stop talking and let me handle this." I lifted the mug to his lips and he quietly drank. Though he did attempt to do it himself but the pain in his fingers had finally reached him.

I forced him to drink the entire cup then helped him lay down on the bench. Luckily the front of him took the brunt of the attack, meaning he wouldn't be in pain while lying down. I set aside the cup then tended to his legs in the same manner as the rest of him.

"How bad is it?" he croaked, then coughed. "And don't lie to me."

I debated on listening, then decided to give him the truth. "Bad."

I searched around Rosie's home for bandages or pieces of cloth to use. I came back with a few towels and brought the pitcher to the floor with me. I tore the cloths into smaller strips and soaked them in water.

I started at his legs and glanced nervously at him. He was starting to nod off. "I'm sorry, Al. But you'll hate this part." I laid the damp bandage over a spot and his whole body seized. His hand hovered over the bandage, fighting with himself not to remove it.

I gently touched his arm where no blisters and charred fur were present, and marveled at the way he almost immediately relaxed.

His head dropped back onto the bench. "I'm such a fool."

"What happened up there?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the pain. I propped his leg up and started wrapping the different areas.

"I heard...morse code...they were—" He groaned against the pain. "I heard them talking on the radio. Soon after...soon after they attacked."

"Someone warned them?" I prompted, moving to his hands.

"Yes," he breathed out through his teeth. "They're...in Vox's district."

"So it's not Vaggie then," I said. "She's not the spy."

"We don't know that. She could be...involved somehow."

We continued to talk and theorize as I bandaged him up all the way to his neck. His magic had saved him from the blast, unlike so many others, but the biggest blow had been to his ego. He didn't say anything about it, but I could tell it was chewing at the back of his mind.

I poured the last of the water into his mug and sat on the edge of the bench. I gently raised his head just enough to help him sip from the cup. I had gone nose-blind to the smell of charred fur, clothes, and hair.

His poor hair. It was horrifyingly dry. It fell away at the smallest touch.

I lowered his head but kept my hand where it was, waiting for him to build more strength to finish the last sip of water. He sighed deeply and whispered my name.

"No," I said. "Don't try to say something dramatic. Just focus on me." I offered a small smile. "You'll probably go into shock soon, so try to stay awake."

He surprised me by smiling, as if the situation was a joke. "If I do," he said with a shallow breath, "will you kiss me awake?"

I smothered my own smile and glared down at him. "A slap will do better."

He hummed his amusement but it made him cough instead. "Then...won't you..." His breathing was getting heavier and faster. "Won't you...give me a kiss...for good luck?"

My heart twisted at the genuine way in which he asked. I smiled fully and carefully leaned down, hovering just over his lips. I saw his eyes close in anticipation and felt his breath on my cheeks as he tried to pause his breathing.

I lightly kissed him, enjoying the feeling of his lips moving against mine, but fought the urge to cough from the strong smell of smoke. He sighed through his nose and he visibly relaxed in a matter of seconds.

I leaned away with a smile, then lifted his head so he would drink the rest of the water.

{|}

I knew from past experiences that confining Alastor to one spot was a bad ideato say the least.

He was miserable within the first twenty-four-hours, even though he slept for most of it. His hands had suffered burns, but Lucifer had been kind enough to heal his hands after hours of healing the rest of the injured. I had never seen the short king look so worn and exhausted.

I sat in the hallway just outside his room while he slept, occasionally glancing in to make sure he was still breathing.

But once he woke up later that afternoon, I hurried downstairs avoid him. Now that he was stable, he had plenty of time to think. Which, in this particular situation, wasn't a good thing.

I could feel his tense magic in the air, even in the far corner of the kitchen where I helped Niffty make dinner. He was angry, of course. Disappointed, for sure. And bored. The man could hardly survive fifteen minutes of being bored.

On the second day of his confinement, he had enough.

Niffty and I were working peacefully, quietly, beside each other in front of the low fire. Some storm days were cold and drafty while others were hot and sticky. Today was a weird mix between the two.

Niffty was binding one of my finished translation sheets into a book when she abruptly stopped, stood up, and climbed the stairs, as if in a trance. Alastor's magic crackled faintly in my ears and I waited with bated breath for him to attempt whatever he did on Niffty to me.

Luckily he didn't, as Niffty came scurrying downstairs as right as rain and said Alastor wanted to see me.

I told myself I didn't need to be nervous. He wasn't angry with me. I didn't do anything wrong. He was just frustrated at his predicament. Still, it did little to ease my racing heart as I slowly climbed the stairs.

I peered around the doorway. He was sitting upright, dressed in loose maroon sleeping clothes, and his recently healed hand rubbed at his temples. I could see the new bandages under his sleeves and around his neck.

He looked tired and exhausted, but entirely like Al. It was as though we were back in the bunker...especially with the disheveled look of his hair.

His poor, dry, fried hair.

I cleared my throat. "Al?"

He instantly looked up and the exhaustion faded from his features. He set aside the book he had been attempting to read. "Come in, my dear."

I braced for nothing and took a few steps inside, holding my hands behind my back. "Did you need something?"

He gave me a feigned look of exasperation. "Is it such a crime to want your company?" One of his ears flicked.

My cheeks colored and I traced the lines in the floor with my footclaw.

"Come closer."

Gaze still averted, I approached his bed and stood roughly an arms length from him. But he expertly snaked a hand around my waist and pulled me closer so my knees bumped the wooden frame.

My eyes couldn't decide where to look—at him, the bed, the book, his desk, the boarded doors, the drapes—

He touched a finger to my chin and pushed up, drawing my gaze to him. He smiled and the sight made my heart skip a beat. Why wouldn't my heart slow down?

"Beautiful," he murmured.

I blinked. "What is?"

"Your eyes."

Heat rushed into my face and I shied away, but he grabbed my jaw with a firm hand and hugged my waist tighter, refusing to let go. My one hand grabbed at the arm around me while the other fisted my pant leg until it hurt.

He chuckled softly, amused at my reaction.

My face burned brighter as he tried to meet my eyes. Unsure what to do, and uncomfortably shy at our close proximity, I reached up to touch his hair. He quieted as several strands of hair fell away. It was amazing more hadn't fallen out already, but I suppose his magic was trying to keep him stitched together.

He suddenly leaned into my touch, eyes closed. His cheek, partially covered by more bandages, was warm to the touch—and dry. I rubbed my thumb over his painfully dry and cracked skin and thought of how I might help. I could only imagine the pain and discomfort he was in, further enunciated by his confinement.

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and pulled me closer. I used both hands to cup his face and gently touch the bandages. The smell of smoke still clung to him, though not as strongly, and the crackle of fire in my little alcove came to mind.

A cool, summer evening breeze swept through the forest and the birds chirped overhead. My knife made loud chops as I diced the vegetables on the cutting board. Al's hand came into view to take the knife from me, giving me full view of his black and red deer tail.

I stared up at the dimming orange sky through the bramble and tree leaves, only for my view to be obstructed by a pair of bright red ears. He leaned down to kiss me, fitting his knee between my legs and lowering his weight on top of me. He was warm. He was gentle. He was kind.

"Darling?" Alastor brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek, bringing me back to reality. I blinked the memory away and withdrew my hands and apologized.

"You should shower," I said, attempting to step away but failing to do so on account for his arm still wrapped around my waist. "Your hair desperately needs it." I gently pushed a strand near his neck and watched it sway stiffly.

"An excuse to see me undress?" he teased.

I firmly, but carefully, plucked his arm off my hip. "I've seen you naked enough times, thank you." For good measure, I added, "Twice is plenty."

He caught my hand and pulled it to his lips. "You wound me, my dear." He placed a kiss on my knuckles, light and feathery. "But I won't shower for some time. These blisters hurt far too much."

"I can't imagine your scalp feels any good." I reached up and threaded my fingers through the chalky strands. He instantly closed his eyes and hummed deeply.

"It does when you do that."

I giggled quietly. "Would you like me to take care of your hair again?" More softly I said, "Like back then?"

He opened one eye. "Perhaps."

I stepped closer and he lifted his head slightly, licking his lips in anticipation. I did the same, hovering mere centimeters over his lips, until I finally kissed him. My heart pulsed through my fingertips as we kissed a second time, and before we could get lost in more, I pulled away.

In the bathroom, I situated a stool close to the tub's edge and sat him down so he could rest his head backwards on it. His injuries were mostly on his front side, meaning he could lean back and move relatively normal. But his grimacing still expressed a high level of pain from the healing skin.

With a towel supporting his neck, I began to cut away the strands that were too far gone, burnt to a crisp and falling apart on contact. It should've been done sooner, preferably the night of the attack, but Alastor had been too lethargic to even sit upright.

I asked Niffty to change Alastor's pillow as I sorted through the collection of oils under the sink. I perched myself on the tub's edge, close to his head, and started combing the oils through his newly cut hair. It wasn't pretty, but it would grow back.

He was doing that thing again. I didn't even need to look to know he was staring up at me, searching my face and trying to catch my gaze.

"So what now?" I asked. "We still need to disable the White Angels' communication system."

He sighed when I massaged a certain area on his scalp. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Vox's canon requires energy we don't have."

"I thought it was destroyed."

"The windmill was," he explained. "The canon is underground."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where?"

"It's attached to his fortress."

My hands stilled. "Vox...fixed a battleship?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means."

I went back to massaging his hair, for no other reason than an excuse to keep touching him. "A type of military ship. There were different kinds but those ones had big canons." I recalled the rooms and hallways I had walked through in Vox's fortress. I knew it had been a ship, but his furnishing made it appear like something non-militaristic.

A thought came to mind. "How did he make it work?"

Alastor peered up at me, but didn't voice his thoughts. "Trial and error, I suppose."

"Why haven't you used it before?"

"From what he told me, it wasn't positioned correctly. He had to carve out more stone in order to move it in the right direction."

"So how does he know it'll even land where he wants it to?"

Alastor tried to shrug but grimaced. "He doesn't. But it was the best thing we could think of."

I mindlessly combed through his hair in silence, enjoying the intimate moment, as was he, until my hands grew tired. I helped him up and led him back to his room. I sat on the edge of his bed and talked with him some more until Niffty brought his dinner up.

He grabbed my wrist when I went to leave. "Won't you stay? It's positively boring up here. All alone~," he dramatized. I gave in.

Niffty joined us for dinner and sat cross legged on his bed while I pulled up his desk chair. We talked further on the White Angel issue, particularly on how to find the traitor in Vox's district and if Vaggie had any ties to it. It seemed impossible for the ex-White Angel to be involved when she was under constant surveillance.

The tone of conversation turned lighter as Niffty detailed her imaginary war of her crocheted bugs. Alastor watched me as I listened to her, fully aware of what he was doing. His gaze left a hot trail wherever he looked, and it wasn't because of his magic.

After we had finished eating, I pulled the chair back to his desk and offered to take his plate from him. He looked at me with surprisingly big, round eyes and soft features. "Will you work some more or do you plan to sleep soon?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. "I'll probably translate a few pages before I go to bed."

"Then do them here." He gestured to the empty side of his bed. "You do know how much I loathe boredom."

I smiled and took his plate. "I knew I was just entertainment for you."

He scrunched his nose at me in response.

While Niffty cleaned up the kitchen, I brought my text and pad of paper to his room. I clumsily sat on his bed and shifted closer, but not too close. My hands were shaking slightly as I opened the text and tried to find the page I had been working on.

I shouldn't have agreed to stay.

My heart was racing again and for no reason. He wasn't upset at me—he was actively searching for my presence. It took twice as long to translate a single sentence knowing that he was sitting less than an arm's length away.

My mind couldn't get around the fact that I was sitting on his bed, on his sheets, in his room. Could he feel my anxiety? Was I making it obvious?

Alastor repeatedly glanced over at you. He could see the way your shoulders hunched tightly, your hands moved statically, and could faintly hear your erratic breathing. He was having difficulty understanding what sprouted these random anxious moments. He originally thought close proximity, but you had been perfectly find when you were taking care of his hair and you had initiated a kiss.

Regardless, he was going to test out another strategy of his. The only problem was that it included waiting.

He metaphorically dragged his feet through his work, half listening to his radio frequencies in the back of his mind as he sifted through orders and journalists' records. The easiest thing to do in his current state was to continue compiling the play of events from the different caves. Rosie's caves, by far, had the least amount of difficulties.

Finally, finally, you started to nod off.

Your head repeatedly dropped as you fought sleep and gravity simultaneously. He waited, desperately hoping he could time it correctly.

With your elbow propped on your leg and your head in your hand, you drifted off longer than usual. He used a touch of magic to pull your textbook and his work off the bed, then slowly but surely shifted further down the bed until he was laying flat on his back. He ignored the stings from his injuries and reached over to pull your paper off your lap.

You startled awake but your eyes were still droopy as you looked over at him. He blew out the lantern on his bedside table and dropped the paper on the floor next to the bed.

"S-Sorry, I'll go now."

His shadow pushed against your knees to bring you close enough that he could wrap an arm around you. Your eyes suddenly widened as you realized what he was trying to do. But instead of running and panicking, you let him pull you against his side and drape his red sheets over your shoulders.

Uncertainly, you rested your head on the edge of his pillow and set your arm on his chest where there were no injuries. You were as stiff as a board but he knew he needed only to wait a few minutes for you to grow tired again.

And right he was.

You shifted closer and brushed your feet against his hooves. You brought your face closer to his neck where he could feel your steady breathing on his fur. Somehow your head, arms, neck, and legs were touching all the areas on him that were safe and free from blisters.

You were perfect.

He knew this bliss might not come again once Storm Season was over, but he savored the way you leaned into him, the way you melted against his side. As much as your fear of him still lingered in ways he couldn't understand, he knew there was a deep desire to seek his presence, his company, his passion.

He turned his head and nuzzled his nose into your hair and took a deep breath.

But maybe, just maybe, he could have something real with you. Forever. 

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Author's Note:

I think we all needed some sappy Alastor and sweet fluff.

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Taglist:@drevisrose @until-thedaysof-spring @torustesseract @sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette @eris-norwega

[lvsmdilemma]

Alastor x fem!reader

Alastor’s voice is the kind that ruins good sense—rich, smooth, and stitched together with something wicked. That's why you couldn't be blamed for falling prey to his whimsy.

Hells newest sinner, you were previously a singer, famous for all the wrong wrong reasons. Ending up in hell didn't surprise you, but he did.

You met Charlie Morningstar first, she was telling you about some hotel, something about redeeming sinners, it was cute, and besides you had nowhere else to stay at the moment, so you seriously considered it. Then you felt it—him.

A ripple in the air. Like the world had taken a deep breath and was holding it. The hairs on your arms lifted before the door even creaked open.

Static.

Not the cheap kind from broken radios—no, this was the vintage kind. Heavy. Velvet. Intentional. It hummed against your skin like a low moan from the universe itself, and when you turned around—

There he was.

All red and grin and soulless eyes that didn’t just look at you, but ate. Tasted. Savored. His gaze swept over you like a forked tongue licking across a sacrificial altar.

“Oh,” he said, voice dipped in molasses and brimstone. “Now what’s this?”

Charlie straightened beside you, smile faltering ever so slightly. “Alastor. She’s new, a singer. Just got here. I was telling—”

“A singer,” he cut in, eyeing you like you were a freshly bled deer laid out in his parlor. “I remember you.”

You swallowed. “You do?”

"You were just a starlet when i made my grand exit." He chuckled. That damn laugh. It made your knees tighten and your heart stutter.

“I collect voices,” he said, tapping the end of his cane against the floor like a metronome. “Yours… was loud. Scandalous. Unapologetic. I liked that. The world didn’t deserve you. Hell will suit you just fine.”

“And you,” he said softly, leaning just enough to make you feel it in your spine, “you’ll love it here. You will stay at the hotel, won't you darling?”

Charlie glanced between you two, uncertain. You barely noticed.

Because he was closer now. Not quite touching—but looming. Like smoke. Like hunger.

Your breath hitched.

You nodded.

You should’ve run. Should’ve looked away.

The way his grin sharpened at that—like you’d just offered yourself up on a silver plate—made something deep in your chest throb.

“Womderful,” he whispered.

“Because I’ve got so many games I’d like to play with you.”

Pt 2? Requests are very welcome

[parallaxdemon]

alastor x human demon hunter- like protect earth from demons?

you know like how Blitzo goes to earth to kill humans, alastor finds a way to get deers from earth, this masked human without powers was actually a challenge to beat and she had a sword of angelic steel,

perhaps they fight for a long period of time, until it got boring, and they just started talking, opposites attract?

Oooooo!!! I love it! Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes Opposites Attract

Warnings— 18+, Blood & Gore, Violence, Sexual Tension, Demi Alastor

You were an excellent demon hunter. Any demon who dared come to Earth was met with a terrible fate at the hands of you. Your angelic sword would slice them up to ribbons. The only part of the job you hated was having to clean off their blood and guts off of you.

Filthy fucking creatures. You thought.

Yes, you were the best of the best. No one ever beaten you. No demon ever escaped from you. That was until him.

Alastor the Radio Demon. You met him 4 years ago, when he came to Earth for unknown reasons. It was obvious that he was a high level demon, so your team sent you, the best demon hunter they had.

He was taking a walk through the woods, enjoying the lovely scenery. You were following him from a distance, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Little did you know that he knew you were there the entire time.

“You can come out of hiding now. I know you’re there.”

You cursed under your breath, pissed that he had noticed you. You stepped out of the bushes.

“Why, hello there! Alastor’s the name. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure! Now, why don’t you introduce yourself and take that ridiculous little mask off.”

You, of course, just charged at him with your sword. Suddenly, black tentacles appeared from out of the ground and wrapped around you, throwing your sword far off in a random direction, and suspended you up in the air.

“A bit shy, it seems. That’s alright, I’ll remove the mask for you.”

You shook your head defiantly. But he just removed your mask with one of the tentacles.

“Ah, a pretty girl. Now, what would such a delicate creature be doing with such a dangerous weapon, you might hurt yourself.”

His ever present grin widened. He ran his fingers through your soft hair.

“Does the beauty have a name?”

“Fuck you, you demon bastard! When I get down, I’m going to fucking slice you in half!”

He covered your mouth.

“Now now, such ugly language to come from such a pretty little mouth.”

He wagged his finger at you, chuckling.

“Since you won’t tell me your name, my dear, let’s see if any identification on you.”

He began searching your pockets, while you writhed around trying to free yourself from his tentacles.

“Ah! Here it is! Your name is [Name]. What a beautiful name, it suits you, my dear.”

You made a cranky face.

“How cute.”

He stroked your face gently. Suddenly there were sirens coming from somewhere in the distance. Your team was coming.

“That’s my que! Well, it’s been a delightful time, my dear. I do hope you come see me again soon.”

The tentacles placed you back on the ground, Alastor kissed your hand quicker than you could react, then he disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Bastard.”

You cursed, going to find your sword.

Since then, you have had many encounters with him. You just couldn’t let it go that he was the one who had beaten you. Your team even suggested that you take a break, but you weren’t having it.

Every time, you would still try to kill him and every time he would escape. Each encounter involved him restraining you in some way, flirting with you, and telling you that you were never going to best him.

One time, he snapped his fingers and you were in a dress from the 1920s with your hair all done up. Then he made dance with him.

“My dear [Name], you look so much better without that ridiculous uniform on. Yes, much more ladylike now.”

“I hate you.”

You spat at him. He only laughed.

“Do you now, darling? Then why are you blushing?”

He asked as he spun you around, before dipping you.

You quickly turned away from him, trying to hide your flustered face from him. It was true that you were growing quite attracted to him and you despised it.

“Haha, oh you’re so adorable, my little demon hunter. Hiding your true feelings from both me and yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“So feisty…it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

He grabbed your chin with his large hand, making you look up at him.

“You know, you have gorgeous eyes. I could just get lost in them.”

You felt your walls crumbling down as you gazed up at his handsome face. That smile that used to disgust you now charmed you.

“I…I…”

You couldn’t even speak.

“Shh, you don’t need to say anything.”

He brought his lips mere inches from yours, but as you were about to kiss, the sirens came again.

Shit. You thought.

“Till we meet again, my dear.”

He kissed your cheek before leaving.

Let me know, if you would like a part two. <3

[ctrlzirl]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Welcome to the world of “Being in love with a person who doesn’t exist in real life but you pretend they do anyway because you’re obsessed” ✧˖*°࿐

[nifftyisgonnakillu]

LGBT stands for Let’s Get Blitzo Therapy

[nanami1chu]

Someone please write about Cursed Cat Alastor!!

He’s so ugly but funny looking at the same time it’s cute! I want him lmao ❤️