#antlerposting

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Could you do a Lookalike reader getting his hooves or ears brushed / cleaned by Alastor in a similar vein to the antler one? Maybe a standalone mini series of 'Parts I wanted to include in the main series but couldn't find space for it.'

I would be so up for that.

Hey man, thanks for the ask! I think I went a bit off-topic here, but I still think it's hot so I'm gonna post it. I've put a line for the more squeamish readers to stop at. Caveat emptor and all that.

Pairing: Alastor X reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: they/them pronouns, reader is a hermaphrodite, Foot stuff, Hoof stuff, scent glands, DEER THINGS, slight sexual content, Alastor being fucking weird

You didn’t know what was wrong with you at first. You’d held a variety of jobs during your mortal life, but vet wasn’t one of them. What you knew about medicine you knew from backwoods surgery, and what you knew about deer physiology was limited to the things that made their meat unsafe for consumption, the telltale lesions and growths on a carcass that meant it got burned or buried rather than butchered. This wasn’t one of those things.

There was a hard lump on the front of your leg, above where the keratin of your two standing nails ended and below the level of your dewclaws, close to the webbing of skin where your two toes joined. On a human this would have been the shin, but for you it felt more like your tarsal.

It had been small at first, and you had ignored it. Then it had grown larger, painful as it had rubbed against the tongue of your boot. Today you had limped your way through your shift at the hotel, your smile more of a grimace than anything that could genuinely be describes as cheerful, and retreated to the room you shared with Alastor as soon as your contract no longer compelled you to work.

Now you lay in the four-footed bathtub in Alastor’s ensuite bathroom, examining your hoof more thoroughly. Was this an abscess? Did you need to lance it? Your skin graded to a dark grey towards your red nails, so it was difficult to gauge the lump’s condition from color as it would be on a paler part of you. You were pushing at the lump with your fingers, feeling the heat of inflamed flesh when Alastor materialized from the shadows at the bathroom door, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What are you doing here?”

You hadn’t expected him to return to the room for hours, and even then, he generally gave you privacy when you were cleaning yourself. Fear shot through you like a cold wave in your stomach, the feeling of being caught, and you fought the reflex to hide your leg from Alastor. Your career as a serial killer would have been short-lived if you weren’t able to hide guilt, after all. “Do you mind?” you said, broadcasting annoyance.

Alastor looked unimpressed, taking a step closer. “I asked you a question,” he said.

“I would think it’s fairly apparent, but right now I was thinking of cutting my nails,” you lied, smoothly. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, looking for you,” said Alastor, his gaze settling on the red tips of your hooves. “I was about to cook dinner for everyone, and I could do with a sous chef who doesn’t try to boil themselves every time I set a pot of water on the heat or drink all the wine before it goes in the sauce.” He moved closer, arms behind his back. “Though I suppose those are getting rather long,” he said, eyes still on your standing nails, the two red points on the end of each of your hooves. “Let me help you with that.”

“No, I couldn’t put you out,” you raised a hand in protest, but Alastor was already in the space with you, bending to fetch a pedicure kit full of small knives, curved clippers and different grades of files from the cupboard that stood next to the basin.

“Nonsense, my dear, pure nonsense.” Alastor took a seat on the painted metal stool that lived next to the tub and looked down at you, teeth gleaming. “I hope you don’t mean to say I’m not up to the task.”

“Of course not,” you frowned, and Alastor clicked his tongue in disapproval as he took your good leg in his hand.

Disapproval at your facial expression did nothing to stop Alastor’s roving hands, however, the hand that was holding your leg stroking down the arch of your foot to the pads beneath as he fetched a pair of clippers from the box at his feet. The touch was pleasant, and deliberate, and the clippers resembled a pair of secateurs more than anything else, the sort that could easily remove a thumb if applied correctly.

“If you cut to here-” Alastor took your hand, pulling it to the pad of your hoof, where the flesh was attached to the backside of the nail, and traced a line, dragging your finger alongside his. “-the hoof will be too short, and you’ll injure yourself walking-” You listened carefully as Alastor talked, moving your fingers over your hoof so that you would know his instructions by touch. It would have been a relaxing, bonding activity, if it weren’t for the aching lump on your leg, and your growing anxiety at it being discovered. Alastor’s hands were gentle on the pads beneath your hooves, holding your leg perfectly steady as he made each cut.

He moved to your other leg, and you were sure he would notice the lump, but he said nothing, either ignorant or letting you stew in your own embarrassment as you lay in the warm bathwater, his skilled fingers squeezing the arch of your hoof, thumb brushing against your dewclaws as he repeated the process, leaving you enough length in your nail that you would be able to walk comfortably. Sweeping the red slivers of your hooves aside, Alastor took a pair of files from the box, one coarse, one fine, and you felt the vibrations through the nail and through the bones of your leg as he filed down the rough edges. He did it slowly, watching your face as he drew the file back and forth with a gradual movement, the sensation something like a shiver as the metal abraded the surface. When he was done, he ran a thumb over each edge, feeling for imperfections.

Alastor brushed away the fine pink dust with his hand and smiled at his handiwork. “There. That’s better, don’t you agree?”

You nodded, something like relief flooding through you when Alastor hadn’t addressed the problem. You were free to deal with it. Privately.

[nb: if you just wanted hoof clipping, stop reading here]

“And it’s high time we did something about that,” said Alastor, gaze sliding over your bad leg, and your sense of relief shattered. “After all, you didn’t really think there was any part of yourself that you could keep a secret from me, did you?” Alastor’s smile turned cruel, his finger tracing a gentle line up between the two toes of your cloven hoof to the lump, even the light pressure he applied excruciating, and you held your breath to not cry out. “You were limping, darling,” he continued, voice chiding. “I was worried.”

You blinked away tears of pain, studying Alastor’s expression. Really, you’d been embarrassed more than anything- the horror that the strange lump might be due to a failure of basic hygiene on your part, but the way that Alastor examined it without surprise told you that it was an issue he was at least familiar with. Maybe something he’d dealt with on his own body, in his early days in Hell.

“You know what it is?” you asked.

Alastor hummed, his fingers trailing down the freshly pedicured red keratin of your nails and round to the soft pads of flesh that sat behind them, pressing and probing. Oh, that felt nice. “You’ve field dressed a deer before,” he said, chiding. “You really should know this yourself.”

You sank a little deeper into the bath, pouting. “I was a hunter, not a veterinarian. I cut the hooves off before skinning. Dried them sometimes.”

“And I thought you were a curious person.” Alastor smiled to himself, seeming to enjoy having such an advantage over you. “But I suppose I should educate you.” His fingers ceased their massage of your spongy underfoot, and he parted your toes, his touch on the web of skin where the two of them joined. “You have a scent gland here,” he said, pressing his finger against a narrow vertical slit on your dark skin, less than an inch in length. Like the lump above it, it was tender. “It’s blocked. You should have come to me sooner.”

“I’m sorry.” You felt your ears drop, your leg relaxing a little in Alastor’s grip,

“That is quite the hangdog look you have.” Alastor’s smile grew thin, and he reached over to cup your cheek. “Fear not, I know a remedy.” His fingers lingered, tracing the grim line of your mouth. “It will be painful though, you think you can grin and bear it?”

Alastor always wanted a smile from you, but especially in difficult situations. You weren’t sure if it was sadism, a test, or some twisted beneficence on his part. “Of course,” you said.

“I will hold you to that, dearest,” said Alastor, raising your hoof to his lips. It was all you could do not to gasp when he ran his tongue between your two standing toes, laving the pad of each, a pleasurable but alien sensation. It made it easy to smile for him, and his eyes met yours, the corners creasing with approval. His hand cupped the back of your leg, the part that your brain still fuzzily equated to the arch of your foot, long fingers stroking the lines of the tendons. You had been intimate with him enough times that there was no terror for you in his teeth, only the disconcerting sensation of sharpness as he pressed his mouth to your spread toes, his lips a seal around your scent gland, and sucked.

To describe the sensation as pain was technically correct, but it would be like describing standing within a meter of a working jet engine as loud, or the sea as wet. It was a nerve pain, a primal sensation of wrongness. Pain conducted through the bones of your leg to your stomach and your spine, making you queasy and tearful all at once. But you had promised you would smile through this, so you fought for conscious control of your face, forcing your breathing into a slow, steady rhythm, pushing the tension that had collected in your shoulders down as you lay back in the bath, the corners of your mouth up. You spread the fingers of your hands over the lip of the bathtub, palms outward, arms trembling, and Alastor clasped one of your hands in his, squeezing.

Tears rolled hot down your face as Alastor continued, the sensation unrelenting, the only sound in the room your breathing and the low frequency hum from the lights above you. You were still smiling when Alastor’s thumb hooked around your leg, pressing into the cyst above your scent gland. More pain. A whimper in your throat that you could no longer suppress, the curve of your mouth a forced one. Alastor squeezed your hand tighter as he pushed, or perhaps you were squeezing his, and you felt movement in the gland, the inflamed tissue shifting as the blockage was pushed out. You sobbed once and it was gone, replaced by the sensation of pressure being released, Alastor’s tongue moving between your toes.

Alastor raised his mouth from your hoof, his eyes half-lidded and sultry. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he said, sweetly, and all of a sudden it was easy to smile again, his hand no longer in yours as he used both hands to handle and inspect your hoof. “Nearly done now.”

You peered at your hoof, the toes still splayed as Alastor massaged the cyst with his thumb. Your scent gland wept, oily yellow fluid spilling from it. It stank, an earthy, musky smell filling the room. Alastor could smell it- anything with a nose would be able to, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks as Alastor kept your leg firmly in hand. He had probably tasted it, too.

“Guess I should rinse that off,” you said, your smile turning wry as you wrinkled your nose, trying to hide the mix of horror and shame that you felt.

“Absolutely not,” said Alastor firmly, lowering his head to your hoof and lapping at the mess with his tongue, his breath hot between your toes. Fuck. Your stomach tightened at the sight of it, the noise of his tongue almost obscene in the quiet of the bathroom. It was disgusting and erotic all at once, Alastor’s eyes fixing yours with a fervid intensity as he breathed in your scent, and you found yourself hard, the throbbing pain that you’d felt moments before receding to arousal like a curtain revealing a stage.

If Alastor noticed your state, he chose not to acknowledge it, instead teasing the last of your scent from your gland with his mouth and his thumb and planting a soft kiss over the abused tissue; one that was painful by most people’s definitions of pain, but from him it was almost romantic, his lips the barest pressure. You knew better than to raise the matter- that would make him tease you, at best, leave you aching and unfulfilled. What Alastor gave was on his own terms.

“Incomparable, as ever,” Alastor murmured, as if what he had eaten had been drizzled across a plate in a Michelin starred restaurant and not licked fresh from between your toes. “You will come to me for these things in future, hm?”

“Is that a request?” you asked, a rough edge to your voice.

“Given your reaction, I don’t think it’s too tall an order, do you?” Alastor flashed his teeth, flirtatious and sinister all at once.

[antlercollections]

My favorite thing about the internet is that I can see a God awful take or a take I disagree with and think to myself "that sucks" and JUST SCROLL !! I don't have to interact with it like I have to with things offline

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Look me in the eyes. Look at them. Now come closer. Closer. Right there.

Never. And I repeat, N E V E R. Tone down the amount of antlers in your fanfics. It's my favorite thing. I found myself looking at the tag antlerplay desperately searching for more. I love them.

Okay thank you for coming to my tedtalk

Thanks anon, have some antlers as a treat.

Sleep is the brother of death, and in death there is still sleep. In your sleep there are dreams, the muddled melange of images and memories, disturbed like the surface of the bayou waters under heavy rain. In your dreams you see the streets of your city at night, lit by dirty neon and sallow sodium, revelers spilling from clubs and bars onto sidewalks and into the thick summer air. Smoke spills heavy over asphalt stained yellow in the night and the whole scene thrums to a swing beat, the people and the smoke, even the light. Even you.

The beat is in you, through you. You can feel it through the heels of your shoes, through your shins and your femurs to your hips, a beat at your core that leaves you dizzy and swaying. You are aroused, an ache that clutches at your guts and leaves your throat parched. There’s nothing to drink, no touch on your body save for the beat that seems to enslave you, even your pulse matching the slow, captivating swing of it. Fuck. It feels good, and you can’t help but move, save your body feels heavy, heavy with the smoke. You’re lying on your back, a body on top of you, its weight the weight of the air around you. You reach up, eyes closed, feeling legs straddling your waist, the narrow hips of the man on top of you.

His lips are on your antlers, suckling, teasing. His hands are on your antlers, his touch coaxing and sensual.

“Alastor.” Fuzzily, you recall the name of the man who shares your bed, opening your eyes and squinting up at him. It’s not uncommon for you to wake up to his embrace, or even the slow, sensual grind of his morning tumescence against your ass, but not this. This feels like your body is on fire, your antlers branching to a creaking, aching width under Alastor’s touch. You swallow down your arousal for half a second. “What’s going on?”

Alastor licks a burning line up a tine of your left antler before his mouth is free, but his hands remain in your branches. He smiles down at you. “You don’t know~” he hums, fingers reaching the base of your right antler, and stroking the point at which the bone emerges from your hair. You can feel his touch all through your skull and through your spine, the same swing beat you felt in your dream. “Oh, darling,” he purrs, his eyes half closing, his face drawing close to yours. His antlers have branched, too, but nowhere near as wide as yours.

“Please tell me,” you say, biting back a moan as Alastor’s fingers stroke a perfect resonance over your tines. It makes you shiver, an aching heat between your legs, and you know you’ll have to launder your pajama pants after this, your sex producing embarrassing amounts of slick. Alastor’s smile is cruel as his fingers squeeze, a pressure that seems to run through your body like electricity, and you whimper, out loud this time, your hips bucking against his weight.

“Dear me,” Alastor murmurs, smile widening, and he dips his face to your neck, breathing in deeply. “You’re in quite a state, aren’t you? The smell of you,” he says, and you feel him shiver as he breathes in again.

Alastor runs his fingers up the length of your antlers, and you make an embarrassing, mewling sound in response. He’s right; you are in a state, so aroused it almost hurts, and even Alastor’s gentle ministrations on your antlers are coming close to edging you, his slow strokes thrumming through your bones. “What state?” you push, as Alastor kisses his way from your neck to your jaw.

Alastor draws back with a smile, enjoying the power he has over you for a moment longer before he takes pity. “Why, you’re in heat, darling,” he tells you, and your heart drops to your stomach.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Masterlist

Hi, I'm impale-me-radio-daddy, otherwise known as Big Antler Steve, The Antlers Guy, a pun or play on words, alright mate, and, in exceptional circumstances, oh no. Contrary to popular belief, I am not the acclaimed self-insert author cocksleeve4deerman69- we are in fact entirely different entities.

But enough about me, here's a list of things I've written, for your amusement and elucidation.

The Lookalike (completed series)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself.

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, reader is in Hell for a reason, reader x Alastor, reader x Vox, Valentino, canon typical scenarios, Vox-based voyeurism, minor use of aphrodisiacs, tentacle sex, Vox in a cuck chair, erotic cannibalism, Alastor x reader x Vox threesome in the finale.

☒ Length: 43k words total

☒ Series links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

☒ Bonus vignettes: Hoof trimming, Lucifer seducing (slight AU)

Reddest Flags, Longest Nights (one-shot)

⩙ Summary: The year is 1989. The Berlin Wall has fallen, and Nintendo have just overseen the release of the Game Boy. The first ever episode of Baywatch has just aired, and Ted Bundy has just been executed by electric chair. Vox's relationship with the Radio Demon is on the rocks. Their solution? To add a third person to their bedroom: you

⩙ Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Vox X reader X Alastor, Radiostatic is a committed relationship (well, they're trying), Reader is a girl and she has a pussy, tentacle sex

⩙ Length: 5.5k words

⩙ Other notes: This is set in a sexy alternate universe for the characters in @bapple117's Bluest Monday

Return to Radio Hall (one-shot)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an alternate universe, once conceptualised, must be in want of a fic.

⚜Summary: Having made his fortune in the New World, Vox Vee returns to visit his former benefactor, Lord Alastor.

⚜Pairings: Vox/Alastor

⚜Length: 2.1k words

⚜Content Notes: Unrequited love, Regency era AU, depiction of illness

The Alibi (I have a couple ideas for continuation, but stand-alone for now)

⚜ Pairing: human!Alastor X reader

⚜ Content notes: Reader is a sex worker, Alastor is a serial killer, brief reference to domestic abuse and injury, explicit sexual content, reader is a woman, reader has a pussy, bathtime, cum pooling in the collarbones, the sex is transactional but not like that.

⚜ Wordcount: 4.5k words

In Your Dreams, Old Pal (4-part story with an epilogue in the comments)

⛃ Pairing: Alastor/Vox

⛃ Summary: Alastor had never wanted to murder anyone as badly as he wanted to murder the version of Alastor that Vox dreamed of. The creature was, put simply, a simpering, effete idiot.

They were in a high class restaurant in some part of the states Alastor didn’t recognize, all art deco paneling and chandeliers that glowed a soft gold, the kind of lighting that made every patron look like they were being filmed through a Vaseline smeared lens; good skin, bright eyes. Even Alastor was pressed to admit it was a classy joint. Why Vox was dreaming of taking Alastor here was anyone's guess.

Alastor intrudes on the dreams of his friend and assistant, Vox.

⛃ Content notes: Explicit sexual content, dream sex, wet dreams, jizz in their pants, extremely dubious consent, virginity??, church sex, creampie, bottom Alastor, bottom Vox, incidental cannibalism, not much antler stuff.

⛃ Word count: 18k

Nothing Above the Knee (one-shot)

⪫ Pairing: Alastor/Vox (Radiostatic)

⪫ Wordcount: 4k

⪫ Summary: Alastor wants something from Vox. All Vox asks in return is a few hours with Alastor's hooves.

⪫ Content notes: Explicit sexual content, hoof stuff, contractual obligation, interdigital scent gland play, hoof licking, hoof fucking, electrostimulation, Vox is very much on top here, did I mention this is about hooves?

Heaven Spent (Part 1/2)

℣ Pairing: Vox X angelic!reader

℣ Summary: A naïve angel descends to Hell looking for her best friend Vagina. Finds Vox instead.

℣ Content notes: Voyeurism, first time for everything, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, guided masturbation, Vox being Vox, pet names: mostly sweetheart, babydoll and baby, reader is a girl, reader has a pussy and tits, reader has a name and it's a fucking stupid one.

℣ Word count: 6.5k

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

*reads your entire master list*

Hm. I think this guy might like antlers a little bit

Uhh...

Fuck! I've been made! My extremely secret love of antlers!

Hmm.

Have some more antlers.

"So, uh, I noticed-" Vox trails off, unusually coy, particularly given that you're already sitting naked on his bed. "I noticed you liked being touched here."

His claws are ginger, tracing the contour of your skull through your hair, and finding the base of your left antler, the ridge of bone around it where it emerges.

If anything, his touch is too gentle, a discordant whisper against your senses, that beats in your skull like a signal lost. You flick your ear, lowering your eyelids at him. "Not like that, I don't. But I can show you how."

Vox is embarrassed, his expression souring, and you know if he didn't want this a whole lot, he would be arguing with you right now, or kissing you to shut you up. Instead, he swallows down his pride. "Yeah. Show me how it goes, baby deer."

Vox's touch is imperfect and clumsy at first, even with you guiding him, your hand over his. He goes too fast, claws skittering over bone and making you shiver, then too slow, too soft, too gentle, a touch that you can barely feel, that has you bucking your head into his hand, just to get some sensation. Each abortive attempt brings a curse from his lips, followed by a long, slow, breath as he regathers his focus, angry, but at himself for his mistake, until at last he finds a motion that works, a grip of one of your tines between his claws, and a gentle, continuous back-and-forth motion. You can't even disguise the expression of bliss that comes across your face, and Vox's mouth twists into a triumphant grin.

"Those are getting big just for me, huh," gloats Vox, the motion of his hand on your antler bringing sensation through your body in waves. You can feel your antlers growing further, creaking as they extend into geometric branches and cruel points.

You swallow a moan. "You can use your mouth, too," you say, wondering what the length of Vox's flexible, electric tongue will feel like between your branches.

"Ohh?" Vox is returning to his default state of smug motherfucker now, his grin widening. "Is that a request? Because that sounds like a fuckin' request to me."

The man would be a worse tease than Alastor, you think, if only he had the patience to follow through on his threats and make you beg for his tongue. As it is, the thought of you helpless and squirming at the mercy of his mouth compels him, and he steers your head down by the antler to get better access, his mouth hot against bone as he kisses the spiked tip of each of your branches in turn.

This wasn't the first time someone had sucked on your antlers. It was, however, the first time that someone like Vox had sucked on your antlers. The first thing you felt was the hum, the throbbing, beating fifty hertz that carried directly through his mouth, through your antlers and into your bones. You went limp, Vox giving a muffled noise of surprise as his arm came up to support you. Mouth not leaving your antler, he manipulated your body into his lap, your weight comfortably against his chest as he continued his experiment.

"Don't stop," you murmured, weak, your eyes closed, and the squeeze that Vox gave your arm told you that he had no plans of stopping.

The second thing you felt was his tongue, winding itself around each branch, slotting slick and wet between each fork of your crown. It was a shivering, electrical sensation, one that coaxed a whimper from your lips with each movement.

"Gonna fuck you after this, baby deer," says Vox, his voice low and full of vocal fry as he releases your antler from his lips and tongue long enough to speak. "You're just gonna be wide fuckin' open for me after this, aren't you? Fuckin' soaked." You nod; he isn't wrong. Each touch now is a vibration, a resonance through your body, a standing wave that reaches antinode at the very core of you, heat pooling in your guts and between your legs.

Vox groans, a pleased sound as his lips latch onto your antlers again, his tongue coiling gentle and slow round one of your tines. He brings a hand up to your other antler, a little of his power coming into play as he sheathes his claws in vibrant blue electricity. It feels like his tongue now, a shivering, electrical pulse, and both of them together threaten to overwhelm you. You gasp, arching your back, your ass pressing against the constrained hardness of his cock in his pants.

"You gonna cum like this, baby deer?" Vox releases your antler long enough for his static laden lips to brush your ear, making your fur stand on end. "Don't stop," you reply, a pleading edge to your voice that you know Vox rarely refuses. "Make me cum, please Vox."

With that, his hand and mouth work in tandem, a rhythm that runs through you, leaves you breathless and incoherent in his arms, your voice reduced to pleading mewls as sensation builds and builds, a pressure in you that threatens to overflow. Vox knows your body well enough to tell when you are close, and he chooses not to break the rhythm, the only concession to his own pleasure in the moment a growl from his chest, and a roll of his hips against your ass, cock pushing against you hot and needy through the fabric of his pants.

You cum with a soft cry, Vox's electricity arcing over your antlers, and he lets you collapse against him.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Vox's Ass-Eating Game Was so Good It Robbed Me of Literacy: More at 10

He's insecure. A perfectionist. He's got a whole evening planned. Rose petals, drone displays, the fuckin' works. Anything that he thinks will make you happy.

"We're gonna get you ready with my tongue, babydoll," is what he says, as he lays you down on the silk sheets, crawling onto the bed behind you.

You know he monitors your pulse, your breathing, everything about your body, especially when you make love, and he knows you don't like surprises. So he tells you.

You can hear the click of him opening the lube bottle.

His claws gentle as he parts your thighs, parts your cheeks.

"Anything you want, babe, all you gotta do is say the word."

And you feel the heat of his screen as he lowers his face to you.

His tongue is between your asscheeks, the sensation vivid against your nerves but tender, tuned to your preference. He has a hand on each cheek now, holding you apart for him as he begins to tease your rim, slow and romantic.

He knows your pulse, knows your heartrate, can measure your arousal to the nanometer.

You know you don't even need to say anything, that he will listen to your body and go deeper when you are good and ready.

You find yourself grinding back on him, hear the pleased, garbled audio growl he makes when you do, the noise reminding you of a dial-up modem.

iloveyousofuckingmuch.exe

And his tongue in your ass is a miracle, a sensation that makes you whimper into your silk pillows.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

I'm having a really hard day, could I please request a little comfort one shot where the reader has a health issue with their heart and just had an attack and Alastor and/or Lucifer are comforting and caring for them and are worried about them too (can be female or GN I don't mind, can have any character traits/ animalistic traits, but basically reader is feeling emotional and vulnerable and needy and in pain, can't get up because nearly collapsing, weak/ dizzy/ pain/ feeling nauseated when they try) (not projecting at all here lol) 🥺 it can go anyway you want after I'd just really like that included because I could cry rn with my struggles and I've got no-one, and I love you and your work so much 💜💜 (I have asked a couple of people for this as I just feel that vulnerable and needy just so you're aware, but I do love your work so much and just need to be bombarded with love today 💜💜💜)

I'm still writing the next lookalike chapter, so have something short:

When you sold Alastor your soul, it was an act of desperation. You never expected him to actually care about your wellbeing. He was the Radio Demon after all; hardly known for care and compassion.

Imagine your surprise then, at waking in his bed. Not in a state of undress, or anything tawdry, but in freshly laundered pajamas, your body clean and warm, your hair washed and set up in its usual bedtime state. It is quite possibly the cleanest and best cared for that you have felt since your arrival in Hell.

"You had another one of your... episodes," says Alastor, from his chair by your bedside, putting down the book he was reading. "You collapsed. I thought you would be better off in here." The fauna in the swamp behind him chirp merrily as you try to process what he is saying. Well, that and the fact that your current warm, bathed and glowing state is due to him.

"Why?" you ask, sitting up.

Alastor's smile is enigmatic. "Why does anyone do anything, my dear? Either whimsy, or naked self-interest!"

"You're looking after me because you feel like it?" you ask, a strange mix of feelings churning in your gut.

Alastor hums, an undercurrent of mains signal in his audio, and his eyes narrow a little. "As I recall, I do own you."

You shrink back as he approaches, fearing that he might do something terrible, but Alastor simply touches his palm to your forehead, feeling your temperature. Embarrassingly, you sink into the touch, but Alastor doesn't react, his mouth a steady curve. "And what kind of owner would I be," he asks, "If I were to leave my poor souls to suffer by the wayside?"

An owner like all the other overlords is the answer to that, but you don't feel like that's an answer that Alastor will care for. So you sit, under Alastor's watchful eye, and obediently eat, as a small parade of shadow creatures bring you breakfast.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Sorry about making you think about Lucifer cheating on his wife, I'm a fan of Lucifer X Lilith but I wrote that more with a 'divorced Lucifer trying to get back into dating but seriously is off his game' idea in mind just for laughs. Alternatively, you could imagine that Lucifer actually knows that it was Alastor and not Lookalike Reader that he was hanging out with and was seeing just how awkward he could make things until Alastor buckled, Lucifer just figured the easiest way to do that was to pull out every 'trick' Angel insisted on showing everyone at the last trust excise.

"Hah. Alright, Lu. You can do this." Lucifer stared himself down in the mirror, a glower and a slap to his own rosy cheeks. He held his hands there, the absence of his wedding ring drawing his eye just like it had every time he's looked at his hands in the past year. "You're the King. of. Hell. The kingofhell. They're just a lowly sinner. A lowly sinner who knows your daughter and will probably tell her if this ends badly, so this better not end badly, please can it not end badly, you can do this. I can do this." Lucifer breathed out, his face falling. "It's just dinner, I can do this."

You lay on your front on Alastor's bed, kicking your feet in the air as you watched Alastor perfect his you disguise.

"Fluffier?" he asked, squinting into the mirror as he applied a backbrush to his hair, letting a few strands float loose.

You hummed. "I think you're about there. Now flutter your eyelashes and say Oh, your majesty, how fascinating!"

Alastor obliged you with a flutter. "Oh, your majesty," he said breathily. "I am a credulous idiot easily impressed by pointless displays of your power."

"So cruel," you purred. "If you're going to be like that, I'll have to start asking for payment when you impersonate me."

Whatever Alastor had been expecting, it hadn't been a table laid for two. Nor candles, or, for whatever reason, rose petals. Fuck.

Still, he'd agreed to this. Asked for it, even. He fixed your sunny, slightly dazed-looking smile on his face and stepped in.

Lucifer looked nervous. That very fact made Alastor stop in his tracks. Why was Lucifer nervous? The man was as old as creation, feared neither sinner nor hellborn nor goetia. The only being down here even close to him in power was Lilith, and she definitely wasn't in the picture right now. So why, Alastor wondered, was Lucifer nervous of you?

"Your majesty?" he said, injecting a nervous quaver into his voice, as he had seen you do countless times.

"Heyy, little fawn, no need to be so formal." Lucifer gave a lopsided smile. "You can call me Lu, Luce, anything you want." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Oh. Oh. This was bad. Alastor's eyes bulged, smile straining. He'd known you were friendly with the King of Hell, not intimate. He needed to make his excuses, and quickly, if he wanted to escape with his virtue intact.

"Lucifer," said Alastor. Lucifer took his hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss. Fuck.

"Little fawn?" Lucifer seemed to sense something was wrong, his face falling like it just got kicked from heaven.

"I should go," said Alastor, eye twitching, too panicked to make a better excuse.

"No. No! Nononono." Lucifer paced his room, head in his hands, the candlelit dinner forgotten. Now he'd done it. He'd really fucked the duck now. Someone call up a fat lady and tell her to sing because he was over. He'd freaked you out. You! The wide-eyed, bashful deer demon just arrived in Hell. He'd come on too strong. A candlelit dinner, just the two of you, in his room. You probably though he was expecting sex after, oh no. Not that sex wasn't a possibility, and he did miss sex, with Lilith being gone, but you probably thought he expected sex. That he was going to grab you halfway through eating the oysters and cram his tongue down your throat like some sort of pervert. And you were definitely going to tell Charlie, and she would come up to his room with a Dad, please don't try to seduce the hotel guests, and she was going to be so disappointed in him.

He needed to make it up to you somehow.

He needed to make everything better before Charlie found out.

Taking a deep breath, Lucifer puffed up his chest and headed for your room.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

BRO-- ON GOD

I was recommended to read this (The Alibi) immediately, in one sitting, by a good friend. H O L Y F U C K? I read it, I learned new words, I was hollering like a dog, slobbering like a rapid beast, CLAWING at the bars of my enclosure

FUCKIN-- SHIT. PHEW. I'm gonna have to read The Look-Alike next-- I have a feeling I won't survive ;;w;; HAH

Hah! I'm glad you enjoyed it! I must admit, I am pleasantly surprised by the reception the Alibi is getting, particularly as there are already so many great human Alastor x Reader pieces from talented authors floating around.

(Like, for example this one, or this one)

Anywho, I hope you get along with Lookalike, Danny, it's got a bit too many... antlers for some.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

I just though it would be funny if the main cast found Lookalike!Reader before the Vees did

Angel: *Looking over at Lookalike!Reader who is shaken up and sitting on the coach* So you're telling me that this isn't Al and I just rescued some random smuck who just happens to look and sound like Al off the streets?

Charlie: It appears so, Al's been here in the hotel all day. But don't worry Angel, selfless acts are guaranteed to be a sign of redemption! Also you just saved them from what ever terrible fate Valentino had in store for them.

Angel: Yeah, yeah, whatever.

Lookalike!Reader: *Flashing a teary eyed smile* Thank you for helping me, Mr. Angel. I'll be sure to find a way to pay you back.

Angel: Oh... Oh, I'm going to fuck them.

Alastor: *Teleportin in behind Angel* I don't think so, Angel. Now, if you don't mind but I'll be showing this... Fraud to their room.

*Alastor teleports Lookalike!Reader to their room and locks the door*

Alastor: *Symbols start floating behind him as static intensifes* Now Reader, I think it's best that someone teaches you how things are done around here. And you're in luck since I've elected myself to do just that.

Lookalike!Reader: Thank you for housing me, Mr. Alastor, and thank you for taking the time to make sure I'm prepared for this new life. I'll be sure to find away to repay you. *Flashing a teary eyed smile*

Alastor internally: Oh... Oh I'm going to fuck them.

Oh man yeah, that'd be hilarious, I mean, Alastor, wanting to fuck his double? Yeah, so funny.

I love that you guys are sending these in, it's crazy, it's horny, I love it. This thing is spawning AUs already.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

How did you figure out you where into antlers? How does one just...find that out about themselves. I'm very curious

I simply felt it in my heart, anon. The antlers called to me.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

You literally invented a whole new kink, didn't you? That's beautiful.

Uhh... thanks anon! I don't think I invented antlerplay, I just like antlers.

Speaking of which, I've been inspired by @eggcats to write some radiostatic hoof-worship. And, uhh, we're going to get sticky with some interdigital scent gland play. A little preview for you under the cut.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Just wanted to pop by and tell you that you write Alastor so well!! He’s such a nasty freak and I want to shake him around in my teeth like a dog toy <3

Oh absolutely, this man eats three day-old roadkill left out in the Louisiana summer for breakfast, how could he not be a nasty little freak? Just look at that outfit- is that the attire of a normal man with vanilla tastes, I ask you? No!

Jokes aside, I'm very glad that my vision of the character resonates with some of you good folk.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Vox: There is no Easter bunny, there is no tooth fairy, there is no hot single milfs in your area and there is no Alastor Lookalike!

Valentino: No! Not my hot single milfs! Anything but them! NO!

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

I just binged Lookalike. These are for you.

Hah, okay, so I held my breath when I clicked this to reveal it

because this could have been a picture of anything, ya get me? It could've been a salami, two slices of watermelon close together on a plate? Anything!

But anyway, thank you for the flowers, anon. It looks like you picked them with your- uh- face. Maybe you should get some antiseptic on that! Or not, your choice.

I'm glad you liked my story.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

I need for you to know that The Lookalike is the best XReader fic I’ve ever read! It’s so good!

Thank you! So glad you enjoy my profferings, dear reader!

I'm working on another radiostatic/reader threesome currently, this one a standalone with a girl!reader, and hopefully that'll be to the tastes of at least some of you