#Alastor/Reader

[jazzmasternot]

He’s a red flag but red means good fortune and love in my culture 😘

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

prompt: who did this to you? tell me now.

summary: when you end up getting hurt while out, you make it back home, but just barely.

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

characters: alastor, lucifer

warnings: talk of fighting, abuse, broken bones and getting hurt, being stabbed. essentially you’re hurt and they respond to you being hurt. blood and medical care by the characters too.

alastor

you walked into the hotel, staggering in, barely able to keep yourself up. every breath your feeble body tried to drag in aggravated another part of your body, causing even slight breaths to feel like you were being punched again.

you grimaced as you found stability against the wall next to door, leaning against it, your head hitting the wall. you micro-adjusted yourself trying to find a spot where you could breathe, knowing if you didn’t you would pass out. you couldn't find that spot, and were near tears. you couldn’t breathe, everything hurt, your eye was swollen shut, and you didn’t know what else to do. you had to get to your room but the thought of walking up those stairs and then down the hallway to your room seemed more of a torture session then you just got through.

that’s when you heard the soft pattering of feet and you looked up to see wide eyes.

red eyes bore into yours as the momentary shock of seeing alastor stopped your brain from thinking about the mind numbing pain you were experiencing. you watched him tighten his grip on his cane as he slowly made his way over to you, like you were a wounded animal.

“can you walk?” he asked, sizing up your figure and waving the cane away.

“i’m not… sure. i… got here… okay…. but my rooms… far.” you muttered out, long pauses between words to catch your breath. he nods, a dark shadow passing over his face along with apprehension, before he shakes his head and approaches you holding out his hands.

“may i carry you?” he asks.

“what?” your shock at his question causing you to not fully register what he said.

“will you allow me to carry you up to the rooms. i’ll help you with whatever injuries you have there.” he says slow and careful.

“i don’t know if… you can carry… me.” you murmur. he smiles a bit more now.

“i’m stronger than i look.” he replies back easily. you wave your free hand at him, giving him consent to go ahead. he gently places his arm under your knees and in a swift movement your in his arms, your body searing as your injuries are jostled.

“fuck.” you moan out trying to breath. alastor stays still and waits until you’re breathing somewhat regularly. he then starts taking you up the stairs, heading the opposite direction from your room.

“my room…” you say pointing behind him.

“i know. we’re going to my room. i have more first aid supplies then what charlie put in the rooms.” he replies easily, not breaking a sweat or even seeming out of breath. his door opens and he gently places you down on a chair near the opening to the forest. you try and find your breath again as alastor quietly darts off and comes back with a box of medical supplies.

he’s quiet as he examines you and asks permission to take off your shirt. he quickly assesses the damage to your ribs, your ankle and your face. checking your hands as well and glaring at the wounds on your knuckles. he starts with your ribs first, setting them and then wrapping them, forcing your posture straight. had you not been just trying to stay awake, you would have blushed at how gently his hands trailed your sides, piecing you back together. next he hands you a cold pack for your eye. you hold it up as he wraps your hand in gauze and ointment. you switch hands as he treats the other one.

“i don’t think your ankle is broken.” he says, “but at the least it’s sprained horribly.” he pulls out a stabilizer and gauze. “this will hurt.” you nod.

“do you worse.” you mutter, finally able to take deeper but still shallow breaths. he turns your foot to face up and your eyes widen as you scream.

“it’s okay. you’re okay.” he says, his eyes wide and worried.

“it hurts al. it hurts.” you cry, tears running down your face.

“i know. but let me finish up. it will feel better.” he assured you as he reaches up and wipes your tears away.

“go ahead.” you whisper. he quickly puts the stabilizer against your leg and then wraps it with gauze. tears running down your cheeks as you keep still and silent.

“it’s done.” he says leaning back as you sit in the chair feeling exhausted.

“thank you… alastor.” you voice no louder than a whisper but you know he hears you as he nods. he packs everything up and then moves you to the bed that magically appears in the room.

“i have a room al.” you say, sitting against the pillows.

“i know you do, but you can’t do anything in this condition. so you’ll stay here until i deem it okay for you to leave.” his tone leaving no room for argument and you nod. “now, who did this to you?”

your eyes widen as your head snaps up at him. gone was the man you saw before, replaced with what you knew as the radio demon. the shift happened almost instantaneously. “it was nothing alastor. i just… fucked up.” you say looking off to the side.

“i don’t take well with lying dear.” he says, his hand hovering over your ankle as a warning. you look at him disbelieving and he just tilts his head. almost as if he’s saying ‘try me’. you sigh.

“it was an ex of mine. he worked for vox and i left him before i came here. he was abusive and i had enough. but he found me and he knew i was at the hotel. said i couldn’t get away from him, and that we were meant to be. and when i tried to get away…” you motioned to yourself. you hoped your words came across as truthful and sincere. you internally sighed in relief as alastor nodded, and sent his shadow off. moments later husk appeared and alastor murmured something to him. you saw husk’s eyes widen as he looked at you and then alastor.

“i’ll take care of it.” husk said, his gaze steely as he left.

“relax my dear. you’re safe now and we’ll help you recover.” alastor said, as you moved to lay down, him taking up an arm chair by the bed and procuring a book from thin air. you closed your eyes as guilt consumed you. you had told alastor the truth but not the full truth.

you didn’t tell him that your ex mentioned that him “giving to you what was coming” was from vox and was to be a message to the radio demon. you knew that alastor would withdraw after that and that would hurt you more than any other physical pain anyone could put you through.

lucifer

you quickly shut the door to the house, leaning against it and taking a breath. you looked down to your abdomen and got a bit woozy seeing the blood spread across your white shirt.

“damn it.” you mutter, feeling a bit foggy from the blood loss. you shake your head trying to clear it. you knew that lucifer was home and you could only hold onto the hope that he didn't hear you come in. you were getting ready to make your way to the bathroom when lucifer popped in front of you.

“honey! you’re home!” he says, looking mostly at the papers in his hand as you straightened up much to the protest of your body, trying to seem like you had not been stabbed maybe 15 minutes ago.

“i- yup!” you responded, your voice tight as you tried to cover your wound with your hand. you moved your jacket over it so that it couldn’t be seen either. lucifer looked up at you as his eye squinted at you. 

“are you all right?” he asks, coming closer to you, his focus on those papers in his hand all but forgotten. 

“i-i’m fine, luce.” you smile, it not reaching your eyes though. you clear your throat, looking off the left, trying to figure out a way to stop him from really observing you. “i know you said you wanted to show me those new plans for the hotel, let’s go check them out!” you say, changing the subject. hoping that worked. you didn’t want to worry him, nor tell him why you were hurt.

“okay…” he says drawing out the word and then motioning for you to follow him. you start walking behind him, every footstep jostling you and causing your wound to bleed even more, when you reached the three stairs to his study. he crossed them easily but you stepped up on the one and gasped, feeling searing pain in your side. your hand coming out to hold the wall so you didn’t fall. your breath rushing in and out of you like you had ran a race, as your head swam, your body loosing more blood. you see the red substance drip from your hand and watch it fall to the floor, blending into the red carpet. you look up and see lucifer standing there, his eyes wide. 

“what the fuck happened?” he cries, going to you and lifting you up, your hand falling from your wound and your jacket falling back, showing the slice through your shirt. he quickly makes a portal and gets you to your shared room. he gently lays you down on the bed, and dashes off to get some gauze. you try to get off the bed not wanting to ruin the sheets. he comes back to you flailing, trying to get up and pushes you back down, looking at you like you had completely lost it.

“the sheets…” you murmur, coughing and wiping your hand away seeing blood. “oh no.” you whisper and his eyes widen. he throws the gauze away and places his hands on your stomach.

“why didn't you tell me immediately?" he cries, shaking his head looking distraught. "i’m going to heal you, just... stay still.” he says closing his eyes. you grab his hand with the strength you had, though you felt all the strength in your body seemingly being siphoned just by laying on the bed. he looks at you, his eyes wide.

“it hurts you.” you say. 

“don’t care.” he says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. before you can argue again, his hands glow gold and you body starts stitching itself up, cell by cell, inch by inch. you can feel it all. you cry out as lucifer healing you seems to go on forever. the few minutes it takes seems like hours, as your mind swims through a sea of pain and exhaustion. finally the golden glow subsides and lucifer drops to his knees next to you. you grab his hand as he rests his head against you. both of you trying to recover. you can barely keep your eyes open feeling them closing. you drift off to a dreamless sleep, almost like your body forcing you to rest. 

when you wake next you sit up quickly, looking around the dark room trying to find lucifer. your breath coming in short pants as you can't see anything but the darkness in the room.

“luce?” you ask, your voice hoarse and then you look next to you. lucifer was sleeping close by you. you sigh out in relief as you lay back down and brush his hair back from his eyes, kissing his forehead. “you saved me, again.” you murmur, gently resting your hand on his cheek, resting your forehead against his. his eyes open slowly.

“i’ll always be there to do so.” he smiles and sits up. 

“i’m sorry i woke you up.” you said as he turned to you, drawing you to him and situating you to straddle his lap. clutching you close.

“i was so scared.” he whispered, not like he was asleep just a moment ago.

“i’m sorry.” you respond back. your head slotting in between his shoulder and neck. he lets you rest there for a moment and then pulls you back to look at you.

“who did this to you?” he asks, his eyes steely as he cupped your face gently. you shook your head not wanting to say. “darling, who did this?” he asked, the tone of his voice sharper and more impatient.

“i-“ tears start running down your face. “you’re going to be so upset… and i don’t want you to be. i don’t want.. you to pull away from me again. it’ll make you do that and i can’t bare that lucifer. i just-“ you start talking quickly, your breaths coming quick as you hold on to his shoulders, looking into his eyes even as tears pour from yours. lucifer’s eyes widen and his eyes are misty seeing how upset you are. 

“i won’t. i promise you. i won't pull away, regardless of what you tell me. but i need to know who did this to you. tell me. now.” lucifer says, his voice firm. 

“i-they were masked. they looked like sharks?” you phrased the last statement as a question. “they cornered me in an alley and said that i needed to take a message to lucifer. that they knew how to get to you, and they could use me to do that and you needed to give them what they asked for.” you said as you recounted the tale with your eyes closed. you opened them when you felt lucifer’s claws digging into your hips. you saw his eyes had turned red and his horns were fully out. 

“and they stabbed you?” he ground out. you nodded. "that was their message?" you nodded again.

"that if you didn't do what they asked, they would hurt me." you explain, realizing near the end of the explanation that it probably wasn't needed. his eyes darkened as you spoke, and he moved you gently onto your side of the bed. he took a deep breath as he got up. he gently petted your hair and helped you lay down, his horns no longer out, but his eyes bright red.

“where are you going?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“out. i’ll be back all right. stay here and go to sleep, you need it. i’ll be right back.” he says, a steely resolve in his eyes, and a gentle smile on his face. you nodded as your eyes felt heavy and fell asleep before lucifer even reached the door to leave. he straightened his jacket and walked down the hall. he had important work to take care of as he created a portal and stepped through it.

[vipetas]

hide and seek

Heart racing, you gently eased the closet door shut, nestling yourself deeper inside of it. With a hand pressed over your mouth to stifle your breaths, you strained to hear any approaching footsteps.

Silence enveloped the room, and you allowed yourself to breathe a soft sigh of relief. This was a good hiding spot, you thought to yourself. Surely, he’ll never find–

“Oh, darling! Where are you?”

Your hand instinctively shot back to cover your mouth. Shit, how did he know to look for you in this room?

You held your breath, listening intently. Before long, you heard it: the slow, deliberate approach of footsteps. Each one seemed to echo the pounding of your heart as you braced yourself for the closet doors to be flung open.

Yet, it never happened. Instead, three soft knocks on the closet's doors signaled his presence on the other side. You pressed farther back into the closet, trying desperately to remain unnoticed, but it was too late.

“There you are!” Alastor's voice rang out as he swung open both doors. As light flooded into the cramped space, you met his gaze, a mix of annoyance and amusement crossing your features

“Alastor!” you scolded in a hushed tone, careful not to attract further attention. “You cheater, how did you find me?”

With a chuckle, the Radio Demon grinned wider as he leaned against the door frame.

“Why, darling, I simply followed the sound of your beating heart. It led me right to you. Quite the delightful melody, if I do say so myself.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed any irritation you might've felt. “Alright, Romeo, fair enough,” you quipped as you stood up, brushing off your clothes.

Alastor responded with a playful wink, extending his hand towards you as an offer to help you out of the closet. You accepted, feeling a subtle thrill course through you as your fingers intertwined. It was a sensation that had become familiar, one that never failed to stir something within you. Just as you were about to comment on it, the moment was abruptly cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps.

In an instant, Alastor swiftly pushed you back into the closet, joining you inside before you could even react.

The confined space of the closet felt even smaller with both of you squeezed inside, pressed close together to accommodate for the lack of room. In the dim light, your gaze met Alastor's, and he placed a finger to his lips, motioning for you to remain quiet. You nodded, your heart fluttering ever so slightly not just from the fear of being discovered but also from his proximity.

Still, you waited, holding your breath. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, but after a moment, you heard someone gingerly enter the room. It wasn't unexpected, but what caught you off guard was the sudden voice that shattered the stillness.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” Charlie called out, her tone carrying a playful curiosity.

Alastor, ever perceptive, sensed the gasp rising in your throat. With a swift movement, his hands slid to your sides, pulling you even closer to him. His lips hovered just inches away from yours, barely brushing against them as he whispered, “Stay calm, my dear.”

For a moment, you forgot about the game, about the risk of being caught. As Charlie's voice lingered in the air, Alastor's grip on you tightened subtly, sending a delightful cascade of shivers down your spine. The way he held your gaze was both unnerving and intoxicating, and you felt yourself melting as his fingers began tracing the curve of your sides, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake.

In turn, your own hands sought solace in the fabric of his suit, fingers curling around the material. As you leaned into his embrace, you purposefully brushed your lips against his again in an almost kiss, and a low, deep hum rumbled from within Alastor’s chest.

You could feel his frustration, palpable even with the scant distance separating you. It was a gap neither of you could ensure for a moment longer.

But reality came crashing back down as Charlie’s voice pierced through the silence again.

“Hello! I know somebody’s in here!” She said, her presence looming larger as she continued to search the room. Her movements became increasingly frantic as she searched behind curtains and under the bed, leaving you with the unsettling certainty that the closet would be her next target.

Glancing back at Alastor, you were somewhat surprised to find his gaze still fixed solely on you, seemingly unconcerned with Charlie's search outside. His hands suddenly left your sides, and you found yourself missing his touch. But before you could dwell on the absence for long, they found a new resting place, cradling the back of your head with a possessiveness that both startled and thrilled you.

Without warning, he closed the gap between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that bordered on primal. It was a stark departure from his usual gentleness, leaving you momentarily bewildered by the sudden intensity. Yet as the kiss deepened, any thoughts of protest were quickly swept away by the overwhelming heat rising between you.

Eagerly, you opened your mouth for him, craving the sensation of his claim, and claim you he did. Pulling your hair back as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue brushed against yours, sending waves of pleasure that shot through your veins, setting every nerve ablaze with desire. Lost in the dizzying sensation, your body acted on its own accord as it arched into his touch, your bodies melding together seamlessly. Each curve and contour fit together perfectly, as if they were two halves of the same whole.

As the moment's intensity threatened to peak, you suddenly heard the soft creak of the outside door opening. Your heart lurched in your chest, and you instinctively pulled away from Alastor, eyes wide as you fixated on the crack of the closet door, where a sliver of light seeped through.

Alastor, however, remained unperturbed. His lips trailed kisses across your jaw, his hands returning to your sides with a firm grip that pooled your insides with warmth. Despite the interruption, you found yourself melting into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck as you surrendered to his desires, even as a part of your mind remained on high alert.

“Hey, did you find anyone?” Vaggie’s voice rang out.

The sound of her footsteps drew closer, accompanied by Charlie's response. “No luck yet, Vaggie. But I'm sure they're hiding somewhere around here.”

“Did you check the closet?”

The innocent question sliced through the air like a blade, catching you off guard. Every fiber of your being urged you to break away from Alastor, to regain control of the situation before it spiraled further out of hand. But as you struggled to gather your thoughts, Alastor's lips crashed against yours once more, effectively drowning out your protests.

“Alastor,” you whispered urgently against his mouth, your attempts to push him away met with stubborn resistance. Despite your efforts, he remained as sturdy as a brick wall, his fervent kiss consuming you with an intensity that left you powerless to resist.

“I didn’t!” Charlie gasped, and in the next instant, the unmistakable sound of their approach shattered any remaining pleasure you felt. Desperation flooded through you as you attempted to push Alastor away once more, but he only seemed to draw impossibly nearer, enveloping you in an almost suffocating embrace as his tongue boldly invited itself into your mouth.

This is it, you thought. You’d never hear the end of being caught in such an embarrassing situation. You could already feel heat rushing to your cheeks as you struggled between surrendering to Alastor’s intoxicating taste and preserving your dignity.

Bracing yourself for the inevitable, you tightly shut your eyes.

However, embarrassment never came. Instead, you felt a sudden shift, like being caught in a whirlwind of energy. Colors blurred and twisted around you, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if your very essence was being pulled apart at the seams. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation ceased, and you found yourself standing in Alastor’s radio tower, his hands still resting upon you.

“You're such a cheater!” You playfully scolded, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge with your hand.

“Cheater? Me?” Alastor replied with mock innocence, his grin widening as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I merely... bent the rules to my advantage.”

With a shake of your head, you chuckled softly, finding it impossible to stay upset with him for too long. “Well, you certainly have a knack for bending them,” you commented with a smile.

“Would you prefer that I bend you?”

Alastor's remark sent your heart racing, your cheeks warming at the implication. Emboldened by the rush of adrenaline, you closed the distance between you, your fingertips lightly grazing his cheeks as you brought your lips tantalizingly close to his.

“Maybe I would,” you replied, the words barely a whisper. Alastor chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as his hand slipped to the small of your back.

“Well then, my dear,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “Let's see just how much you can handle.”

[degen-fics]

Show Them What They'll Never Have

[Alastor x Reader] Rating: E Tags: exhibitionism, semi-public sex, dom/sub, light bondage, edging, possessive sex, praise & degradation, dirty talk, no aftercare CW: degradation and dirty talk include references to imaginary situations regarding free use and dubious consent

---[read on ao3]---

Alastor has a laundry list of rules and expectations for you, both in and outside of the hotel, and you always do your best to follow them. They're quite simple, straightforward requests, all of which boil down to one basic concept: Don't do anything stupid. Don't be reckless, don't put yourself in dangerous situations, don’t do anything to warrant extra attention, and above all else, don't be stupid. If you're questioning what falls within those limitations, use your pretty little head and ask yourself, “what would Alastor say?” Not ‘do,’ because your will-they/won't-they partner usually resorts to methods beyond your current capabilities, but ‘say,’ because you ought to know him well enough by now to answer that question for him.

  Suffice it to say, you have no idea what's riled him up this badly. You came back well before dark and all in one piece. Nothing was stolen from you. There aren't any new marks of questionable origin anywhere to be seen. And yet, Alastor was waiting for you right as you returned. Back straight, fingers drumming against his microphone, smile perfectly in place, all with the sharpest, most unforgiving glare you've had the pleasure/misfortune of seeing across your lifespan and beyond. He hadn't even given you a moment's pause to react, opting instead to grab you by the wrist and forcibly drag you up the stairs. 

  After getting shoved into his room and verbally assaulted with various ways of him asking ‘what were you thinking?’ Alastor finally hits you with a command that makes even less sense.

  “Strip.”

  “What?” You gawk at the sheer audacity, instinctively crossing your arms over your body. “I’m sorry?”

  “I told you to strip, darling. Undress. Disrobe. Take your clothes off. My word,” he clicks his tongue, “you really have misplaced that head of yours.”

  You point at your head. He rolls his eyes. Come on, that was an Alastor-tier joke, one for the textbooks, and he doesn't even entertain the idea of faux amusement. Knowing better than to question his reasons, you tug your shirt off in one swift motion. 

  Only for him to throw it right back into your face. 

  “Ah ah ah, let's not be hasty now!” Alastor clasps his hands behind his back, expectant and daring you to undermine him again (somehow). You recoil from the shock and nearly stumble into the wall, your shirt tangled in your hands as a pair of obscenely frigid hands shove you forward. Apparently his shadow has some sort of wardrobe-related vendetta against you too. “Eyes on me, dearest, and do take your time with this.”

  Eyes on him, yeah, sure - he looks livid. Nothing turns you on quite like an old deer man with smoldering resentment and a quick temper. “What’s your deal?” 

  Smack!

  You wince as the shadow tentacle snaps right at your feet, and in that moment, you realize how you fucked up today. Take a second and look at your shoes; They're cute, right? Just a basic pair of strappy sandals, open enough to show off your at-home pedicure, and pairing quite nicely with the rest of your ensemble. All color coordinated with your flowy skirt and flimsy top. 

  Apparently, Alastor thinks you should cook yourself to death. Summer in Hell? Put on the parka, darling. He already lets you get away with showing your ankles every third day of the week, don't push your luck and expose your entire knee to the general public. What you're saving in sunscreen you can spend on hospital bills after incurring heatstroke in the obscenely hot and humid afterlife.

  “The fucking cactuses are dying, and you want me to carry around a ruler to make sure I don't scandalize anyone with my shoulders?” You balk. “What else was I gonna wear?”

  “Something modest enough to keep your chest out of view and your underwear hidden. But if you want to make a spectacle of yourself, by all means!” Alastor snaps a comfy wingback chair into existence, settling into the plush upholstery with his legs crossed like he's the up and coming king of the pride ring. “Go on then. Make a show of yourself.”

  Well, that's a problem. Not that you're uncomfortable undressing, no; he's seen you naked more than you've seen him shirtless, and Alastor's never been shy about his appreciation of your body. Any part you hate, he loves; nudity’s easy. It's the demand for a demonstration that throws you for a loop. You don't do stripteases. The only dance you know by heart is the macarena, and even if you supplement that with a few zumba moves, you’re pretty sure it’s not gonna paint a pretty picture. You take your sweet time tugging your shirt back on, and–

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” 

  –Alastor hates it when you drag your feet. 

  So he drags you out of the room. Literally. Scoops up your forearm and jerks you through the hallways, giving you an extra tug whenever you stumble over your feet. The surroundings become less familiar with every sharp turn and sudden descent, floors blurring underfoot as Alastor impatiently slings you over his shoulder and strong-arms you down the stairs. Never giving you time to find your balance, grumbling under his breath when you fail to match his stride.

  “Keep up. You’ve tested my patience long enough.” 

  “You see dear? Horribly impractical, that outfit of yours. You can hardly walk.” 

  “Whoops! Clumsy girl, tripping over her own two feet. How many times has that flimsy skirt of yours flipped over now?” 

  “Fear not, my dear! We’ll solve your problems in a flash.” Ba-dum-tiss. Laugh track. 

  You find solace in the tepid glass Alastor shoves you into, quick breaths bleeding over the surface like water on a canvas. Gradually, your vision clears, and oh, you hate what you see. Foot traffic stays relatively quiet around the hotel, much to Charlie’s chagrin, but it doesn’t change the fact that Alastor has one of your arms trapped between your back and his chest, his knee and thigh serving as a blockade to make damn sure you can’t slip away. 

  “Now, now, take a deep breath and relax.” A long, foreboding claw traces the length of your face, gliding with calculated threats and the promise of something far worse than public humiliation should you disobey. “Since you had such awful stage fright with me, I figured we’d do this in a more comfortable location for you.” He swipes your hair behind you, his lips teasing the shell of your ear. “You did want people to notice you, after all.” 

  “That,” a grunt of pain and something a little more embarrassing interrupts your train of thought, “isn't what I wanted.”

  “Oh? It was a need then, was it?” Alastor chuckles behind closed lips, throaty and knowing damn well what he's doing to you. He sees it in the way you shift on your feet, the minute squeezes of your thighs. “Does my darling girl really need so many unworthy eyes following her beautiful body around town? Hm?” An arm snakes around your waist, the tickle of his fingertips inching underneath your blouse in wispy steps. “Sinners land here for all sorts of reasons, dear. What if you'd attracted the wrong sort of attention?”

  Alright mister slut shamey rape culture fuckface, that's unfortunately a fair point. Assault in Hell is a daily occurrence, and the bystander effect might as well be the apathetic onlooker effect when it comes to abhorrent decision making. 

  “You wouldn't let that happen,” you choke, stifling a half-pleasured moan as he shoves his bodyweight against you. “You're too possessive.”

  “Yes, I am. And yet, despite knowing this, you choose to throw caution to the wind and garner all sorts of unsavory stares and let people entertain their depraved thoughts. Impulse control is a rarity down here, my sweet. You know better.”

  You do know better. You know a lot of things, really. Don't test Alastor's patience, don't question Alastor's decisions, don't tell Alastor his jokes belong on popsicle sticks, and whatever you do, don't let Alastor see how much you enjoy being treated like a–

  “Stupid girl,” he sneers. 

  Well, that, yeah; you were going more for the ‘desperate attention-loving bitch who needs to be put in her place,’ but ‘stupid girl’ kind of fits too.

  “Did you really think you could get away with this?” Alastor's grip tightens, his gloved claws kneading at your forearm with precision. “Wearing this…” He clicks his tongue, walking his fingers up your thigh and scoffing at your stifled giggles. “Miserable excuse of a skirt, and that blouse, oh dear,” he sighs, “it's awfully translucent, darling. Although…” 

  You're stuck between a rock and a hard place. Glass panes warming under your skin, Alastor practically sinking into your shadow, his lips hot against your exposed neck. “I've always been fond of you in red,” he murmurs. You shudder at the leathery sensation of his lips grazing your ear. “And you let everyone else have a look before I'd even had the chance.”

  Your conscience, the tiny angel on your right, mutters something about the ethics of public exposure; redemption not found in wanton displays, the morality of getting fucked in the eyes of strangers. The devil, though, presses fluttering kisses along the length of your jaw; a perfectly silent siren's song promising more than the temptation of Heaven. 

  “Redemption is a fickle thing my dear! How are we to know where the line is drawn when every single sinner comes in so many shapes and sizes?” Alastor hovered over you in mock concern, jovial in his one-sided banter. “I suppose you could hazard a guess, but where's the fun in guessing for salvation when you could be reaping the guaranteed delights of Hell? Why gamble on a dream when your fantasies are right here?” He cupped your cheek. “Heaven may have its virtues… but it won't have me.”

  You'd never been so scared, and you'd already been in Hell for weeks.

  “Choose wisely,” he'd whispered. “You won't be able to take this back.”

  Alastor can't fuck you against the pearly gates, so really, redemption’s pointless. You whimper, craning your neck to let the devil on your shoulder creep closer. The hand on your thigh slides closer to your panties, your breath hitching when a claw traces over the lacey detailing. Your voice eludes you, your lips delicately parted as if to wait for the protests that will never come. 

  “Now why would my precious thing make such a mindless decision, hm?” Fingers weave between locks of your hair with a slight tug. “You know I prefer having the first look, just as much as the last. Why deny me the pleasure, darling? We could have torn this off of you ages ago if you hadn't pranced off into the unknown. Look at you.” Alastor cradles your chin, letting you focus on your warped reflection. You own a mirror, for fuck's sake. Apparently you forgot how to use it. “You're begging for attention the moment you step outside.”

  Outside feels like Death Valley plunging into a recently erupted volcano. He should be glad you're wearing anything at all. Not everyone grew up on the edge of a Louisiana bayou where humidity and heat went together like two codependent and enmeshed siblings from a fucked up family. Well, my dear, when I was a young lad, I had to walk fifteen miles uphill with nothing but the sweltering sun to keep me company on my way to the market. Shorts hadn't even been invented yet, and–

  “Ah. Perhaps that's what you wanted all along. Attention.”

  If he didn't have it before, he has it now. Your breath catches in your tightening throat as Alastor slips a hand under your shirt. Browsing, per se, aimlessly scraping his fingertips over your back, occasionally toying with the straps of your bra. Goosebumps pop to the surface, your body betraying any chance of a lie to insist that no, this wasn't for attention, it was for his attention and your comfort.

  “Is that it? My devoted darling wants to be ogled by the masses?” Look at him, that obnoxious smirk stretched proudly over his face; lookin’ mighty punchable if it weren't for, y'know, the glass. You're trying so hard to avoid your own doe-eyed reflection– fuck, you really let him get to you. You close your eyes, but Alastor, true to form, is relentless in his pursuits. “Touched, perhaps?”

  Touch me, your body screams, your core shaken at the debauched imagery flipping through your mind’s eye. Rough demon hands, silky sinner claws, promises of torment and torture as you're dragged away by a group of nobodies. A terrifying narrative outside of your imagination, but when you're copiloting Alastor's story… God, you need him to touch you.

  “I'm truly the last to understand the thrill of the hunted, but you…” Alastor lightly tugs at the hem of your attention-seeking shirt. “You've thought about it,” he murmurs. “Dreamed of it.” You're too busy savoring the rush of cool air to yell at him for slicing up your top, expertly avoiding your skin with the traced promise to come back for blood if you misbehave. “The rush that comes with being sought after, the excitement of finding out just how far you can go until you're snatched up with nowhere to run…” Alastor pulls your hair back, skating another nail over the front of your neck and sealing your fate. “Poor darling… her legs aching, lungs ablaze, quivering at the mere thought of what happens when a new set of hands graze her skin.”

  You gonna refute that? That's not what I wanted, you�� Uh oh. Already out of insults. Can you hear that? The shattering of your ego as that lewd little moan squeaks past your lips? You're fogging up the glass, you know; Niffty won't be happy.

  But you're gonna be high on endorphins and oxy, so eh, fuck the smudges. Let that heat blossom in your chest. Let it slink down closer to your core and pool in your panties. Let Alastor spin his twisted tale and regret not having a tape recorder nearby.

  “Oh, darling… such a mindless and naive fantasy of yours. Imagining that anyone down here would follow your little script. The people out there won't hesitate to chew up and spit out a beautiful creature like yourself.” Alastor runs his hands over your silhouette as he takes advantage of the height difference, easily keeping you down with one leg between yours. “They'll beat you and bruise you in all the wrong ways. They'll break your bones and bleed you dry. They'll take everything they want without apology, without permission.”

  Technically, Alastor has permission. You gave him a free pass to initiate whatever sort of physical touch he wants, citing the rarity of such an occasion and how willing you'd be to take him up on any offer. Kisses here and there, sometimes a hug from behind; there have been a couple nights where he's slipped into bed with you just to cuddle (according to him, you looked awfully cold, nothing more). Still, he slips in a short beat, busying himself with invisible doodles across your neck.

  There's not a chance in Hell that you're gonna stop him.

  “And despite everything, you keep those dreams alive, don't you, my dear?” Alastor slides down one of your bra straps. “You like to imagine the perfect group of sinners snatching you up and dragging you to a safe, secluded place. A trio, I presume?” The smirk in his voice rings true. “To fill you up in every possible way. And you'd kick and scream as if that isn't exactly what you want.”

  Mental note: Ask Alastor if he has the capacity to read minds or peek into your dreams. The details are scarily uncanny.

  “Tell me I'm wrong,” Alastor slips his hand back under your skirt, fingers fluttering over every edge and seam of your panties. 

  “You're…” Your breath shakes. You're an incredible liar on a good day. Alastor’s making today better than good. You're an awful liar on a great day. “You're wrong. I'm not that fucked in the head.” You're missing that signature slant of sass, and holy fuck, do you sound pathetic and small without it.

  “Oh?” He grins, a finger sliding over your clothed slit. You stifle a gasp and immediately give yourself away, trying in vain to grind against his hand. “You know better than to lie to me.”

  Rewarding bad behavior doesn't exactly send the right message, but you're not complaining. If he wants to rub your clit through your damp underwear, by all means, rub away. You bite back mewls and sighs, failing to hold still. 

  “You're picturing it now, aren't you, you twisted thing. Pinned to the wall by a brutishly gentle pair of hands, another lowlife pulling your hair…” You hear the slight dip in his voice, and the moment he drops the static and his tone, it occurs to you that you might have the slightest of voice kinks

“If you don't shut that whiny mouth of yours, we'll give you something to choke on.” 

  Jesus tapdancing Christ, anatomy is cruel. You can't wriggle your way onto his fingers. Each time your ass tries to back into his hips, he stops you with little effort and a smaller chuckle. If arousal could kill, you're nearing the apex; the emptiness hurts. The half-assed teasing isn't enough, and Alastor knows it. 

  “I've heard your fake cries before, my pet, and you'd give them exactly that. The weak thrashing, the passionless begging. They'd be gullible enough to fall for it, and you'd welcome them with your legs and mouth wide open.”

  A gift from god - your god - descends from the stars. Finally, Alastor taps into what little good-natured spirit he has, tearing your panties with calculated hunger.

  “Don't you want more of a challenge, darling?” He coos, plunging a lone finger into your slicked slit, his thumb finding purchase atop your swollen clit. “Where's the fun in playing games you'll always win?” Squeaks and moans try to penetrate your lips, one kept threaded between your teeth. You don't know what part of the hotel you're in, and if Alastor doesn't care about the stranger peering up through the window, he'll give even less of a fuck if any of the residents hear you. You care though. Kind of. You're still building your reputation, damn it. 

  “Unless, of course, you're that desperate to have each of your pretty holes filled all at once. Oh, how you wound me… I've provided you with such entertainment before. Am I not enough? Or are you simply that hungry for more than one cock at a time?”

  Alastor plunges a hooked finger into your cunt, the sudden sensation biting at your lips and begging to be heard. To sing his praises. To ask for more. To reward him for all the wrong reasons.

  “Imagine my rage. The way I'd stalk the streets in search of my sweetheart.”

  “Fuck…!” You groan, grinding down on his explorative fingers.

  "My sweetheart.” A second squirms in, casually reaching for your g-spot. “My darling.” A third, fuck, the stretch feels so good. “My precious pet.” Four bunched up fingers, almost enough to feel as thick as his dick, but god damn it, you want the real thing. “Only to find her sprawled on the ground like some pay-to-fuck whore, choking on one cock and getting fucked by two more.”

  Nothing has ever sounded as beautiful as the clattering of Alastor's belt buckle. 

  “Called so many vile names - such a good slut, she likes it, see? You want to come on my dick, pretty lady? Ohhh, that's it, yes, scream for daddy, pretend someone will save you. We'll send you home with cum dripping down your legs, and you'll just want more, won't you?”

  Dirty talk was not on the list of skills you'd written up for Alastor. Certainly not this flavor, at least. There's quite a difference between ‘ oh, sweet girl, you look beautiful when you gag on me, you know you can ask for more if you'd just behave and beg like a good girl should,’ and, ‘you want to be used, don't you, you sick little thing, you'd enjoy being passed around like some dumb little doll, having all that cum smeared over your face and thighs, just to have me put you in your place.’

  You’re not complaining, even though he sounds furiously facetious and all but spits out each toxin-coated taunt. 

  “Oh, I would paint the walls with their blood. Defiling what's mine… they don't know how fragile you really are.” 

  You don't have porcelain bones or old man hips. Your body hasn't been deteriorating since the fucking Harding administration. You take papercuts like a champ. You aren't as weak as you look. 

  And you have no shame - your thoughts are just that. Garbled nonsense torn into scraps of coherence as Alastor swirls his thumb over your clit, your panties digging into your dampened skin. See, you have every reason to wear this outfit, it's fucking hot. You grin through a blissful grimace and let Alastor continue to believe he's your lord and savior, every complaint fizzling out on your dry lips.

  “I’m the only one who knows how much you can take, when to test your limits, when to stop… it's why you've never asked me to. But with those creatures you like to imagine?” Your pussy quivers in time with his laughter. “You'd be an utter wreck by the time I arrive! Oh, how I'd loathe your cries of relief. Your tears are only precious when they're shed for me, and me alone. To find you violated and broken… Those wretched creatures would be my sloppiest work.” 

  Ah, romance really is dead. Died and went straight to Hell. Your heart would thump out of your throat if you didn’t just lock eyes with a disheveled sewer rat-looking sinner through the fogged window. He jumps when Alastor’s other hand connects with the glass, the panels vibrating with a sort of rage that only serves to make you that much hornier.

  “Picture it, darling. The sheer anger, the vitriol, my laughter harmonizing with their anguished screams.” A low chuckle vibrates against your back as your head dips back into his collarbone, your mind falling victim to the heavy haze of fantasy and Alastor’s finger fucking. “How does it feel, knowing that I wouldn't just kill for you? That I'd sooner watch my standards plummet into the ground, just to keep you safe.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, guiding your gaze back to your captive audience. 

  “To keep what's mine,” he whispers, teasing his clothed erection against your ass, adding pressure to your swollen, begging clit.

  Eloquence eludes you. “Oh god…” 

  “There's no god here, darling. Just me.”

  Just Alastor. Him, your God; your sacrifices are  the blood of fictional attackers, your hymnals nothing more than salacious moaning and the chants of ‘yes sir.’

  Hallelujah, you’re about to come.  

  Alastor must feel you clenching around his fingers, because he’s already slowing down despite your groans of protest. A punishment, you figure, and most certainly not the fun kind. He coos and whines in mocking; aww, poor baby, my sweet darling didn’t get to come, oh, the humanity of it all! Yeah, he knows the teasing’s making it worse; he probably secretly loves the way you’re grinding against him in silent plea. Alas, he’s still as stone.

  “I don't enjoy sharing, dearest.” A finger curls dangerously close to your g-spot, knees buckling at the mere thought of his merciful graze. “I don't enjoy the image of you moaning around someone's cock and coming on another’s.” Heat caresses your inner thighs, cooled in an instant by shadowy wisps frolicking over your bare, dampened skin. Fuck, what you wouldn't give to have one of those Eldritch tentacles slither through your slit right now. Alas, they do nothing but tease, winding up and around your thigh just enough for the whispers of a shadow to brush perfectly out of reach. “I find no joy in imagining you strewn out and begging them to stop.”

  Okay, no sharing, got it! Your teeth bury into your tongue, stifling songs of depravity as your hips desperately try to angle closer to the goddamned snake-like tentacles, always perfectly out of reach. Slithering in peals of imaginary laughter, demanding you to beg and promising nothing in return. You try to press your thighs together to no avail, and just when you finally want to crack and cry out for mercy, your god answers you.

  “Do you understand?” Alastor whispers into your neck.

  Never in either life has a moan left you so breathless. Just one gloved finger to your clit, and your knees buckle, more of your glistening body hoisted up against the window for support. 

  “Those pretty words and beautiful faces are meant for me.”

  Oh, the wicked irony. You're two seconds from babbling out a half-baked retort when his hand slips around your mouth. He knows you too well.

  (When did that happen?)

  “I share what's mine when I see fit, and you should know better than anyone that my generosity has its limits.” Alastor lands a kick to your ankle, just enough to shove your legs open wider, to grant him easy access; to put your arousal on display. Such generosity! 

  Through the haze of it all, you muster up the strength to crack open your eyes, lashes heavy with stray beads of sweat and tortured tears. God, you just wanna come already; the ache only grows, festering into a heat so unbearable you're damn near ready to challenge the Radio Demon to a 1v1 hand-to-hand match. Win, and you can finally find release; lose, and you're put out of your misery (assuming he'd knock you out). 

  But which situation allows for more permanent humiliation: Losing a doomed fight to an overlord, or losing yourself to said overlord in front of a startlingly large crowd just outside the hotel? A dozen nameless faces peer up at you, a haze of lust and shock blanketing each sinner as others double take and join the tranced fray. Alastor's rich, low laughter prickles through your ears and down your back, a sadistic sort of glee twisting his grin into a beacon of maleficent pride.

  “Not a step closer,” he hisses. “They will never see all of you, nor will they ever touch you. This…” 

  Whoever made this glass should patent it ASAP. Alastor's teeth nip at the sensitive flesh of your neck, fraying every nerve and severing your connection to your body; you go limp into the squeaking, shaking, never breaking window. Rays of sunlight heat the glass, beating into your flushed skin as Alastor's own warmth grinds against your ass. 

  “...belongs to me.”

  A taut, needy cry rasps through your dry throat as he drags another finger over your soaking wet slit. Your hips barely have a chance to respond before he's shoving you into the translucent barrier, a reminder that you're on stage, you need to behave now, lest you tarnish his dazzling reputation for being an absolute hardass. You grit your teeth as his same finger outlines your thigh with an insulting squeak; maybe, just maybe, there isn't enough fog for people to tell what's going on, and they don't know he's essentially playing forensic psychologist to your dead soul. 

  “My my,” Alastor drawls, “who did that, I wonder?”

  “You.” You're ready to admit defeat. So many sinners randomly loitering outside the hotel is bound to rouse suspicion, and while you harbor an odd sense of trust that you wouldn't get kicked out over this, you do know you'll struggle to wear this badge with pride. There's a whole book about scarlet letters already, and you're not itching to write the modern day sequel. “You did, sir. I'm…” You swallow the lie - or is it your pride? - and groan in agonized arousal. “We should go.”

  “Ohh, don't try and argue with me now. Not after all you've said you wanted!” 

  Whether adrenaline or sheer stupidity, your arms scramble for freedom, twisting and pulling despite the rapid streaks of pain shooting through your limbs. Alastor's claws burst through his gloves, razor sharp assets demanding stillness the moment they rest atop your bare skin, hairs all on end in reply. 

  The tentacles bound around your thighs squeeze and pull your legs further apart, and somehow, the air feels cool against your hot, slick skin. Your panting breaths fog the glass at your lips, forearms uselessly splayed above your head in surrender. 

  You won't fight him. Not when he's crackling and crunching in and out of his truest form, static blazing through your skull, green glow bouncing off the walls. You've seen him before, the full him, the entire radio demon; he might be your “hear me out,” but he's still absolutely fucking terrifying. 

  A normal radio demon arm wraps around your waist, the other hand cupping your chin, guiding you back to your audience. There's… more than twenty? Fuck, you're not in the right headspace to count, and Alastor's reflection serves as too much of a distraction from the others. 

  He wears possession beautifully, even in the throes of rage.

  “Let them look, dearest.” The arm at your waist trails down, down, down, his half-clothed erection throbbing for attention against your ass. “I want them all to know who you belong to…” Two fingertips come knocking at your entrance, and whether you welcome the solicitors or not, they're coming in. Slowly, claws retracted, the side of his palm grinding into your swollen clit. “Show them what they'll never have,” his fingers dive into you, hooked beautifully towards the exactly right spot, “make them live in fear of so much as looking at you the wrong way.”

  You can't handle much more. You've been on the edge of orgasm and the last wall now for far too long, gawked at, ogled, pointed at, the object of more than one thirsty imagination. 

  He's going to kill them, you know. Every single sinner down there watching you get finger fucked by the radio demon is going to die at the same hands being used to get you off. Alastor is going to fucking kill people for you, and he's the one who set them up. 

  The audacity of this old man to be so ridiculously sexy.

  “This is mine. You're all mine. Every inch of your body, every moan, every twitch, they all belong to me.”

  You can't even manage a nod. Your legs tremble, still plenty spread and held in place by his tentacles alone. Any and all words turn to jumbled mush as your orgasm builds, rising higher than you thought possible, the fire in your core hotter than a goddamned summer's day in Hell. You feel the thick, slick juices dripping down your thighs, and the amount of precum Alastor's left on your butt doesn't help matters. You want more of him. You are his; he should be yours.

  You yell behind closed lips, whimpering, far too empty for your liking. 

  “Say it.” Alastor thrusts you against the window with his bodyweight. “Tell me who owns you. Tell them who they'll be answering to if they ever lay a hand on you. I want everyone to hear you scream my name. Mine, and mine alone.”

  “Fuck, I-I'm gonna come, Alastor…!”

  “Louder, dear.”

  “I need your cock, Alastor, please!”

  “Louder,” he seethes against your ear, sweat dripping from his forehead to yours. “I won't remind you again. Let them hear you, and you can have what you want.”

  Falsettos everywhere cower in fear and envy. Alastor's name doesn't tumble from your lips, it fires out at railgun level speeds and doesn't show signs of stopping. And why would it? Why would you stop screaming his name at the top of your lungs? He just shoved his dick into you. You're full in mind, body, and soul; mostly pussy, but the others apply. You have the radio demon fully submerged in your cunt, the tip of his cock grazing against that lovely spongy spot that only sends you into the same sound-barrier shattering cry of his name. The pain when he rams into your cervix - something you detested when you were alive - dismantles something within you, and you crumble and come all over again. 

  “My name sounds so divine on your lips,” Alastor smirks into your neck, nipping less and less gently with every kiss and peck. “Such a beautiful voice, and all for me.”

  Catching your breath feels like a dream lost on a shooting star. When he talks like that, like a goddamned suave and chivalrous gentleman from circa 1920-old, you lose yourself. Helpless, an immediate victim to the charm of questionable authenticity. Automatically, your muscles tense, cunt tight against his dick as the whispered praise nestles into your brain and down to your clit. You reach for this wrist, and he's quick, immediately tending to the pleading nub the moment your fingers graze his pulse.

  Tears gather in your eyes, mourning all the lost orgasms that fell to his hand in the Great Pane Edging of 2024. 

  “Go on dear. Come for me again.”

  No one needs to tell you twice. It almost hurts, each spasm steadfast and unyielding, and for a brief moment, your screams vanish. Voice lost to the vast ocean of silky arousal dousing his dick and your thighs, his deep laughter your only tether to the present.

  “There you go… good girl…”

  “Fuck,” you hiss, choking on air as a tiny orgasm splinters off from the ebb of lust. It dissipates just as quickly, as does your pride, because really? That's all it takes? One non-filtered, static-free murmur of the most overused title?

  “I'm – oh God what the fuck?!” Your knee jerks upright, a spread of spiderweb cracks unfurling under your duress. Breaking you simply isn’t enough, apparently; Alastor craves chaos, paid out in flakes of glass and shards of what little you have left to offer. How he glosses his fingers over your used and abused clit fast enough to imitate literal vibrations bends your realm of understanding, but fuck it, you can’t care. Not when you’re squealing and moaning within an inch of your life, your hips bashing against his in your futile attempts to save yourself the embarrassment of dying via overstimulation. Strained cries tear through your throat, and Alastor takes the shortest of breaks not for you to catch your breath, but to flick glittering specks of glass from your thigh, because he’s a gentleman. You’ll bleed when he wants you to. “Fuck! Fuckkkk!! Ahh-Alastor?!”

  “Oh, my dear,” he coos. “You didn't truly think I was finished with you, did you? No no no.” Alastor’s cock spasms inside you, a teasing twitch accompanied by a feathery shudder of a breath against your ear. “What sort of punishment would that be? Stopping now would only encourage such deviant behavior.” A familiar and deeply personal scent tickles the edges of your nose, the hand that once fed your greedy cunt now positioned at your lips, lazily drawing your mouth open with one slender finger. “Ah, there she is…” Alastor swallows his own songs of sin, exhaling slowly, ravishing your neck and still brilliantly massaging your clit as you suck and lick at his fingers. 

  “Go on,” he mutters against your rapidfire pulse, smirking against your flushed neck, “tell them how I make you feel.”

  Hot, you wanna shout. Sheens of sweat and drool and copious amounts of your slick coat your skin in an iridescent glow, pearlescent tears drawn out by an overdose of feel-good chemicals and whatever else Alastor makes you feel. Words of finely wrapped praise done up in silks and leather tickle the back of your throat, washed away by the lewdly grotesque moans and screams stifled by his fingers on your tongue and your throat gone dry. Your limbs do the rest of the talking, a dazzling speech on Alastor's capabilities as a brutal and unforgiving menace of a lover, dominant ‘til the very end and beyond the finishing numbers. 

  Orgasms four and five split through your core almost back to back, a sixth fluttering out, limping behind as your vision starts to blur, your consciousness lost to a sea of unknown, nameless faces getting off to your obvious blissful torment.

  “Eyes open, sweetheart,” Alastor commands in what might be the most unsettlingly soft whisper you've heard fall from his lips. “You’re so beautifully pathetic when you're fighting to keep those pretty eyes open for me.”

  “Too much…” You rasp against the battered window.

  “It might feel like too much right now, but you'll miss it before long. Wishing you didn't feel so empty…” Alastor heaves a breathy laugh when you clench around his dick, refusing to let him slip out until he's used his cocksleeve to its fullest potential. You can handle a little more load, and he knows it; needs to exploit it, thrust his hips in painstakingly slow measures, loving the exhausted yelp you manage with every deep touch. “Daydreaming about having me, taking whatever I can get my hands on, calling you all those delightfully pretty names you pretend to hate.”

  Not pretending. Your lips move, but you can't utter a sound. You can't argue. You're a fucked out mime with neuropathy at this point. 

  “One last look at them, dearest.” Alastor guides you by the chin, centering your gaze on the blurry crowd. “Remember them fondly,” he smirks. “They’re your victims, after all. Your very first, no less.”

  You assume you're meant to feel disgusted. Turned off and grossed out on a moral level or something like that. But all you feel is warmth. Heat. It's hot. You melt into Alastor's arms, and manage a weary nod.

  “And as long as you're mine,” he adds with one final thrust, bursting into you with a gravely, half-stifled growl, “they won't be the last.”

  All this over an outfit you wore to beat the heat. Lesson learned: Get the Alastor seal of approval before you leave the hotel in anything that isn't a wetsuit or a parka. Or do, and get royally fucked for any passing sinner to see. Tough argument here to be made. 

  “If you'll excuse me moment, darling,” Alastor pats your head, “there's a quick errand I need to run, and time is of the essence!” Of course it is, and of course he looks like he just finished getting done up for the day. Not a hair out of place, no wrinkles in his clothes, and his belt’s already securely fastened around his slutty little waist. You’re a mess, but he’s got places to go and souls to reap, so you’re gonna have to deal for now. “Now go lie down and relax. Don’t get too comfortable though.” 

  You’re absolutely gonna fall asleep, but okay. 

  “You’re keeping every last drop of me inside of you until I return.” 

  But you were gonna sleep!

  “Since I do prefer to keep my belongings orderly and safe, you know.” 

  You’re messy and shaky and exhausted beyond comprehension, and even still, the warmth cascading through your chest lights up just enough willpower to try and listen to him. 

  “And remind me again,” Alastor cups your cheek, “who is it you belong to?” 

  You. You have to mime it, your voice still an echo of its original state, but sliding your hand over his chest delivers the message just as well. You wonder, briefly, if he feels that same abstraction of warmth as you do right now. And if he does, is it because of you, or because he has a couple dozen souls to tear apart? Perhaps it doesn’t really matter, since he’s killing them for you. Right now, you are his, and what’s his is his alone. No one else will have it. No one else will have you. You will, however, be demanding that he shares his bed and all of its comfy accessories, himself included, because that sort of sharing is caring, and deep down, you get the feeling that he cares. A lot. 

  If the tormented screams from downstairs are any indication, then you just might be right. And if you can hear them from up here, they probably heard you too! Hell yeah! Alastor must be so proud. You sure are. You’ll question why later on; right now, you’re getting people killed, and that means Alastor cares. Passionately, violently, and all for you.

[misslycoris]

PLATONIC

𐂂 Oh best believe he's not gonna take you seriously at the beginning of your so-called friendship, I don't even think he considers it as one.

𐂂 He just considers you as one of the many people he knows. He also definitely doesn't think of you as an equal or anyone significant.

𐂂 He'll probably acknowledge your existence if you were a part of the hotel, but if you were just a random demon off the streets then no, he has better things to do with his time. Not unless you do something that grabs his attention.

𐂂 Deliberately trying to be on his good side won't affect him in any way, he's used to that treatment, therefore what you're doing is nothing special.

𐂂 But what does grab his attention? Subtle things. Giving him his space, if you have a phone or any technology invented beyond the 1930s you generally try and avoid him, thanking him as he passes you your portion of the meal he cooks for hotel bonding nights that Charlie mandated. Stuff like that when added up makes Alastor generally more appreciative of your existence.

𐂂 Only then you're upgraded from an acquaintance to an acquaintance that isn't as annoying to be around as the rest.

𐂂 That's when he strikes up random conversations with you, he appreciates it if you take the time to listen and add to it, even more so if you actually set aside something you were doing just to talk with him. It gives him a mini ego boost every time.

𐂂 Writing something while he talks about the hotel's structural problems? His smile widens when you close your notebook and join him by recounting the time you almost fell down the balcony.

𐂂 Eating breakfast and he talks about how he hunts the perfect deer for venison? There you are, chewing your food and nodding, listening to how he graphically describes the process while the rest of the hotel stares at him in horror.

𐂂 Another thing he does during this phase is popping out of nowhere and keeping up with what you're doing, call it interest, call it curiosity, or maybe it's boredom. Now that Alastor knows that you are more tolerant of him he'll fully use that to his entertainment.

𐂂 I can see him trying to get a deal out of you but it doesn't go anywhere, since I'm going to assume we are all smart enough to not hand our souls to Alastor on a silver platter.

𐂂 Survive his onslaught of impromptu shenanigans and move on to the next tier of actually being friends.

𐂂 Alastor treats his friends as his equals so there's that, also be ready to accept his invites to drinking coffee around the hotel and talking about the latest mess the hotel went through.

𐂂 The way he treats you compared to how he treats Angel or Husk is way different that it physically gives everyone a whiplash. I'm talking about something like this:

"Can you not scare off people, smiles? We're tryna bring in people into the hotel." Angel explains, Alastor only simpers as he feigns ignorance.

"Why, I don't know what you're talking about!" He laughs as he skips off merrily. Charlie and Vaggie then nod to each other and drag you into the conversation, whispering you something before they push you towards Alastor.

"Hey Alastor, I just wanted to ask if you could help me with something?" You ask, you haven't made up a chore to ask for help from him but you needed a reason to try and stop him from scaring any potential guests. Does Alastor know? I guarantee you he does. But does he let you do it anyways? Yes, absolutely he does.

"Anything to help a dear out, if you'll excuse us then!" Alastor bids goodbye for the both of you as you walk away, despite being the one to ask him, he was the one leading the way.

𐂂 Alastor also invites you to meet Rosie! Rosie finds you very endearing and if you had a penchant for cannibalism expect luncheons together with them.

𐂂 By this point everyone in the hotel notices how Alastor gravitates towards you, they have mixed reactions to it but the general consensus is to not disrupt your "bonding sessions" as Charlie puts it.

𐂂 Alastor oftentimes shares jokes whether or not you appreciate his humor. Side note, Alastor full-on cackles if you or Rosie say something outta pocket about somebody, and hangouts with both of them are generally a good time. He'll try to say shit like:

"Let's be nicer now." All the while he holds in a laugh after you and Rosie called Susan the wicked bitch of the West.

𐂂 This is also a silly thought of mine, but picture this:

You decided to stay up late one night after you decided to do whatever it is you were putting off and after a while, you decided to grab some coffee from downstairs.

Arriving at the kitchen you see, this eldritch abomination in the shadows looming over the cabinet where the instant coffee packets were kept. It then takes you a few seconds to register that it was Alastor and you were just left standing by the kitchen doorway, wondering what to say.

"Can I grab the coffee packets from that cabinet over there?" You point towards the cabinet, Alastor then quickly shifts back to his usual form and ushers you to the kitchen counter.

"Nonsense my dear! Why don't I make us some nice and hot coffee instead of consuming such tasteless things." Alastor insists and before you could even refuse he was already doing a French press.

𐂂 Though as you can imagine Alastor has his off days, he makes it clear to you when he isn't in the best of moods and you steer clear of him per his request. Then the fight with Adam happened. As the rest of the hotel was busy with rebuilding the hotel, you were balancing both looking for Alastor and helping paint the walls of the new hotel.

𐂂 This is when the remaining walls he had crumbled down as you find him at his lowest, basically defeated and while he was royally pissed when someone saw him in such a vulnerable state, you were the best option out of the ensemble that was currently singing outside of the ruins of his old radio station.

𐂂 Hesitant as he was, he let you dress his wound with bandages, he wasn't comfortable with anything else you offered, not with cleaning up the wound itself, not with telling the rest that he was alive, and definitely not asking for help from anyone either. So you stayed there for a while after you finished dressing his wound up, his blood immediately soaking through the bandage. But you didn't say anything and let Alastor be, and after a few more minutes in silence, he got up and offered you a hand as if he wasn't the one who needed it. The only thing he says is:

"We mustn't dilly-dally now, the rest are waiting for you." Not us, just you. It sounded bitter but you didn't say anything.

ROMANTIC(? AS MUCH AS ALASTOR CAN BE AT LEAST)

𐂂 Romantic isn't the right word for Alastor, I imagine him to be somebody who doesn't outright say his feelings but there's a gradual change, and then one day, before you know it people around the hotel will start asking you if you two were a thing. He's not going to acknowledge the change verbally, but he does notice it and acknowledges it in his own way.

𐂂 Don't get me wrong he's capable of being romantic, acts of service is his go-to, and on days that he feels like it he can be very vocal with his affections. But it's not an everyday occurrence.

𐂂 This only starts right after something like seeing him at his lowest, that for me is when I feel like he's more willing to be more open to you. I mean, you've already seen him at rock bottom, so why not?

𐂂 Go to him during your more vulnerable moments, he's done it to you so he expects the same. Trust goes both ways after all.

𐂂 It starts out small, if you were used to setting things aside just to listen to him ramble, wait until you start to notice that he's doing the same thing for you. Usually when you're discussing something he multitasks, of course he still listens but efficiency is of the essence. Eventually though, he starts to physically put aside anything he is doing, showing that you have his full attention.

𐂂 There are also times when you (and the rest of the hotel) notice that your portion in meals that he cooked has significantly more than what the others have on their plates. Anyone who complains gets told that they were only imagining it by Alastor.

𐂂 Alastor also gradually becomes more lenient with you, letting you get away with a lot more than you should. Steal his monocle? He'll wear his glasses as he searches for you in the hotel. Break something by accident? He'll be by your side telling you to be more careful as he picks up every broken piece before you hurt yourself.

𐂂 Adjustment is key, I can see the other party doing more of it but he also makes an effort to meet you halfway. Are you particularly touchy? He doesn't get it but he knows it makes you happy so he makes an effort to accommodate you.

𐂂 Words of affirmation? Since he gets to see you get all flustered he's up for it! He finds you adorable whenever you do.

𐂂 Alastor tries for you, tries to navigate all of those unfamiliar territories that he's never had the chance to explore to ensure that you don't feel like the only one in your relationship. It does feel like it sometimes, I won't sugarcoat it, Alastor at heart is a man cold and sharp on the edges, but he isn't Alastor if he wasn't and he still cares for you all the same even if he doesn't show it.

𐂂 I'd say the most romantic part of the day for the both of you would be reading together in his room, fire crackling as you sit on the floor (much to Alastor's protest) while you lean against Alastor's chair. Sometimes he sneaks a peek into your book just to see what you were reading out of curiosity, and you'd rather not tell him that you could see him doing it from his reflection through the small mirror he had hanging by one of his shelves.

𐂂 Pet names for days! Yes he does call you chere, next question please. Pet names become more frequent the closer you two become, although, the more personal nicknames would be said behind closed doors. The most he'll call you in public would be darling, he didn't need to air out every part of his life and you both were content at that. Also, call me crazy, delusional even, but hear me out here sharks:

You were sitting by the fire, with Alastor still complaining that sitting on the floor was nowhere near as comfortable as you said it was, you only laughed lightly at how much of a fuss he's kicking up.

"I won't die a second time just because I decided to sit on the floor Al. Besides, you're a lot closer if I sit here. I like it like that. So let me have this one, please?" You don't know why, but he stops in the middle of his tangent. Something about what you just said struck something in him that got him laughing softly, even going so far as to ruffle your hair ever so gently.

"Oh, you dear old thing. I suppose I can't stop you." He eventually takes his hand back and goes back to reading as he hums together with the faint melody of jazz in the air.

𐂂 Alastor helps you dress up if you ask, need help with a zipper you can't quite reach? Hold his staff for a moment while he does. Can't pick between two things? Ask him and he'll give you his opinion, he'll often say you'll look just as lovely wearing either one but he does have his choice.

𐂂 You don't sleep in the same rooms unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you see it, if you're a part of the rehabilitation program you both would have a separate room of your own. Neither of you made any plans of asking Charlie to move you to his room or vice versa either since you were both unprepared for whatever questions she may have so you both agreed to put it off, there really was no urgency or need to stay in the same room anyways.

𐂂 Letters! Events like Valentine's Day never interested Alastor, there was no one to spend it with so he never needed to worry about it. But with you in the picture he starts to think otherwise, you both rarely ask for anything from the other so gifts would have to be purely given by initiative, and now was the perfect time. It takes Alastor an almost embarrassingly long amount of time to settle on writing you a letter, a heartfelt one dedicated to thanking you for being a part of his afterlife, for being someone he can trust, and for making the days less monotonous for him. Imagine his surprise when he hands you a letter only for you to give one of your own. You both share a laugh and settle down by the fire, reading your letters together as Alastor sits down on the floor together with you just this once to humor you he says.

𐂂 All in all, it takes a while, but with time, patience, and I mean a lot of it, you'll get there.

╭┉┉┅┄┄┈•◦_•◦❥•◦_

Interested in hearing me yap even more? Give Signed, Alastor a go if you have the time. It's about a bat and a deer faffing around until they sort their feelings out.

[degenerativeficsdisease]

To Break a Fever

Alastor x Reader one-shot Rating: E / 18+ Chapter Tags: Sickfic, dubcon, top!reader and bottom!alastor, smut, hurt/comfort; see ao3 tags/note

--- mid-story preview --- ---

“Uh, bless– no, curse you? I don't ah, don't know the right term for…” Each stretch of your semi-free arm has your hips jerking into your hand, the hem of the sheet just out of reach. Maybe he's delirious enough to miss the shackles of lust pinning your gaze to his exposed lower half. “Could you nudge that blanket over– your left, yeah– other left–”

Patience dissolves into a grunt of annoyance as Alastor yanks your compromised wrist from your lap to his hip. Vertigo, dizziness, whatever symptom intercepts the play, your palm coming to rest on his soft cock, tufts of fur gliding against your fingers.

“Okay! Okay, that happened, no big deal, uhh…” Astringent droplets of blood sprinkle the back of your tongue, each a testament to the mewls and moans you've killed behind your teeth. “Sooo, hey, that's your dick, can't believe I'm saying this, but I kinda wanted the sheet, hah.”

“I don't care…” Alastor groans. “Wretched fever… Feels like an early rut.”

… Oh. Ohhhh. Okay, well…

---

[read on ao3]

[nayomi247]

I cant believe like... no one in the fandom has done a post like this yet that I can find?? It seems like a staple, and Im sending it here cause your wonderful and need more requests mwuah (´ з `)

What do you think would be some of the Hazbin Crew's ideal s/o? Like, what would attract them/get their attention initially, what they would need in a longtime partner, that type of thing! I would LOVE if you did Lucifer, Alastor, and Vox (my BOYS *sobs*) but feel free to do anyone and everyone you want to!

Their Ideal S/O

A/N: Thank you for this lovely request mwah😙 Also I sprinkled in other hcs to that I thought of while writing this

Pairing: Lucifer/Reader, Alastor/Reader, & Vox/Reader

Work under the cut🤞🏻

I feel like this man would love a clingy lover. Please always hold his hand. Sit on his lap while he does his work. Cuddle him to sleep at night. He LOVES physical touch.

Lucifer:

He'd also want a person he can spoil. He wants you to know he cares. He shows this by gift giving; (another one of his love languages) anything in his power is yours for the asking, you just name it!

As for looks, he wouldn't really care about those. He loves you for who you are.... THOUGH, if you were tall, he'd like to be topped by you. Or if you were short, he would tease you for that and act all proud bc he's taller than someone.

The thing that initially attracted him though was your smile. He always adored it. Just seeing you laugh and be happy always made his heart flutter.

He wants someone who can take care of him. He's a very needy man and is almost like a toddler to some degree. Of course he could do this stuff himself, but it makes him feel better knowing that you're willing to do it for him.

If you're gonna be with him, you have to be nice to Charlie. That's non negotiable. He doesn't want to put you in a spot where you feel like you have to parent her, of course not. All he wants is for his 2 favorite people to get along.

He needs someone who's willing to commit to the relationship as much as he is. He's still a bit hurt from Lilith, and he's trusting you to not break his heart like she did. He would be crushed.

Alastor:

He isn't one to like physical touch very much. Maybe a peck on the cheek here, holding hands a bit there, but other than that he doesn't want to be touched. Don't get me wrong, he loves you a lot! But he's not really the.. touchy type.

I see him more as lover that would like words of affirmation or quality time. Just your presence alone is enough for him. Though if he's with a clingy partner, he'll probably get them a plushy or something of the sort to hug and cuddle when he's in his 'no touch mood'.

He'd like if if you could cook. You could help him prepare jambalaya and other dishes his mom showed him to make. It'd be a great bonding experience.

Like Lucifer, he doesn't care much for looks. As long as you're willing to commit to him as he does for you, then it doesn't matter to him what you look like.

To be completely honest, he doesn't know exactly why he loves you or even fell for you in the first place. But he does, and did. Who is he to question that?

Vox:

This man is also a big physical touch lover. He always has his hand on your thigh, holding your hand, or just touching any place he can.

Please let him spoil you. You'd always have the latest phone and other tech like that. If you want something, he'd be glad to give it to you.

He wants someone that's loyal to him and only him. If he sees anyone else trying to flirt with you (*cough cough* val) he'd go absolutely insane. You are his.

If you could cook, he'd always love to eat your meals, breakfast lunch and dinner. Would 100% brag to the other Vees when he has lunch.

He'd prefer it if you're good with tech. He wants to be able to brainstorm ideas with you and show off his latest inventions. Also it would make it 10x easier to clean his system if you were the one to do it.

He cares more about looks than the other 2, but it's not a deal breaker for him. He'd like it if you were good looking (You're beautiful no matter what though ofc) but it's not a need. Regardless, he'd still call you beautiful and his pretty thing

He fell for you because of your of your personality. The way you walk about and present yourself. You take bullshit from anyone, you know your worth. Much as he does. You're like him, you both understand each other. That's why he sought out your love.

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

I'm sorry if this exactly what you hoped it would be, I know I added a few random things but I hope you like it regardless :]

Once again thank you for the ask<3

{Taglist}

@wonderlandangelsposts

[hazbinpage]

Alastor x reader hcs

(not explicitly romantic, but not explicitly platonic, either — you're just really close and important to each other)

WC is a little over 2000 I think

A/N: This is my first time writing like this, and my first time writing for Alastor, so forgive me if it's a little OOC! It has to be, given that he would never be in a relationship in the show, but I tried to keep him as close to cannon as possible. Please enjoy and lmk what you think!

-Your relationship is that of a very slow burn.

-You might have met in the hotel, desiring to better yourself or wanting a place to stay; you might have met through a mutual connection, Mimzy, Nifty, or Husker having been someone you've grown close to and followed to Charlie's project; or he might have considered you one of "fairer means," and protected you from another demon, earning him your respect and fear and causing you to join the inhabitants of his current residence; regardless, you start out as acquaintances living in the hotel.

- Once settled there, you slowly get to know each other. You both start off with observation: Alastor noting how you interact with the others, your ticks, your strengths, your weaknesses, and your flaws; you seeing the subtle and not-so-subtle ways he reveals his power, his distant stature, his observance, his likes, his dislikes, and just how little he truly discloses. He's a mystery to you, and one you're not sure you should try to uncover.

-You mostly see one another in group dynamics in the first couple weeks or so. If you knew him before you came to the hotel, he might have greeted you ("Ah, Husker's little companion, greetings! (Y/N), was it?") Otherwise, though, he would stay mostly silent until Charlie introduced him herself, after which he'd give a short, fairly dismissive, yet exhuberant welcome. After this, you'd rarely speak, both instead watching as the other engaged with the remaining residents' antics.

- After a few weeks of barely speaking, something would change. You'd begin to show a common interest of some sort, be it music, dance, radio, dad jokes, or food. One of you would approach the other, asking for a friendly dance or striking up a conversation about dinner. You might also connect over a common dislike (modern technology/the Vs, dogs [if that's still cannon], being touched, ect.) While you don't have to have a lot in common, one or two things will spark interest in spending time together — something that is necessary for your relationship to progress.

- After a while of hanging out, you'd become friends, or at least friendly with one another — he enjoys having a companion in his interests.

-He'd probably end up initiating all of your time together, though; he's busy and prefers to be in control of his own schedule. He wouldn't mind necessarily if you tried to reach out, not at all, he'd just decline. If he wanted to hang out, he'd make it happen.

-While he considers you friends, he doesn't care about you — at least, he doesn't at first. He enjoys you in the way he might enjoy watching a character in a book, similar to how he feels about Nifty, just not familially in nature like he (seems to maybe) view her.

-Somewhere along the line, underneath his awareness, his interest in spending time with you will shift in purpose from manipulation, or the desire to engage in his hobbies unalone, to actual interest in you as a person. He doesn't notice this change for a while (sue him, he's been busy running a hotel; why would he pay attention to his feelings toward a side character?), but when he does realize what has happened, he'll be fairly confused by himself. Nothing about you is particularly interesting; you're fairly standard, with an average skillset and personal history. Why does he find himself so intrigued by you? So desiring to spend more time getting to know you? He'll admit, you've been a fun dance partner, and he enjoys when you sit with him as he broadcasts his radio show across hell. And, as much as he loves the fear in your eyes at his more gruesome displays, he always appreciates the kindness in them as you catch up over breakfast. Perhaps that was it ��� it was a lovely feeling to be feared and cherished at the same time — one so unoften given to him by a demon of a lower stature. He supposes little things like this could result in a friendship, however temporary. It's a similar story to how he befriended Mimzy, after all.

-He's decisive and it doesn't take him long to come to this conclusion. He'll start spending more time around you outside of your mutual interests and dragging you along to affairs outside the hotel. He'll have you meet Rosie and try to get you to eat demon meat. He'll respect it if you refuse, insisting it's your loss, but it won't be the last time he tries to "expand your taste."

-He'll be relatively comfortable with you touching him outside of dance at this point, though only briefly and informally (pats on the back, high-fives, a short hug or two if you haven't seen each other in a while, ect.).

-He'll tolerate more nosiness than before as well; he enjoys the attention from someone he knows and likes, and, depending on the question, he might actually answer you.

-He loves compliments; they feed his ego, and he doesn't mind dishing them back out when appropriate.

-That's the extent of your relationship, though: he finds you enjoyable to hang out with (now as a person more than a character, though there's still some of that sentiment), and he spends more time with you.

-The key to moving past this not-close-but-not-entirely-distant friendship stage is to do something out of character for his sake. If you're greedy, give him something he knows is important to you, no strings attached. If you're easily angered or vengeful, let go of previous wrongs to spend time with him. If you're shy, stand up to someone badmouthing him, especially if he's not there. Such intentional displays of will and care take him off-guard (as off-guard as he can be with someone he's gotten to know so well — you might not know him, but he certainly knows you) and make him feel very cared for.

-Slowly, after these displays, your friendship will progress. He'll start doing things for you, too — at first, in the form of minor deals, where he still gets something but often less than what he gives. Then there are mere trades, where you have most of the benefits with less security for him. Finally, he'll start giving you gifts and doing favors without charge, just as you have for him, on the condition you haven't tried to manipulate him in any way while he felt out the waters. He's slow to trust even someone who he views as harmless; please let him go at his own pace!

-He spends even more time with you as well, finding his preference to be in your company rather than out of it.

-Over time, slowly but surely, you grow closer and closer together. You trust him, and he…kind of trusts you. He has a lot to lose, so the partial trust is the most he's willing to give. It's also the most he's offered to someone since long before he died, perhaps the most ever, aside from his mother.

-This is especially so, given that he's already bound with a deal of his own. He gives himself permission to indulge in this close relationship with you only while knowing he would abandon or use you if it allowed him to be free. He's so desperate and scared, and he knows he’d do anything to rid himself of his burden. He tries to suppress and devalue the guilt that comes with the knowledge of his own ultimate disloyalty and succeeds only most of the time.

-There's no specific turning point either of you can locate where you became more exclusive than friends. You just know that it was before he moved an extra bed into your room so he could be with you while you slept.

-A couple years down the line, when you're more comfortable with each other, he'll sleep in your presence as well. He'll also be willing to cuddle, if you'd like, but he's going to be bad at it (stiff as a board, that one — plus, even when he gets comfortable with it, he'll almost always think of something he needs to do and leave halfway through). He doesn't necessarily enjoy it, but he loves you and is willing to do things he doesn't actively dislike for your sake.

-He'll let you touch his ears, something he hasn't let anyone do before, and finds he enjoys being stroked on the head. I hc this was something his mom did for him when he was younger as he fell to sleep, and is a major comfort to him now. You're just the only person he trusts to do it.

-Head strokes are also the only physical touch-y thing he'll actively seek out and enjoy; everything else is either for manipulation, to make a statement, something he just kind of lets happen (think Nifty crawling on him), or for your sake entirely. He will, however, not do anything or allow you to do anything he actively dislikes. He's very clear about his boundaries in that sense, and if you don't respect them, it will put a damper on your (already quite fragile due to his guilt and fear) relationship.

-In terms of smooching, he will kiss you on the back of your hand and the top of your head once you've grown closer. Closer still, and he'll kiss you on the cheek when you ask. If you've been together for years, he semi-trusts and fully loves you, and you haven't tried to pressure him to do anything he doesn't want, he might kiss you on the lips upon your request. Even after centuries together, though, this is a very rare occurrence.

-His breath stinks anyway; you should thank him for keeping his unsanitary meat grinder away from yours.

-Speaking of which, you have to hound him to brush his teeth. Almost nothing you say convinces him ("I make people uncomfortable, you say? Of course I do — I'm the Radio Demon! Nothing brings me greater pleasure.") The only point you could use that might get him to semi-regularly practice oral hygiene is that demons could look down on him for it. This is entirely dependent, though, on his mental state and general public status at the time.

- He doesn't care to define your relationship; he lets it define itself. He doesn't know what a QPR is and doesn't care to know. He does want you to be at least semi-exclusive, though.

-He also doesn't care if you view him romantically or not; so long as you respect his boundaries and care about him as much as he does you, he's content.

- While he isn't comfortable with you calling him your boyfriend ("It's far too juvenile a term for one such as myself, my dear!") or your husband ("Haha, don't call me that!"), he's more than okay with being referred to as your partner, significant other, or dearest companion; if he calls you anything but your name to others, these terms are what he uses. He views these titles as more ambiguous than explicitly romantic while still giving the context that you are

his person — the most important individual in his life — and that he will have no other.

-Pretty protective, but you might not see it often. He's fully confident in his ability to keep you out of harm's way; he's one of the most powerful demons in the pride ring, after all. Why would he have to worry? That being said, if you ever did manage to be hurt, he would be beyond pissed. He would broadcast your assailant's screams on his radio show for longer than he ever had before.

- Whether he makes it a point to tell other demons who's protection you're under entirely depends on what is revealed about his character in later seasons. He might be very very public about it, talking about you all the time on his broadcast and angering Vox with his PDA (usually just a hand on your back or something of the like to make a statement). On the other hand, he might keep your relationship very private, fearing that the few demons powerful enough to cross him would use his care for you against him. It's one or the other, in my opinion, with very little room in between.

-Speaking of Vox, he would loathe you. Your existence would both flare up his one-sided crush on Alastor and his desire to see the Radio Demon suffer — you take away any non-existent chance of his unrequited love being returned while also making Alastor happy, which he doesn't want. Vox might try to hurt you at some point, though very much away from the public eye, or to steal you away, but his attempts don't go on for very long before Alastor makes it very clear that he's to discontinue his behavior.

-While a person of any demographic could be Alastor's significant other, it will be harder and will take longer for a relationship to develop between him and someone he views as a threat (your relationship would start with him trying to use you for your power, and it would take a long time to fully stray from that nature), and/or another man (it's by no means impossible to develop a relationship with him as a man; he just seems to have more initial patience and fondness for women in general).

-You'll hear more about his life alive than almost anyone else, and he'll especially speak of his mother. He wishes you two could have met. "She'd just adore you," he'd say. It's one way to know how highly he thinks of you.

-He'd let you hold his staff. You wouldn't understand what it meant to him until it broke during his fight with Adam. If you see the fight, that is, he'd be very hesitant to let you near the battlefield. If you ever find out about his deal before he ends it, it's while treating his wound from his fight with Adam, and the information is spilled more or less by accident.

-Chances are he wouldn't come to you while injured, though, both because he doesn't want you to see him as weak and because he doesn't want his cloudy mind to spill any secrets.

-Overall, his relationship with you is a very slow-to-manifest but close and loving one that he holds very dearly in his heart. The only thing he holds closer is freedom. When the deed is done, though, and you're gone, he might realize his priorities were out of order.

[yourfavoritecanniballady]

Me

[roseshewrites]

I NEED F!ALASTOR X F!READER!! PLEASE!!! Bi besties need some love and alastor is literally the perfect androgynous character tbh. When i search fem al all that comes up is M!reader. BOOOOOOOO.

Long hair, fem Alastor, with a girly girl that has a dark side.

Al is an absolute service top for her and reader can be a hardass or a whiny simp for her. SFW, NSFW, one shot, or many parts—doesn’t matter.

Maybe some angst to throw in but no unrequited love because that trope breaks me to pieces.

Writing it now, darling deer!! What a poetic concept!! This one is fun. I'll post it either tonight or tomorrow.🤩

[radio-someone-still-loves-you]

Prompt 1: Charlie is excited to host a Charity Gala at the Hotel to drum up support and to celebrate their grand re-opening. To antagonize Alastor, Lucifer challenges him to bring a plus one to the event. Alastor takes the bait. To everyone's surprise, including yours, he picks you as his plus one.

Prompt 2: You challenge Alastor to a high stakes game of Hide and Seek. The boundary limit? The entirety of Pentagram City. The prize? Three favors from the Radio Demon himself. No limits. No questions asked. But if he wins, Alastor will own your soul.

Absolutely no one thinks this is a good idea.

[jazzmasternot]

“NOT ALL MEN!”

you’re right! Alastor from hazbin hotel would NEVER do this to me!

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold.

alastor, lucifer, rosie, husk

⌇alastor

you looked the radio demon up and down, thinking that doing so from the farthest corner of the bar would ensure he didn’t see you. it’s not like you could help it though. alastor had switched out his normal suit for a gorgeous red velvet, his hair pulled up with what looked like braids in it, no doubt nifty’s doing. you took a sip of your drink and looked down, seeing him look up at your area of the bar.

you had been doing this since you had sat down at the bar. watching him interact with patrons and royalty, who were there to have their pocket books pried open for some funding as well as support for the hotel. it wasn’t an easy task by any means even with lucifer in support of the idea and here tonight. you were supposed to be chatting people up as well, but after the first guy you spoke to kept his hand on your arm for a little too long, you decided you were too sober for all of this.

you saw alastor’s attention be pulled else where, giving you your cue to look back up. he was angled away from you and you gulped audibly. the way the jacket fit his frame, his hair style complimented his long neck, and how his waist looked so deliciously tiny made your stomach warm and your face heat. you had zoned out, your mind taking you to an alternate reality where you had a chance of slipping off that coat of his… you shook your head and your eyes locked with alastor’s. you’re not sure how it was possible but your face heated even more, almost burning with the blush you had at being caught. you couldn’t look away though, even as he smirked at you.

you swallowed heavily and shakily took a sip of your drink as you saw him depart from whoever he was talking to, walk up to the bar and stand close next you.

“just a few fingers of that old rye you have back there.” alastor requested, and husk nodded turning away. giving alastor a chance to look down at you. you felt yourself shrink under his gaze as he smiled again, almost like a smirk. he grabbed the glass husk handed to him and you watched intently as he brought the glass up to his lips and sipped his drink, glancing at his neck and the way it moved. flickering your eyes back up to his as his grin widened. he bent down at his waist, you both face to face now.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’ll catch a cold darling.” he murmured to you, as your eyes widened and you looked down ashamed. alastor chuckled and you felt his finger draw your face up to look at you again.

“cat got your tongue?” he asks, smirking. you try and speak but no words come out and you feel your face and now arms burning. you take your cool hands and place them on your cheeks. he draws them away, holding them.

“don’t do that. i like the red color. red as blood.” he says, kissing your right cheek, then straightening up and taking his drink and himself back into the middle of the party, shooting glances at you from time to time as you still just watched him charm the crowd.

⌇lucifer

there were many benefits to being with the king of hell. you practically never had to worry about anything, be that financial or even emotional or physical. you knew lucifer had you covered. he was in your corner. once word got around that you were dating the king of hell, the perks increased. you’d walk into a shop and the attendants wouldn’t let you buy anything. there was just a small ask to post it on sinstagram or voxtube and review it. which you never minded, but then that oddly started an influencing career in hell. that definitely was not something on your bingo card for when you died.

right now though, you were faced with the biggest detractor of dating the king of hell. he had to attend this gathering. very boring, and you felt your eyes glaze over as you sipped lucifer’s appletini he left. you watched him converse with this group of royalty and business people, you being the only one left at the table. not that you minded and no, you didn’t want to go make conversation over there. you sighed and decided to use this opportunity to really admire lucifer.

he was dressed in his suit but instead of the white base he wore around normally, the suit was gold with red accents. and it just brought out his eyes so well. he looked ethereal standing there, talking to those people. you gave him a once over and all you could think about was getting him out of that damn suit that fit him so well. just imagining him underneath you, panting and sobbing for-

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i might just catch a cold.” you hear lucifer’s voice in your ear. your gasp sounding more like a moan when he grabs the appletini in your hand and throws it back in one drink.

“undressing you? you were already undressed in my mind. already on the bed if i’m honest.” you murmur to him and watch the blush take his cheeks.

“this boring you?” he asks smiling.

“desperately.” you look at him. “we should go back home. we can pick up where i left off envisioning you on our bed underneath me… begging for more.” you grin wickedly as lucifer gulps. he quickly makes his way over to the group, explaining something and you see them all nod. he quickly makes his way back to you and takes your hand, waiting for you to get up. then he all but drags you out of the venue.

“let’s go home.”

⌇rosie

you had told rosie she should wear her new dress. and damn it she was so excited about it, that of course you said yes. now… a part of you regretted saying she should as one of the gentleman in cannibal town kept talking rosie up while she was checking out a long line of patrons. you tried to breathe as you just watched rosie. you knew she was capable of taking care of herself. you watched how she nimbly packed up different items, wrapping them all while charming all around her. her figure was so graceful and the dress hugged her just right, accentuating her waist. you bit your lip watching her. both of your eyes widening as you caught each others gaze.

you blushed deeply while she smirked at you and checked out the last guest in line. finally she took a second to come over to you.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold darling.” she purred as she strode up to you. you saw behind her the same gentleman watching the both of you, his gaze hungry. you glared at him as you grabbed a bit of rosie’s skirt possessively, but not wanting to make a show. she chuckled.

“he’s really got you worked up, don’t he?” she asked.

“he keeps flirting with you. it’s disgusting.” you comment, looking at rosie. she hums and pulls you up so you were standing. she still towered over you, as she gently maneuvered you face to look up at her. she smiled again, licking her lips and she bends down and kisses you. your eyes widen as you throw your arms around her neck, reaching up on your tip toes to get closer.

you hum into the kiss, gently weaving your fingers in rosie’s hair and pulling at her nape. you feel the growl that comes from her, slightly panting as she break.

“get a fuckin’ room! absolutely disgusting. there are children!” you hear susan yell and you sigh. you hands at rosie’s waist, absentmindedly rubbing over the boning in the dress.

“i think you need to get back to the shop.” you sigh and rosie nods. “anything i can help with?”

“sit there and look pretty for me?” she asks and you laugh, nodding. you turn to the check out area and smile even brighter.

“he’s gone!” you exclaim. happy the guy from before wasn’t in the store.

“oh, yeah. he left right when i kissed you.” she laughed, patting down some of the fizz in your hair. “needed to make sure that everyone else knew who i was with though.” she winks and walks back up to the front counter as you sit back down and sigh. you wondered how you got so lucky.

⌇husk

watching husk talk to other patrons and quickly whip up drinks was a past time of yours that you greatly favored. it was sort of relaxing seeing him in an element that he excelled in, but honestly, just watching him and how good he was with his hands made you blush.

you were currently off, deep in thought, but husk caught your glance. your eyes widen as you try and look away, attempting to save whatever shred of dignity you had by playing it cool. you knew husk wasn’t dumb though. he had seen you staring.

he went back to work quickly enough and you waiting for a few more moments before looking out of the corner of your eye at him, watching him rim a glass with salt. he poured two liquors in at the same time topping off with some red liquid and a lime wedge, pushing it towards a demon who giggled as their hands touched being passed the drink.

you rolled your eyes and as soon as husk’s back was turned you took your opportunity to really look at him. he wore his usual suspenders and pants, but he had slicked back his hair tonight and had on a white button down shirt with suit themed cufflinks. it was an incredibly dapper look and you couldn’t help imagine taking off the damn shirt he was wearing. loosing your grip on reality again, you didn’t notice a drink being slid to you. you hear the drink before seeing it in front of you, looking up, you meet husk’s eyes. a smirk almost tattooed on his face. you blink a few times, trying to understand, when he chuckles.

“if ya keep starin’ at me sweetheart, and undressin’ me with those eyes of yours, i’m gonna catch a cold.” he takes back your old glass and leaves you sitting there bewildered as he helps the next guest. you take a sip and see a slip of paper from under the glass. you squint to read the scrawled handwriting.

“meet me at 1. party should be wrapped up then. you can stare all ya want.”

you placed your hand over the paper and felt your cheeks grow warm. he was going to be the death of you.

[vipetas]

i. the radio's revival

The worst possible scenario just unfolded before Alastor's eyes—his beloved antique radio broke.

He stood in stunned silence, his usual jovial expression replaced by one of utter disbelief as the once-majestic device now lay in pieces, its intricate components scattered across the floor. With a heavy heart, he knelt beside the shattered remnants, his gloved fingers tracing the familiar contours with a sense of mourning.

It was a futile gesture, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss for the part of himself that had been taken away with it. For Alastor, the radio was more than just a mere object; it was a piece of his identity. Each scratch, each dent held a story, a memory of a bygone era that now lay at ruins at his feet.

In that moment, he felt more vulnerable than ever before, stripped of the facade of invincibility he had carefully cultivated over decades. However, as he surveyed the damage, the vulnerability was quickly replaced by a flood of other emotions–anger, frustration, disappointment. How could something so precious, so irreplaceable, be lost in an instant?

The faint sound of shuffling feet then drew his attention. As he gazed up, one of the egg boys—those bumbling, loyal lackeys of Sir Pentious—timidly stepped forward with a sheepish expression.

“Uh, sorry about that, mister Radio Demon, sir. It was an accident,” the egg boy mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt.

Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance at the feeble excuse. Accidents were one thing, but this? This was inexcusable. His patience, already stretched thin, threatened to snap as he struggled to contain his frustration.

“Sorry?” Alastor repeated through gritted teeth. “Sorry won’t fix what’s been broken, now will it?”

The egg boys exchanged nervous glances, their carefree demeanor faltering under Alastor's withering gaze. “We didn't mean to, Mr. Alastor,” another one of them stammered. 

Yet it was far too late for apologies. Alastor's frustration bubbled over like a pot ready to boil, and with a growl of irritation, his form began to shift. With each passing second, his horns extended, his body swelled in size, and his once elegant silhouette towered over the trembling egg boys like a vengeful deity.

The egg boys recoiled in terror, their eyes wide with horror as they watched Alastor's transformation unfold before them. In their panicked mind, they could only imagine the worst—that Alastor, in his fury, would devour them whole.

Just as their fear reached its peak, Sir Pentious burst onto the scene. Positioning himself between the egg boys and the Radio Demon, his voice rang out in a chorus of apologies.

“Mr. Alastor, sir, I must beg for your forgiveness on behalf of my hapless egg boys,” he pleaded desperately. “They meant no harm, I assure you. It was a mere accident, a foolish mistake!”

Alastor's gaze narrowed as he observed Sir Pentious. As the snake demon continued to shower him with apologies, Alastor suddenly remembered the reason they were all gathered here in the first place—a party, of all things. With a wry smile, he glanced around at the other residents of the hotel, noting the fear etched onto their faces. The sight of their unease might've amused him under different circumstances, but the loss of something so precious to him soured his mood.

With a shake of his head, he allowed his form to shrink back to its normal size. As his horns receded and his imposing presence diminished, he felt the tension ebb from his body, the anger gradually fading away.

But that didn’t mean that all was forgiven.

“What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with my broken radio now?” Alastor's voice dripped with barely contained frustration as he shot a piercing gaze at Sir Pentious. 

Sir Pentious, visibly sweating under the weight of Alastor's glare, scrambled to offer a solution. “Ah, well, fear not,” he stuttered, his words coming out in a nervous rush. “I happen to know a mechanic—a fixer, if you will. Someone who can repair anything, no matter how... delicate.”

Alastor's eyebrow arched in skepticism, though a faint flicker of interest danced in his eyes. "Is that so?" he mused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He had his doubts about Sir Pentious' ability to deliver on such a promise, but at this point, he was willing to entertain any possibility.

“And where can I find this mechanic of yours?”

Following the instructions scribbled hastily on the back of a crumpled receipt, Alastor eventually found himself in the slums of Pentagram City. The narrow alleyways led him to what appeared to be a workshop, its exterior bearing the signs of neglect and decay. The windows were grimy, patches of paint flaked off the weathered walls, and the sign above the entrance barely hung on by a single rusty nail.

It was a far cry from the elegance he was accustomed to, and he couldn't help but feel a familiar surge of anger rising within him. This was the place that was supposed to hold the solution to his problem? The Radio Demon scoffed inwardly, doubting that anyone within these walls possessed the skill or expertise to repair something as delicate as his beloved radio.

Still, he pressed on. Pushing open the creaking door, he was met with a gust of stale air, tinged with the scent of oil and metal. Inside, the workshop was a scene of disarray. Tools lay scattered across workbenches, and half-finished projects cluttered every available surface. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with spare parts, some of which appeared to be salvaged from long-forgotten machinery.

Alastor's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he absorbed the surroundings. Then, his gaze fell upon the lone figure, hunched over a nearby table—you.

As he drew closer, you finally looked up, and to Alastor's surprise, you greeted him with a wide smile.

“Hi there! What can I do for you?”

Alastor's sneer deepened at the sight of the chipper mechanic, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere of the workshop. He had half-expected to find someone as worn down and weathered as the building itself, yet here stood this bright-eyed individual, seemingly unfazed by the chaos around them.

Suppressing a sigh, Alastor straightened up, the edges of his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Good evening,” he began. “My name is Alastor, and I'm here because I was told you might be able to fix something for me.”

Your smile widened at his words, and you nodded eagerly. “Of course! What seems to be the problem?”

Alastor hesitated for a moment, eyeing you warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that entrusting his precious radio to you was a mistake. Yet, he had little choice in the matter.

“My antique radio is in need of repair,” Alastor explained, his tone guarded. “It's a delicate piece of machinery, and I require someone with the utmost skill to handle it.”

You listened intently as Alastor detailed the intricacies of his radio, nodding along with each word. Despite his cautious demeanor, you could sense the underlying concern in his voice. It was clear that this radio held great significance to him.

As he finished speaking, you gave him another nod. “I understand, Mr. Alastor,” you reassured him. “You won't be disappointed, I promise. Now, let's take a look at what you've got there.”

With that, you gestured for Alastor to follow you to your workbench, where he finally presented the fragmented piece of machinery. As you laid eyes on the broken radio, it became immediately apparent to you just how extensively damaged it was. Fractured casings, tangled wires, missing components–it was a daunting sight, yet you refrained from revealing the true severity of the damage to Alastor, not wanting to add to his distress. Instead, you maintained a composed demeanor as you turned to look at him with a confident grin.

“We'll get this sorted out, Mr. Alastor,” you assured him once more. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor felt a flicker of hope stir in his blackened heart at the prospect of having his radio fixed. Though a hint of doubt still lingered at the back of his mind, he nodded begrudgingly.

“Very well," he muttered. "Just... be careful with it.”

As Alastor stepped back, allowing you the space to work your magic, his eyes remained fixed on you with keen interest. He observed the fluidity of your movements, the subtle shifts in your expression. Whenever you encountered a challenge, your brows furrowed in concentration, and with each successful repair, a hint of satisfaction graced your lips. Alastor found himself unconsciously mirroring your expressions as he watched your steady hands diligently work to bring his beloved radio back to life.

And as time passed, so too did his initial skepticism begin to wane, replaced by a growing sense of admiration for your skill and expertise. There was something captivating about the way you worked, a sense of determination and passion that shone through with every meticulous movement.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, you made the final adjustment. With bated breath, you flicked the switch and awaited the outcome. The room fell into a tense silence, thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, a burst of static erupted, followed by the unmistakable sound of music emanating from the speakers.

Alastor's eyes widened in disbelief as the once-silent device surged back to life. Your face lit up with a triumphant smile as you savored his reaction, a sense of pride swelling within you.

“There you go, Mr. Alastor,” you declared, extending the repaired radio toward him. “Good as new!”

As Alastor reached out to accept the radio from you, his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours in a fleeting moment of contact. In that instant, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through him, sending a distinct shiver down his spine.

It was a curious sensation, one that he couldn't quite place, yet it stirred something deep within him.

Even after withdrawing his hand, the feeling lingered, leaving Alastor perplexed. His gaze shifted from the repaired radio to your face, searching for any indication that you too had felt the same inexplicable energy pulse between you. However, your smile remained unchanged, oblivious to the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

“Thank you,” he finally murmured, his voice softer than usual, betraying a hint of sincerity that caught even him off guard. “You did a remarkable job.”

You beamed in response, your eyes alight with satisfaction at Alastor's words. “You're welcome,” you replied gently. “I'm glad I could be of help. And remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Alastor offered a subtle nod of gratitude, though inwardly, he found himself oddly reluctant to leave. Nevertheless, he tucked the repaired radio under his arm and turned on his heel, heading towards the door. Stepping out into the dimly-lit street, he walked with deliberate steps. His thoughts drifted back to the moment his fingers brushed against yours, and despite his attempts to push the memory aside, his free hand instinctively flexed, fingers curling into a tight fist before relaxing once more.

This was going to be a problem.

part i / part ii

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed<3

[degen-fics]

Alright Darling, You're On The Air! [Alastor x Reader]

Rating: E

Tags: Smut, dom/sub, exhibitionism, bondage, tentacles, orgasm delay and denial, overstimulation, knifeplay, degradation, aftercare

--- [available on ao3 here] ---

All of the kicking and screaming doesn’t prevent Alastor from wrapping you up in layers of shadow tentacles and shoving you into a newly spawned chair, right next to all of his broadcasting equipment up in his radio tower. It was your fault, you figure; everyone knows not to go knocking when the Radio Demon himself is preparing for a show, lest they wish to face the consequences of their actions. Ill-advised, really, but you took a gamble and peered up through the door all the same. Alastor had promised you attention, after all, but it’s been days since you’ve seen him, and you’re not the kind of pet content to be left alone for hours on end. You need entertainment. Stimulation. Excitement. The grandeur of thrill and danger.

You’re getting those things now, but at the cost of your pride and dignity.

“Now, now, none of that,” Alastor chides, sufficiently stopping your wild thrashing with more shadows tangled around your wrists and legs. “You came running for attention, didn’t you? Well,” he hovers over you, grin wide and hands clasped behind his back, “now you’re getting it.”

“Alastor–”

“Hush, dear.” He taps at his desk, gesturing to the microphone sitting at his setup. “You can’t expect me to put on a harmonious show with your little mouth running on in the background, now can I?” Alastor takes his seat, glancing in your direction with a shit-eating smirk on his face. You’re mouthing something - are you live now? - but he pretends not to understand, opting to make this a little more fun than he initially intended. “Darling, I’ve no idea what you’re trying to tell me, but I do appreciate your complete and utter silence. Can you keep that up for me, sweetheart?”

  You’re getting those things now, but at the cost of your pride and dignity. 

  “Now, now, none of that,” Alastor chides, sufficiently stopping your wild thrashing with more shadows tangled around your wrists and legs. “You came running for attention, didn’t you? Well,” he hovers over you, grin wide and hands clasped behind his back, “now you’re getting it.” 

  You nod, frustration apparent in your scowl because he one hundred percent knew what you were asking and decided to be an ass about it. You’re not a radio host. You’re not even a fan of radio. You died listening to a podcast where people loudly played Dungeons and Dragons for the entertainment of others - what the fresh fuck are you gonna know about radio?! You figured everyone who worked radio had one of those bright and obnoxious ‘on air’ lights you see in cartoons and shit, and then you remember, oh, gosh diddly darn it, most of those cartoons were made well after Alastor’s death and may not be time period appropriate. Shoot, guess you’ll never know! 

  So you nod, and get ready to watch him work. You’ve never had the opportunity to see how things work behind the scenes; to be frank, you often fall asleep during some of the softer songs he likes to play, and miss half of what he talks about when he’s, y’know, actively talking. 

  “Do try your best to not be startled by any sudden noises,” Alastor says, turning dials and flipping switches in quick, precise order. “While my broadcasts are meticulously planned, there’s always room for a bit of sudden… chaos, as it were. Bearing that in mind…” 

  You yelp behind tight lips.

  “Hello, my faithful listeners!”

  One of his shadowy tendrils slips down your neck and underneath your shirt, ghosting over your skin as if doodling on a canvas. You shoot Alastor a glare, but he doesn't react, already too preoccupied with his broadcast to pay you any mind. He knows what he's doing to you; Alastor likes drawing faint lines on your back every now and again when he's feeling particularly playful. Sometimes it tickles, sometimes his claws leave little indentations. But in the here and now, his shadow’s tracing over a familiar scar across your back.

  A L L  M I N E.

  You shiver at the familiarity. You're in trouble. You're bound to a wooden chair in Alastor's radio tower with the strict expectation that you keep your mouth shut, and only now is he going to give you the attention you want. You're his. He doesn't like sharing. He's on air. One small moan, and it's over. Last time you disobeyed him, well, you learned just how much it hurts to be edged for days at a time. Thirsting for pleasure only to be denied at the last second. Sometimes he ruins it, stops right at the first spasm; sometimes he doesn't stop, and your pleas wake up half of the hotel.

  When Alastor promises you something, he always finds a way to follow through. For better or for worse.

  “I received quite a lot of feedback from you all regarding my peculiar sense of humor,” Alastor chuckles under his breath, “let’s dial in on that subject–” 

  A strand of shadows delicately runs over your waist. 

  “--shall we?” 

  Oh, that smarmy little prick. You hate that you like his goofy puns, and always go out of your way to stifle laughs or snipe back with a snarky remark on his age. You miss the introduction, too busy trying to simultaneously shuffle away and swallow the giggles bubbling in your chest. Even the slightest wriggle knocks your chair into something; resist too much and Alastor won’t think twice about letting you fall to the floor. You’ve mastered your breathing just well enough to resist the ghostly tickles over your navel, but let’s not forget just how absolutely hilarious these jokes are!

  “And I said, ‘darling, no matter how much you push the envelope, you’ll always be stationary.’ Haha!” 

  Heh, get it? He’s trying to make you laugh by pointing out just how silly of a situation you’re in! While clever, it’s not the wordplay that gets to you, but the feathery wisps gathered at both of your sides, running back and forth and sideways until your tiny huffs of air shift to poorly sheathed giggles behind your teeth. 

  “Oh, I do love getting you all to smile, but please, don’t hold your laughter! The only prize you get for keeping still? A frown and a-trophy.” 

  You’d know a lot about muscle loss, wouldn’t you old man. That’s it. That’s the only snippy comeback you have on the brain, and you’ve immediately lost your trophy before you even had it. Peals of laughter bounce off the tower walls as your hands and feet writhe for stability, only for Alastor to continue his shadowy onslaught. Curls of black around your ankles start sending pins and needles through your legs; stay seated, they say, we wouldn’t want you to fall over and die of laughter. 

  “My apologies, dear listeners. It seems I’m just a bit too humorous for some to handle.” 

  The shadows lift from your body, one slithering up your neck as another wraps itself around your mouth. A chill verberates through your body, skin prickling as they tighten and suppress your sudden shout of surprise. You’ve been in similar situations before; when Alastor tires of your neediness and decides to take away your voice for ‘just a bit’ by shoving one of the tentacles in (or down) your mouth. You preferred the latter, but once he surmised that it was only helping to get you off, it was nothing but traditional gagging from there onward. 

  “There, now where was I? Ah, yes, the backbone of radio!” 

  Music. He means music. You wanna shout it into the microphone because you hate how cheeky he’s being while you suffer in muffled silence. With your lips forced open, all you can do is spit into the void as it slowly tightens its embrace, and it isn’t until you try to catch your breath that you realize he’s fucking with his shadows. (Figuratively, unfortunately.) 

  “I have just the song to get us all In the Mood, shall we say.” 

  You roll your eyes and wonder how many demons even know who Glenn Miller is, let alone what his songs are titled, but it’s not like you’re in a position to give Alastor a hard time. The tentacle at your mouth smells like him, the uncommon musk that comes after a night of him actually, actively fucking you. If there’s anything close to an aphrodisiac in this hellscape, it’s the scent of Alastor after stuffing you full of his cum. Your eyelids flutter shut, eyes rolling into the back of your head as fond memories flood your circuitry. The time he held you against the window, curtains open, your naked body steaming up the glass as he took you from behind. He reveled in the embarrassed noises you’d make when others outside stopped and stared. 

  “Let them look, dearest,” he growled behind the shell of your ear. “I want them all to know who you belong to; show them what they’ll never have, make them live in fear of so much as looking at you the wrong way.” 

  Your muscles twitch, back tensing at the pleasant assault to your senses. Your panties feel damp, more of his tentacles settling against your lap to keep you from senselessly bucking forward for attention. Fuck, you can’t even get your underwear to rub against your clit anymore. You’re trapped in this squeaky chair, thinking back on the time Alastor hoisted you onto the kitchen counter, leg draped over his shoulder to better overwhelm your g-spot. You were rightfully punished later for your antics; it was his first and last time ever burning dinner, your distractions earning you a few whippings to the back. (You got into trouble again because one of the lashes left a bruise over his artwork scarred into your back. You’d still be mad about it if he hadn’t kissed and licked everything better.) 

  “Is something the matter, my sweet girl?” Alastor’s voice swims into your head, a shadow passing over your eyes. “Are you regretting These Foolish Things?” 

  No, you slowly shake your head, still intoxicated by lust and yearning. There's just something so sultry about slow, soft jazz whining in the background; it reminds you of his “first” time with you.

  “I've already made you mine. I'd like to be yours.”

  “Alastor?”

  “Love me. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I love you,” you'd whispered. He held you close, delicately, leaving gentle kisses across your body. You said it as he carefully removed your clothes. Every time he caressed your cheek or breast. You told him you really, truly loved him as he took you slowly, a bit shakily, the thought of love a foreign guest in his head and heart. “It's okay,” you'd whispered, “take it slow.”

  “Mmph!” Another tendril finds its way underneath your pants and makes a beeline for your clit. There's no going slow here; no letting up as you start to struggle against the binds wrapped over your limbs, a silent plea for Alastor to either give you what you want or stop teasing you at all. He revels in the whimpering, the raw beauty in your muffled cries. Kicks his legs up onto his desk and stares, always smiling, smirking.

  Alastor tips his microphone closer to his lips. The song’s over, but his show isn't, and he wants to make the rest memorable. “Oh, I just love that song, don't you? It almost makes me want to sing along, but I'm afraid we'll have to leave that for another day. You see, we have a special guest tonight, and she's been dying to greet you. Faithful audience, give it up for The Gal from Jyour’s truly!”

  The shadow over your mouth comes undone as the next song starts to play, a gasping cry tearing through your throat. Your lungs burn, aching for a second to breathe, but Alastor didn't put any breaks in tonight's script. Aided by your slick cunt, a second tentacle dips into you with embarrassing ease, the chilly talon vibrating to the rhythm of the song as it curls in deeper.

  Alastor's going to kill you. You're moaning over the mic, completely out of key, focusing on the thrill of finally getting what you wanted. From his perch, he curls and twists his fingers, a puppet master and his strings. A third sneaks its way under your top and glides over your chest, drawing circles and stars across your nipples until he's satisfied with your rhythm. The volume of your cries and groans only seem to get louder, the stimulation bordering on overwhelming as your clit gets more delicious attention.

  “What a stunning opening number!” Alastor swivels around to better meet your eye, his long form dipping closer to your heaving body. Sweat beads near your browline, mouth hanging open as you pathetically pant at a very familiar rate. Fuck, the little choked yelps you make when he grazes your g-spot are perfection. It's a shame you had to interrupt his regularly scheduled program, otherwise he might entertain your lusting just a little more.

  “It seems we may be nearing the crescendo, folks! Gracious host that I am, I ought to warn you about the anticipated sudden change in volume. My little star hasn't quite mastered control over her pitch, but let's see how long she can hold the same note, shall we?”

  Tendrils dig into your wrists as your arms try to shoot out and grab him. He silently chuckles to himself, shaking his head slowly. Don't do it, he says, don't you dare, not until I say so. But fuck is it hard to hold back, that familiar heated tension building and threatening to collapse in a blaze of pleasure if he so much as flicks your clit just the right way. Your eyes slide shut, hips bucking for permission; another squeezes its way into your wet, dripping hole, a crying moan following close behind as he fills you up.

  “What do you think, listeners? Should I show some mercy and put this poor thing out of her misery?” A laugh track plays - ‘mercy’ isn’t in his daily vocabulary. “Your ears must be bleeding by now, surely, and despite her rude interruption, I'm finding it hard to deny her the release that her poor, aching, wriggling body begs for as we speak.” Alastor gets to his feet, footsteps drowned out by your begging, your moaning, your writhing. He drags a lone finger over your lips, basking in your helpless state. “Fear not, I will be administering the proper punishment for this blatant disrespect, but for now…”

  Alastor swings a leg over your chair and settles into your lap. His bulging erection against your desperate pussy sends you into a frenzy. You want it. You need it. You meet his gaze and whimper when you try to make the words, body betraying you as your orgasm inches closer.

  “Let's give this little lady the fantastic, unforgettable, chaotic karma she deserves.” 

  You're at your limit and passing the point of no return, your body spasming as Alastor grabs a firm hold of your chin, demanding your undying attention. He's the one fulfilling your wishes and providing you with the ecstasy you so commonly crave. He's the one grinding into your orgasm. He's the one who spoils you, and he wants respect. Now.

  You say his name, ever mindful to avoid dropping the multiple ‘fucks’ that dangle from your tongue. You say it, shout it, scream it as the tentacles continue their onslaught, pumping in and out with precise aggression. Your clit can't take any more of the heavy rubbing. Pathetically, you try to grind against Alastor's crotch as you orgasm, your vision briefly going fuzzy with white hot passion.

  Alastor doesn't stop. Every tentacle stays in place, continuing to do their due diligence and remind you to never, ever come knocking when the radio demon is on the air. Your pussy feels tight as a third creeps inside, your clit pulsing and begging for a break when you feel a pinch at your nipples. You'd take more if it meant getting his teeth to bite at the rosy peaks, but his mouth is set in a sinister grin.

  “Alastor, please! Please, I can't, i-it’s too…! Too much, I can't–!”

  “You have before, and you will now. Take it, and enjoy it. It's the last you'll get until you've learned your lesson.”

  “I-! Fff–Alastor, please, I'm so sorry–!” 

  “Lie to my face again and we'll be having a much longer, painful conversation behind closed doors. Now be a dear and say my name, just one more time.”

  Your orgasm screeches through your core, each and every tentacle a bolt of lightning webbing across your skin in chaotic karma. Your panties are beyond useless, and far too cold once the shadowy limbs slither out of you. The last one hovers near your cheek, your scent strong on its slippery tip.

  “Thank you, Alastor.” Your head lulls back, chest heavy with labored breaths. Sweat trickles down the back of your neck, another small trail beading down your cleavage. You keep whispering your thanks as a tinny canned audience claps in the background and sings your praises.

  “A round of applause for our surprise guest! Oh, she's just an absolute gem. Unfortunately, your ears will not be assaulted by her screams later tonight, but if we ask nicely, I'm positive she'll let me tell you all about it. Isn't that right, darling?”

  You nod, finally rubbing at your aching wrists. You cast a cautious eye to the lingering shadow still coated in the product of your pleasure.

  Alastor dips his lips to your ear, a hot whisper sending chills through your back. “I want you to sit there quietly and think about the gravity of what you've just done. Once I'm finished here, you'll follow me back to our room, and you'll take everything I have to offer. You'll forgive me for my lack of restraint, won't you, dearest?”

  Alastor's shadow pops into your mouth, your taste heavy and hot against your tongue. His sharp teeth nip once at your ear, a smirk tangled in his voice.

  “Good girl.”

  You aren't, but there's no point in arguing. Praise from Alastor is almost better than sex. Cherish it while you can, dearest; your future’s looking bleak. 

[misslycoris]

ACCUSTOMED

“Has Mister Talkative finally shut his mouth for once?”

“Dream on my dear.”

It's been a good while since I posted here and to break that streak we have yet another art of my favorite red guy. Together with this post, I also updated my fic after a good while so check that out too.

Would probably make more art not involving him some time soon but I mean come on, who can say no to a face like that?