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[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 39 Unwelcome Cone Call, Remembering To Whom View Belong

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: After Alastor's lackluster proposal, the three of you arrive in Cannibal Town and decide to take place in the festivities that had been planned for the day before he was to propose. While leaving one of the shops, your phone rings, and it prompts some feelings that you've been avoiding to bubble to the surface. Alastor and Ombre remind you that you are theirs until the end of time and beyond, and that no one can take that away from them both.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Tentacles, biting, blood, mentions of cannibalism, smut

The three of you materialize with the corpse formerly-known-as-Edgar in tow a short distance away from the square of Cannibal Town. There are red and black ribbons tied in bows with eyes on each knot on every tree and lamppost in sight, matching wreaths above every shop entrance, and the gazebo in the main square has one on every other rung, red and black fabric draping from the awning. It’s a flurry of red and black and eyes in every direction. It’s captivating, mesmerizing, and an interesting blend of the two of you. Your heart aches a little from the amount of effort that this all must have taken, to decorate this whole town just for you.

Alastor uses his powers to carry the corpse behind the three of you, and only a few strides later, Rosie notices, coming to greet you. She’s all smiles as always, pulling Alastor into a hug and then yourself, until she catches sight of the ring on your finger. “Alastor,” She gives him a pointed glare, her hands on her hips disapprovingly even as a smile still graces her face, “what happened to the plan? Did I decorate all of my little town for nothing? I wanted to see her face when you popped the question!”

Alastor’s ears pin back against his skull again, and you chuckle, but then come to his defense. “Auntie Rosie, it’s my fault. I’m the one who jokingly asked him to marry me first, right there in front of the corpse. How was I supposed to know he would pull out a ring and propose?”

“That’s hardly an excuse to ruin our lovely plans.” She says, but she’s still smiling. “Now let me see that ring of yours.” You hold up your left hand, and the stones glint in the afternoon sunlight. “Is that a sliver of shadow I see?” She raises an eyebrow, curious.

You nod. “Ombre wanted to include it.” You say as you reach up to scratch their head with your other hand. “They are a part of this union as much as Alastor and myself, after all. It’s only fitting.”

Her smile softens and she nods, not quite understanding but knowing that you have found Alastor in his entirety. Then her eyes and nose catch wind of the fresh meat. “And who might this fellow have been?” She says with delight, and Alastor uses his powers to bring the corpse closer to her.

“This would be what remains of the sinner that was my first kill back on Earth. Alastor hunted him down just for me, so I could kill him again.” You have a smitten look on your face and he looks noticeably calmer.

“Ah, romance.” Rosie says with a nod. “I can see why you’d abandon far grander plans of proposing in the perfect light after a full afternoon of enjoying yourselves in my humble little town.”

Alastor blanches again, and you tell her, “Oh, Auntie Rosie, he does feel bad. There’s no need to rub it in, and besides, I doubt this day is ruined. So he can’t propose in front of everyone. I’m sure we can still do everything else. Dancing, eating, hell, if he wants to, I’ll even listen to the speech he prepared.”

His eyes brighten then, and your smile warms, delighted to see him so. Rosie smiles brighter too. “Very well, young man.” She says with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Put on a good enough show and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

You can see the smirk in eyes as he manifests and twirls his microphone. You can practically hear his thoughts. Challenge Accepted, Rosie dear! “I’ll leave you to do what you do best.” He says, gesturing to the corpse.

Before he can whisk you away, you tell her, “Auntie Rosie, could you be a dear and box up the head for me? It’s a present for his late wife.”

She laughs and nods. “Of course, Theia, darling! Now go have fun!” She makes a shooing gesture. Alastor holds out his arm, you wrap yours around it, and then the two of you are striding about town taking in the sights, Ombre still draped about your shoulders.

The more you look, the more of that black, red, and eyes motif you see, though you notice as you draw nearer to one that it is actually an intricate lace pattern, red with a black overlay, the eyeball a bauble sewn on top and painted to look like one. Hand-painted, if you had to guess. The amount of work that it took to make these, hang them up all over, makes you feel guilty for some reason, though you’re not sure why.

“Miss Rosie did an excellent job with the square. It’s a shame we couldn’t have waited any longer to do the proposal here.” Ombre murmurs.

You shake your head even as you somewhat agree. “I loved your proposal. You called me ‘Iris,’. I’d have to have given you permission to do it here, and so many people to specify. It was quiet, and perfect, and now you can give the grand performance that you’re craving.” You chuckle. “You can even broadcast it on the radio, if you’d like.”

Alastor’s eyes turn towards you in shock and glee. “You’d let me tell you how much I love you on air?”

“I’d let you broadcast us making love if it meant that I get to keep you forever.” You say with a devilish smirk, and he chuckles as he pulls you to brush your lips against his. 

“You saucy woman. I can’t have that on air. What would the papers say?”

“Surely it’s not much worse than those terrible radio romance dramas they used to run back on Earth. At least this time, it’d be real. It’d be us.” You say insistently, though you’re not sure why you’re pushing this. “Of course, I’d settle for you telling all of Hell just how much you love me.”

“Anything and everything for you, nostre âme soeur, nostre fiancé.” He kisses you again.

Ombre purrs into your ear, “We do mean anything, our majesty. Anything in existence for you.”

When the kiss is broken, the three of you are in front of that little bakery and sweet shop that Alastor had purchased those candied eyeballs from for your second date. Alastor opens the door for you and you stride in with Ombre, and then he follows after. A clerk comes up to you immediately. “Alastor, Theia! We have a few delightful selections for the happy couple to begin such a lovely day! While it’s not quite lunchtime, feel free to look through our selections of eyeball delights! We have everything from candied to jellied to chocolate coated!”

When the three of you are left alone to look, your gaze is, as always, focused on Alastor. “Mon point focal,” you tease him with that old expression you haven’t used in what seems like forever, and you see a faint blush on his cheeks, “if you hadn’t already proposed I would have known already. This is far too catered to me in particular to be anything but a proposal.” You smirk. “You do have excellent taste, however, and I do enjoy being pampered.”

“Always and forever, nostre reine.” Alastor says and kisses you again. You hear cheering in the back of the shop. You flush, feeling a little caught in the act. Your expression is sheepish, but you feel a nagging sensation in your gut. You try to ignore it.

You clear your throat. “I’d like to try the chocolate covered ones. The salted, though, not the sweet.”

“Excellent choice as always.” Alastor agrees, and when he selects one and starts to stride towards the front door after giving the manager a wave, you give him a confused look.

“Don’t we have to pay?”

“Rosie has deemed any and all purchases made for the sake of our day today as part of your belated birthday gift, since she’s, to quote her, ‘missed being able to have a reason to spoil you.’” He says with a genuine smile. You can tell because it hits his eyes, those crimson orbs with so much love for you within them.

“She would say that.” You turn to the shop manager, “Thank you!” You call out, “May many other patrons stop by and purchase from you today!”

You loop your arm with his and he opens the door for you to exit again. As you hear the door shut behind you, a buzzing in your pocket begins. When you reach inside to see who’s calling, you recognize the number. Does she have a tracker on my phone, that whenever I’m near this lovely little shop she gets some alert that I’m here or is it just mere coincidence that she’s calling again? You deny the call and put it back in your pocket.

“Who was that on the phone, our majesty?” Ombre asks, and Alastor raises an eyebrow, as he’d been busy looking away to decide where to go next.

“Someone who wants to be family but never will.” You say rather ominously, “Someone who I’d rather not have to answer her calls—today, or ever, really. She’ll ruin my good mood.” How did she get ahold of my number in the first place? You think to yourself as you stop suddenly in the street. Alastor turns to look at you worriedly, but waits for you nevertheless. Then, in an instant, it all makes sense. The problem with Greed is that everything comes at a price.

When you’re still silent for a while, haven’t moved from the spot you’d stopped in, Alastor takes your chin in his fingers and tips it so your middle eye meets his gaze. “Is everything alright, nostre reine?”

“No, but I’d hate to ruin this perfect day.” You say quietly as your phone begins buzzing again.

“Does the individual on the phone pose any real threat to you?” He asks earnestly, concerned, and you bite your lip.

“I doubt it. Her name is Sissela. She is Hyaloid’s sister—sister to the man who my father had arranged for me to marry. ” You shrug. “She’s more of a nuisance than anything. She knows that the only way I’d become queen is if I produced a son, so she holds that over me any chance she gets, not that she’d ever have any shot at it either. She seems to think that I am still going to become her sister-in-law and  on the off chance that I produce a son, I’ll become queen, and then in about seven hundred years, she plans to take the throne in my stead, or at least all the money and power that comes with it.She called the same day I met my uncle, must have bribed someone in Greed to get my number. I was just so excited about meeting him that I forgot about it.”

“While I look forward to meeting your uncle tomorrow, bien-aimée, I wish I’d known about this sooner. Now hand me the phone so I can talk to this simpleton.”

You chuckle and hand him the phone. “Alastor, you have my permission to refer to me as Iris to Sissela, Duchess of Hell.” You tell him simply, and he kisses you on the forehead before he opens it and answers the call.

“Iris’s fiancé speaking. May I tell her who’s calling?” You giggle as you hear what likely could easily be described as outraged bitching and moaning from the other end. You wince as Alastor does, and proceeds to hold the phone a foot from his ear for a few moments. “That’s hardly a way for a lady to talk to anyone, especially someone she ought to consider family, from what I understand about this little interwoven blackblood hierarchy you have going on, my dear.” He says when he deems it appropriate to return the phone to his ear. 

More bellowing, and Alastor pulls it back farther this time, but his gaze stays fixed on yours. “Oh so you are aware that she goes by Theia now. Good. Perhaps you should refer to her as such from now on, as that is how she prefers to be addressed. Do not call again today, or we will turn off her phone. This number is for wanted attention, not individuals who masquerade as family. I have a proposal to finish, and I won’t have anyone mucking that up. Good day!” He says after he returns it to his ear again. This is followed by more squabbling, which is cut off as he hangs up and hands it to you. 

When it rings again, you frown, but then you see it’s not Sissela. 

“It’s Rana.” You explain as you answer it. “Hi, Rana.” You say happily, and the two of you start walking again.

“I missed it?!” She exclaims, deducing from your deliriously happy tone that he has already proposed, and you laugh.

“Technically everyone did. Despite all his preparation, Alastor proposed to me in front of Edgar’s corpse.”

“He didn’t have the decency to wait?!” She exclaims again, and you laugh a second time.

“Hardly. I jokingly asked him to marry me and he took that as a challenge.”

“Of course he would. So does this mean I’ve gotten on my best dress and headed my way to Cannibal Town for nothing?”

You shake your head, even though you know she can’t see. “Of course not. We’re still enjoying the festivities that have been so painstakingly put together, and if my suspicions are correct, Al is still planning on giving the speech he’d no doubt meticulously written. I’m going to tell him ‘yes’ again, just because I can.” You smile at him as he glances in your direction, before choosing to take you towards the center of the square.

“I look forward to it. I’ll be there with shades on!” You know she’s smirking, and you laugh harder at one of her favorite jokes.

“See you soon, Rana!” You both hang up the phone, and you raise an eyebrow at Alastor as he heads towards a little cannibal café.

“So who else is supposed to be in attendance for this event this afternoon?”

“Why, everyone, of course.” Alastor says simply. “Everyone except your uncle. I don’t exactly have someone of such high esteem on my contact list, and I’m afraid I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” He replies as the two of you are escorted to a table immediately. After he pulls out your chair for you and sits down on his own, you take his hand and interlace your fingers, kissing where the deal that sits between you glows in gold.

“I understand, Al.” You say with a pleased smile. “So everyone from the hotel is coming too?”

He nods. “Our dear Charlie was a little disappointed that we chose to hold it here instead of at the hotel, but I assured her that we’d consider holding the wedding there instead.”

“We spend so much time there already,” you say as you take a menu from the waiter, “and besides dancing, there isn’t much to do all day. Unless your shadow minions installed a candy shop in the lobby while I wasn’t looking.”

He chuckles and replies, “Speaking of dancing, allowing for those ten minutes of digestion you’re so fond of, would you join me for one after lunch?”

“What kind of dancing are we considering, ma moitié? The answer is yes no matter what; I just am curious as to your choice of song and style.”

“No foxtrot this time, ma très chère. I’d like to just do some simple waltzing with you.” He says easily, and you lean across the table to peck him on the cheek.

You still haven’t looked at the menu in your hands, but you know you’ll get to that in due time. “May I request a song choice, if you don’t have one selected already?”

“I had, but I’ll take your song selection instead.” He says simply as he accepts the sparkling water from another waiter and pours for you both.

“‘We Three,’ by The Ink Spots.” You say with a soft smile. “In recent days, it has been on my mind. It reminds me of the two of you.” You scratch behind Ombre’s ears, eliciting a pleased purr as they rub the side of their face against yours.

“An oddly sad song to choose for a proposal dance, but considering you’re the answer to that song’s burning question, I think it can be arranged.”

You flush and let half of your eyes look at the menu, your hand still intertwined with his, and you give it a squeeze wordlessly as you take a look at your options. For some strange reason, your entire menu is exclusively eyeball appetizers, entrées, and desserts. “I’d like it to be the first song we dance to today.” You say when your full attention is back on him. “I don’t want it to be the last or the only.”

He kisses where the deal glows on your fingers. “Absolutely, nostre fiancé. I would dance with you every day if it would please you.”

“Every day spent curled around you is a pleasant enough dance to satisfy me, our majesty.”

You flush and look down at the menu in your hands again. “Did they give you a venison-heavy menu, or is every location in town forced to cater to my ocular consumption preferences today?”

“‘Forced’? Hardly, ma très chère. The whole town volunteered. This is an excuse to celebrate, and they’re all so fond of you. It was an easy and unanimous decision. You know how Rosie’s little town jumps at any occasion to party, and when I mentioned it was for us, no one in their right mind would have said no.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t prefer eyes.” You point out. “You’re partial to a nice flank of venison. I don’t even have to eat eyes.” You sigh.

He raises an eyebrow as he moves his chair next to yours so he can take your chin in his clawed fingers again. They lightly prick your skin. “I thought we weren’t going to let anything ruin our good mood, bien-aimée. I know that you don’t have to eat eyes, just as I know that you enjoy it. Edgar was your first taste of that freedom, and it fit with your persona as a sinner to continue to feed off of them, so you used it as a habit to give yourself some sense of control over your life. So enjoy them, nostre reine. Enjoy them with me, and let me see that captivating smile again.”

You take a breath and force a smile. While his words are sweet, there are too many spiraling thoughts that you’re having trouble ignoring. “Al, do you even enjoy eating eyes? Are you subjecting yourself to this for me?”

“‘Subject’ myself? Ma très chère, where has all this negativity come from? Are you feeling alright?” He runs his thumb across your knuckles. “You once told me that communication is crucial for healthy relationships, bien-aimée. So please, tell us what so evidently has your mind in a tizzy.”

A low rumble emerges from Ombre, but it’s not words. It’s almost a growl, like they’re too upset to speak.

His hand is still on your chin, or you’d look away, so instead, you let your gaze soften. You think your vision is blurring to disassociate, but it isn’t until you feel the tears falling on your dress that you know that you’re crying. “Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones. Maybe it’s the stress of seeing my uncle tomorrow. Maybe Sissela rattled me more than I’d like to admit. Maybe my brain likes to torment me. I don’t know.” You sigh and let out a bitter laugh as the tears continue to fall. “I just keep thinking: when’s the other shoe going to drop? When are they going to realize that being with me isn’t worth the effort, that dealing with my family is too much to handle? When are they going to change their minds and decide to abandon me?” Like everyone else always has?

Alastor beckons to a waiter. “We’ll be back later. Something more pressing has arisen.”

“Very good, sir. We shall await your return.” The waiter bows.

Alastor’s gaze stays fixed to your face, his hand never leaves your chin. He leans towards you to whisper in your ear. “Do you trust us, Iris?”

“Always,” You breathe out with a shiver. It’s the truth. No matter how terrified you are that they’ll leave you, how fearful you are that they’ll decide to toss you aside, to throw you away, you will never stop trusting them both. You’d let them lead you off a cliff and you’d dutifully follow, if it meant they’d continue to love you, to want you.

Alastor kisses you again, and it’s soft, gentle, and you feel as if you might break. “We are going to remind you who you are to us, our majesty.” Ombre finally declares, as if they had forgotten what words are and memories of them had just been reawakened.

The shadows surround and swallow you up, but just like always, you are unafraid, unassuming. They deposit you somewhere you haven’t been in over a decade and a half—Rosie’s guest room. It has all her usual homey touches and decor, plus the large comfortable bed you had slept like the dead within the first night she’d managed to coax you to stay. You’re about to ask why you’re here, why here, and then you see the basket of goodies in the corner. The champagne has been swapped out for something bubbly and non-alcoholic, but you’d recognize a ‘Just Engaged’ gift basket anywhere. Rosie had this room prepared for after the proposal. You flush.

“We’re going to take advantage of what she offered for us afterwards, but we’re going to use it now instead.” Alastor says as he pulls you close, kisses and nips at the bite on your neck. “You seem to have forgotten who you belong to. We’re going to remind you of that.”

You’re fully dressed, and neither of them are even touching you all that much, but you moan instantly and feel yourself start to leak. You’re at a loss for words as Ombre pushes you onto the bed and starts nipping at that same spot and the pulse point there. Alastor divests himself of his clothes as he speaks. “You are ours, Iris. You will always be ours. No matter what anyone has ever done or will ever do, you will always belong to us—curse be damned.” His bowtie hits the floor and he undoes his suit coat. Ombre nips at your ear as he says, “Open your dress for Ombre, Iris.”

A moan you don’t expect leaves your lips and you nod, tugging on the collar of your dress so it falls open for them both. Ombre palms your breasts gently and kisses a full circle around the eye between them. Whimpers spill from your lips as Alastor continues. “We will love you when you have thirty-one eyes. We would love you when you had a hundred, five hundred, or nine hundred ninety-nine eyes, and any number in between, but we will break this curse long before you would ever see such numbers.” He drops his suit coat to the floor. He starts for the buttons on his shirt and you open your legs as Ombre nips their way across your torso to your hip bones. Drool slips from your lips as you see his always-stunning scarred chest, and your hands fall into Ombre’s facsimile of hair as their tongue parts your already soaked folds.

As Alastor starts to speak again, you moan and buck your hips into Ombre’s waiting mouth. “When you cum, it will be our names on your lips.” He undoes his trousers and slides them off his hips, and you watch as he springs free once more. He crawls onto the bed and his massive cock slides against your side as he threads his fingers through your hair, pulling your head back to look into his gaze. “Do you understand, Iris?” You open your mouth to reply, and he grips your hair tighter. “No words; nod your head if you understand. The only words I want to hear are Alastor, Ombre, or ‘I’m yours.’”

You moan into the tug of his hand against your scalp. “I’m yours.” You say as you nod.

“Yes, Iris, you are. You’re ours.” He kisses your lips softly as Ombre starts to lick into you with intense, deliberate strokes that send you keening. “Ours for all time, and beyond. We proposed to you not because you aren’t ours already, but because of the wonderful nature of the formality of it. The ability to tell you in words what we crave to have for the rest of our existence is a gift that we do not take lightly.” He interlocks his fingers with yours and the deal you made glows as he nips at your neck. You moan, and he says,“Somehow it seems like you forget the deal we made, nostre âme soeur.” You whine as Ombre teases your clit with their teeth, and Alastor keeps murmuring words of devotion, those same words he’d said to offer you the deal. “‘I am yours, mon âme soeur. Just stay; spend the time you have in this existence with me.’ That is what I asked of you, and I meant it. You never would—nor ever will—tire or bore us. Such a task is impossible for you. You’re different.”

You don’t answer, but you furrow your brows in confusion, keening as Ombre finds that spot inside you. “No one has ever or will ever compare to you. They are merely words. You are poetry.” You sob as he says this, and arch into Ombre’s tongue as they take a semi-permeable claw and circle your clit with it.

“Ombre, Alastor, I’m–” You stutter, then exclaim, “I’m YOURS!” Your orgasm hits you and you wail, scream it out as you arch into Ombre’s mouth and they chuckle as you cover their face in your juices from it.

“Good girl, such a good girl for us.” Alastor croons, and Ombre cleans the mess on their face with their tongue and keeps licking into you, never stopping, never needing to stop to breathe. “Ours, always ours.”

Alastor is heavy and swollen against your hip, but as you reach for him, he takes your hands and puts them over your head, pins them with one hand, then reaches out a tentacle to do the work for him. You whine, wanting to please him. “Alastor,” you plead with the only word he’s allowed you to have, and he chuckles at your desperation.

“This is about you, nostre fiancé.” He murmurs as Ombre nips at your clit again, and you sob. “I’ll be inside you in due time. For now, just relax.” He presses his teeth to your neck and then bites hard enough to break skin. You howl as you arch into Ombre’s tongue, and Alastor drinks from the wound, uses his tongue to reel in the blood that leaks from the corners of his ever-permanent smile.

“Al-Alastor, Ombre….” You murmur as you reach impossibly closer to your second peak, “O-Ombre, Al-Ala-STOR!” You wail as you cum hard into Ombre’s mouth again, and your back bows as you shake through your second orgasm.

“Always so perfect. Always. No matter what your thoughts tell you, we will never stop wanting you, needing you, craving you. Theia, bien-aimée, you are the mother of our children. You are the love of our life. You are our everything.” He croons as you come down from your high, and Ombre drinks everything that pours from you.

As you’re breathing sighs of relief at the wave that crashes around you, Ombre slips from between your legs and kisses you. You taste yourself on their lips as Alastor licks the wound he made, then he slides down between your legs to slip his own tongue inside. You whine. “Al-Alastor…” You want his cock instead, but you will follow their rules to the game they have set. He chuckles into your folds and you groan, fighting the tentacle that still holds your hands in place.

Ombre pinches your nipples and murmurs into your ear, “I want to affix myself to your skin and never stop touching you. I want to live in your chest next to your heart so you will never forget about me. I want to carve my name into your flesh so you will never be rid of me. You are my everything. Say my name, Iris.”

“O-Ombre!” You cry out as they pinch your nipples harder, as Alastor’s tongue slides through your folds and another tentacle snakes around your legs to circle your clit. You whine and arch into Alastor’s mouth as he does, and when the tentacle hits home, you wail at the contact.

With a few broad strokes across it, he dips his tongue deep inside you, and paired with the brutalizing of your nipples and Ombre’s devastating words, it sends you over the edge a third time, wailing and whining and writhing, screaming, “I’M YOURS!” You’re muttering their names as afterthoughts, just their names over and over again as you struggle against the tentacle that holds you still. Alastor chuckles into your folds as he nips at your oversensitive skin, and you feel your body shaking with the intensity of it. When you’ve come down from your high enough to form words again, you mutter, with a soft breath, “I’m yours.”

He slides up your form to kiss your lips, and Ombre shifts aside so they’re next to him. You taste yourself on Alastor, and then they ready themself to slide into you. “Ombre!” You exclaim as they enter you first. “Alastor!” He fills you immediately after, full of the two halves of the man that you have devoted the rest of your life to, the man who you would break the world for if they asked.

“Tell us who you belong to.” Alastor commands as they both start at an achingly slow pace.

“I’m yours!” You wail. “Alastor, Ombre, I’m yours!”

You want them to pick up the pace, desperate for them to pound into you until you break, but you can’t ask. As if sensing your want, your need, they quicken their pace, and you arch into it, sobbing their names like a prayer. Ombre goes back to pinching your nipples and Alastor sinks his teeth back into your neck. A wail escapes your throat again as Alastor’s tentacles find your clit and prod at your ass again. Tears prick your eyes as you feel it slide inside you, trying to buck into it as it begins fill you so achingly slowly.

It’s their words, in unison, that send you over the edge.

“Never forget who you belong to, Iris.”

“You are ours for all of time and forever after.”

You’re a wreck, sobbing and screaming and wailing and writhing, their names leave your lips as a mantra, a prayer, the only song your mouth knows how to sing. “I’m yours; I’m yours; I’m yours; I’m YOURS!” You bellow; they cum in unison shouts of their own, and when you pass out, the eyes in the room watch them both kiss you, murmur into your flesh words of praise and devotion that would make you cry all over again if you were conscious enough to do so.

When you come to, they’re both still inside you, Alastor on his side beside you, Ombre curled up on your chest. Alastor frees your hands from his tentacle, and you wrap your arms around them both in an instant.

“How are you feeling, nostre fiancé?” He asks as he kisses that spot he’s so fond of marking.

“Better.” You murmur as you kiss them both in turn. “Thank you for reminding me to whom I belong. I’m not sure what came over me.”

“Whatever the reason and whether or not it happens again,” Alastor begins,

Ombre finishes, “We will always be here to remind you of it. Always.”

You believe them, in that moment, that they will always be there for you, always by your side. Little do any of you know, not long from now, that will not be the case.

A/N:

I return, yes I haven't abandoned this story; I know it seemed like a long time for me. Chapter 42 was misbehaving. I have wrangled it into submission, and look forward to 43.

So now we know who called Theia the day that Uncle Noctua showed up in Cannibal Town, and Theia feels a significant bit better after Alastor and Ombre's little reminder.

Chapter 40 is the wedding proposal, and everyone's reactions to it, plus an unexpected guest.

Things:

Theia has many spouses, and not just Alastor and Ombre!

In a reality in which she was in the same universe as Carla Gill from A Mother's Devotion, her eldest son, Harry, would be Theia's husband. On the masterlist, the oneshot smut snippet between these two is posted, but soon it will also include Devotion of a Thousand Eyes, the crossover story between A Mother's Devotion and The Demon of a Thousand Eyes.

In addition, I will soon post the first preview of Theia and another one of her husbands, Peppermint Patches, a crazy jester OC that my bestie from the Discord made and I immediately wanted to kill anyone and everyone for the instant I had even heard of him. He hasn't even been fully drawn yet and I would kill everyone and then myself for the little ringmaster who stole Theia's heart. The fic is called Eye Candy: All in View Time, and it is a metric fuckton of smut. I hope y'all enjoy that when it comes out too!

Ta for now!

First || Chapter 38 || Chapter 40 (soon)

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

@the--rebel--fae drew this gorgeous version of Theia's engagement ring and I love it so very much! Thank you, luv, for this <3

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒜 𝒮𝑜𝓃'𝓈 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃: 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝐵𝑒 𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒮𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓁𝓎 (A TDoaTE and AMD Crossover smutfic)

Pairing: M!OC (Harry James, first born son of Carla James from A Mother's Devotion) x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Story Summary: In an AU for both AMD and TDoaTE, Theia would have arrived at the hotel on Rosie's behest, but instead of falling in love with her Alastor, a different Alastor, one with a far more sinister shadow, would reside at the hotel, and beside him, a perky, chipper, and seemingly young doe-like woman had decided to play house. She decided upon first glance that like all the wayward residents at the hotel, that Theia, too, needs a mother figure, and Theia, dealing with parental abandonment issues and running away from home along with a bounty of secrets, decides to indulge her want for this if nothing else than so she can have a mother who loves her. One day, Harry, her eldest son, along with four of his brothers, arrive at the hotel. He's terse, he's taciturn, and he's incredibly tall---nearly twice her height. Life continues, and she begins to notice him, tries to get to know him, but nothing works. He refuses to open up to her. Until out of nowhere, he starts getting furious and bitter when anyone approaches. Anyone and everyone, except, inexplicably, her.

Word Count: 8.2k Authors: @home-for-wayward-fawns and I co-wrote this, and you can find A Mother's Devotion on his blog, or up-to-date on AO3 here.

Warnings: Cannibalism, Tentacles, Biting, Blood, Obsessive Behavior, minor spoilers for TDoaTE

Pre-Story A/N from Sera: Sorry for those dutifully waiting on Chapter 39 of TDoaTE; I promise I will have it up soon. This little bug of an idea has been in my head for months now, as I co-write AMD with it's author. I know the entire plot to AMD, and have been a simp for Harry since the idea of him emerged, so of course we got to talking about an AU where Theia is a part of Carla's life, deemed one of her children. Harry never falls in love in AMD, but in this shared universe, she and Harry would be perfect together. The following is the day the two of them give in to their feelings. It is almost entirely PURE SMUT and a delight to read, if I do say so myself. Enjoy!

When Theia first met Harry, he was cold and aloof. He rarely spoke, unless he thought it crucial, and even then, it was terse, to the point. He was like that with everyone, even his own brothers, and it struck her that he tolerated them more than got along. It was if it was expected of him more than anything else. He stuck to his mother Carla like glue, determined to stand between her and anyone else who got too close, constantly watching out for danger, determined to keep her from any perceived threat. He never laughed at her jokes; she tried so hard to get him to crack a smile at her puns—her absolutely terrible puns—but nothing worked; if he even reacted, it was just a raised eyebrow or a small eye roll before he made his way out of her line of sight.

Lately, he'd been more fire than ice. She had seen Harry stalking around the hotel, all growls and irritation, clearly upset about something. He’d been rude to everyone, snapping at Niffty for being underfoot, starting fights with Husk more often than usual, and just generally being on edge. She swore he’d nearly bit Angel’s head off just because they were having a conversation at the bar. She hadn’t been drinking, had sworn off whiskey long ago to appease Carla, but sitting with Angel had become a passtime nevertheless. She’d just sighed and got up to go to the kitchen, deciding that it wasn’t worth the bother to try and ask him again why he was in such a foul mood.

It had only gotten worse as the days continued on, Harry seemingly being irked by every little thing. Snapping at one of his brothers for lingering in the kitchen for too long when she was preparing a snack, or barking at a different one for leaving a perceived mess on the lounge floor. He’d appeared ready to bite another one’s heads off because he didn’t appreciate ‘his stench’ lingering in the halls. Each and every time, she would watch as his brothers backed off, cowering their heads in submission to the eldest of the Gill boys. One would expect this to appease Harry, but it didn’t; it seemed to only make him worse—he wanted a fight. So he started picking fights with Alastor—someone who wouldn’t hold back after being disrespected— and while it had never been in front of Carla, she somehow always managed to find them to pull Harry away by the ear.  Perfect Harry, the perfect son, snapping and snarling with a rage uncharacteristic of him. She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t go to Carla for help, why he would growl at everyone—everyone but her. For being so standoffish for so long, it had suddenly turned sweet, suddenly almost doting of all things.

He’d been spending more time around her, time she hadn’t expected, asking about her day, standing closer to her than usual. She noticed his gaze seemed to follow her everywhere she went, and his sudden attention—focus—confused her.

She hadn’t been sleeping well lately, waking in the middle of the night, so she’d woken up late, too late for breakfast. She’d gone downstairs to make herself something, but as she did so, she noticed that Carla’s usual spread had been devoured, nothing left but crumbs. There was no one left in the dining room, no one but Harry.

He appeared to be staring into space, eyes unfocused as if lost in thought. She approached him quietly, cautiously, and when she was a few steps away from him, she asked in almost a whisper, “Harry, are you alright?” Seeming to right himself in an instant, his gaze snapped up to hers, his face still that always indifferent expression. “Of course.” He replied dismissively, before immediately asking, “Have you eaten?”

She winced as she shook her head. “I stayed up too late last sight and slept in this morning. I was just going to make myself something quick since everything’s already been eaten.” He raised an eyebrow at first, as if confused, then after a moment, he decided, “Sit. I’ll make you breakfast.” He stood then, and she was once again reminded of how tall he was, towering over her at nearly double her own height. She blinked, all twenty-nine eyes fluttering in surprise. He pulled out a chair for her to sit, and she did so, craning her head up to meet his gaze. “That’s incredibly sweet of you, Harry. Thank you.”

He nodded and left for the kitchen. She blinked again, puzzled at his choice of action, and stared down into the eyes on her dress. The eyes stared back. She hadn’t known he could cook, not really—certainly not enough to make her a meal—but perhaps it had been something he’d picked up from his mother. Closing her own, opened the eyes in the kitchen and watched his movements. He seemed to know what he was doing, taking out the tools and ingredients he’d need to prepare her something special—taking care to collect a jar of eyes  she hadn’t noticed before, as if he’d gone out of his way to find them himself—and pluck a few green ones from inside. He didn’t even flinch, barely even blinked, as he tossed them into the pan to cook them, and it made her smile. He started on the coffee as the eyes cooked, and she saw him drop a pair of brown ones inside her personalized mug. When had he taken notice of her habits, known she preferred to cook with green, that brown went into her coffee? What else had he paid attention to, observed and taken note?

When it was done, he plated the cooked eyes, turned off the stove,  and filled her mug with coffee. As he left the kitchen for the dining room again, she closed the ones in the kitchen and opened her own once more.

As he set the food before her, she smiled up at him, asking, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm always okay; I'm Perfect Harry; didn't you know?" He said it in a comforting tone, but his empty expression didn’t match it. There was something darker in his eyes, something different than the usual blood thirst for which he ached. He was standing next to her, as he so often was these days, always looming over her, as if trying to show off how big and strong hea was, as if he needed her to know. 

She just chuckled as she took a bite of the eyes he brought her, sipped her coffee with a smile. "How could I ever forget? It's not as if Carla doesn't always remind me. Thank you again for the food, Harry. It's awfully thoughtful of you."

He didn't tell her that he liked just being Harry, that she didn't feel the need to remind him constantly how perfect he was, but she knew it to be true. She knew his mother din't mean to put so much pressure on him; knew Carla loved him, but she knew how exhausting it must be having to be perfect all the time. She knew he had five brothers because of Carla’s little mantra she would repeat when she was upset. One of them—Peter, along with Poppy, her only daughter— weren’t around, but Theia assumed they were both in Heaven, happy and carefree with a life far less complicated than her own. With four other brothers around, it struck her as odd that all the weight of Carla’s expectations always fell to him. It was easy for her to just let him be himself—just Harry—when he was around, and lately, it seemed as if that’s all he wanted, to simply exist in her presence.

"I like watching you eat, knowing that I was the one who made it for you." He told her simply, and there was a thickness in the air as he let the words fall. Standing all the while, he watched her as she ate. It wasn’t unexpected; he was just like that to her, looming and watching, and she was okay with it. It was an intense gaze that didn't falter until she let out a pleased sigh, taking bites and sipping her coffee. His entire body relaxed, looking like the pup who’d received the praise it craved. While his posture loosened, he still watched her—always watched her—something she’d almost come to expect.

He watched as she chewed, and she noticed as his gaze followed her movements, focusing on the way her sharp teeth bite into the eyeballs she suspected he harvested himself with her specifically in mind. The look in his gaze told of a story she couldn’t read yet, one she craved to know. As a keeper of secrets, Theia knew that Harry had quite a few, despite his aloof demeanor. Just as he knew she had many, she had a strong impulse to learn what he deemed so important as to keep them from his own mother. For instance, when had he learned how to prepare eyeballs so well? It certainly wasn’t a skill she would have taught him.

Theia smiled softly and continued to eat. It was delicious. Despite all of Carla's complaints about her children never learning how to cook, he must have gotten some kind of advice somewhere, for it was some of the best she'd ever had. She raised an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee again. "This is delicious. I didn't know you could cook. Eyes can be quite temperamental." 

"I don't typically enjoy cooking, but I know enough to get by. I cooked for Mama when it got harder for her towards the end. I'd happily cook for you more often if it's what you desire." He looked down at her as he said the word, his gaze unfaltering as she ate. 

She blushed softly and continued to eat. For a moment she was stunned, confused by his words, and it took her a while to respond. She wasn’t used to being caught off guard, liked to have a quick word for everything, but here he managed to do it. She sipped her coffee and let one of the eyeballs fall into her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully, using it to take the time to think of a response. She'd always thought he was handsome, tall, strong. She'd hidden it for a long time, or at least tried to do so, knowing that Carla saw her like a daughter and he was her son. She'd tried to think of him as a brother, but that had never really been an option, so while amicable, she'd kept her distance. Now, it seemed as if she was the only one in the entire hotel he had any interest in even being around, and it confused her, but she liked how much he seemed to care. After she sipped her coffee again, she looked him in the eyes and gave him a soft smile as she said, "She was lucky to have you there for her, when she needed you most. I've never had someone like that, there for me when I needed them, making meals for me, not since I ran away." She took another bite and continued, "I'd be happy to eat whatever you make me, if it would be as delicious as this."

"I'll look after you." He growled low, and it almost sounded angry, like her words had sparked something deep and primal from within him. He coughed, trying to gain composure. "I'd like you to come to me to look after you. I'd really like it." She flushed even as she saw him flinch. She made a note that her family life—or rather her lack of one—upset him, bothered him that she didn't have what he did. She'd admit it, too, if pressed enough, but that isn't something she feels discussing with him just yet. She shivered as his words reverberated in the room, his growl seeming to wrap around her. It was warm, like a blanket, but there's something about it that makes her want him closer to her.

"I've always felt so safe with you, Harry." She said in barely a whisper, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "I'd like that too."

"I spent my entire life devoted to my mother; never once was my attention enraptured by another, and yet I find my thoughts drifting to you often. What do you want from me? I'd be happy to provide." He said, and there was a heavy intention to the words that she couldn’t quite decipher. It almost felt like a challenge, like he was daring her to come up with something ridiculous; if there were any man who would stand against the test of time, who would be arrogant enough to stand against the test of Heaven’s might, it was Harry. 

She blushed impossibly harder, and it felt as if her face might melt. She was stunned a second time in the same conversation, and she had to take another sip of her coffee, let the other eyeball fall into her mouth as she contemplated a response. The very notion that any man—much less perfect Harry—would take an interest in her, was surprising. She'd never let herself give in to that interest, that want, but she found herself craving that especially as he looked at her like that. She's reminded once again of how incredibly tall he is, towering over her, looming, but it's not terrifying as it ought to be. It's comforting, knowing that he could protect her just as easily as he could break her. She finished off the last bite of her food and swallowed the rest of the coffee. She had to tilt her head up so far to look into his eyes, and she's almost convinced she's on fire. He'd always smelled so good to her: smoke, earth, and often like fresh blood, but somehow it's stronger; it's more and she wants to smother herself in it. "I-" She started and stuttered, not realizing how difficult this would be to say, given, well, everything. She took a breath and started again. "Harry, I'd take anything you gave me, as long as it was from you." She stood, took a step closer to him, and even as she did, it was still not close enough, and he's still so tall. "This is...hard for me to say, so I'll try to be as clear as I know how to be." She bit her lip, struggling to keep her gaze fixed on his. She was looking at him—always looking at him—but her gaze was blurred, unfocused, uncertain. "I want you. I want you in any way that you'll have me." She shifted her feet nervously, already embarrassed in anticipation of a rejection. "Sorry if that's too much; I know you don't see me like that…"

He cut her off, leaning in for a kiss, and she could feel his entire body vibrate as he purred against her lips. He was gentle, and a little awkward, growling as he pulled away. It confused her, his tone, and it showed on her face until he spoke. "You have no idea how I see you. I know what Mama says about me, Theia, but she's wrong. I may be the perfect son, but I'm a terrible man. I want you—all of you—and if you give that to me, I won't let you take it back. There is no power that will keep you from me. Devotion is kind of my family's whole shtick; let me give it to you, please." She practically whimpered as he pulled away, choosing to step closer to him—needing to be closer to him—close enough that she had to tilt her head so incredibly far back just to meet his gaze again. "I know you're not perfect. You don't have to be with me." She gave him a soft smile as she continued, "I'm certainly not perfect either, and I happen to like that dark side of you, the side she pretends doesn't exist. I want you, all of you, exactly as you are, Harry." 

She wanted to kiss him back, but he was so tall that she'd have to pull her tentacles out just to reach him, just to stretch and climb him. They wanted to escape her, wanted to trap him against her so he could never leave, never escape, never abandon her like everyone else always had. "Please kiss me again. Please." She didn't mean for it to come out as a beg, but there was something about him, something about how close he was, about how she ached to be closer. She let her weight fall against him, practically groaning at the feeling of his body on hers. "I might break if you don't."

"I'll never let you break; I take care of what's mine." He kissed her again gently; his lips touched hers and he was so warm to the touch that it was like he was a roaring inferno. He ran his hand through her hair like she was something delicate for which he wanted to care. He pulled away again, scooting out a chair so he could sit on it. He looked at her, almost at the same eye level now, as he spread his legs comfortably, leaning forward. "There's no leaving my family, Theia. You can ask any of my brothers; I won't let you leave. This is your out. Tell me you want me, and I promise to take care of you in every possible way, or walk away now. I won't hold it against you. I'll still be your Harry; I'll still protect you always, but you'll be free of me. Devotion is worthless if it’s forced; trust me; I know." 

He stared into the large eye at the center of her face—his favorite one—as he waited for her response. 

She shuffled her feet again, biting her lip. "You know that I have secrets. There are things that view don't know, things I haven't told...well, anyone. If you take me as I am, promise to never leave me, I'll tell you them, and they'll be yours to keep. I'll tell you one right now: I don't have forever: to live, to be with you, but I'll be yours as long as I can be." She crossed the room to him, the few steps that it was, and somehow managed to climb into his lap, resting her legs across his so they dangled over the side. She felt so small, so fragile, so safe. She sighed into his warmth and looked up into his eyes. "I don't want out. I want to be yours, Harry. Forever, if I could, but I know that's not an option. It's not much, but I promise you all the time I have left." She placed a hand over his heart, curled into his side, and looked up into his eyes. "I want to never be rid of you. Please, Harry. I've never been more sure of anything before." "You will give me forever, and I don't much care who I have to go through to get it, but we can discuss that when you're ready." He told her, and it hurt that she believed him; she believed that there was no power that Harry would not stand against to get what he wanted. She remembered the day he met Lucifer, towering over the Devil himself with a stone cold expression, and demanded his mother’s soul back. He was fearless, and cold, and ready for war. That was Perfect Harry. She’d kept out of sight that day, and since Lucifer had been so preoccupied with Carla and everything else going on, she’d managed to keep him from noticing her, hiding in the background, but with Harry, she felt like she didn’t have to be.

He placed one hand on her waist before pressing a hungry kiss to her lips. She was open, and willing, and ached to be his. She ached to belong to someone who would fight against all the most powerful creatures in existence, to be kept safe by someone empowered by devotion and duty. He pushed her down on his thigh, slowly bouncing her on it as he groaned into the kiss. 

"Mine." He growled into her mouth as he pulled her closer, as if she could never be close enough to satisfy him. 

"Yours." She practically sobbed with a desperate breath, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "If anyone could break this curse—fix me—I bet it's you." She stared into his eyes, all twenty-nine of hers focused on his two. Forever seemed like a lifetime more than she had, even if what she did was far longer than the average human lifespan, seemed like so long to the average sinner. Thoughts swam in her head: so many secrets, so much history she'd never told anyone, never wanted to tell anyone before him. "I have so much to tell you, so much to say, but all of that can wait." She murmured against his lips, peppering kisses as she spoke. "Prove to me that I'm yours, Harry. Prove to me that you'll never leave me, that I'll be yours forever."

He kissed along her cheek, trailing kisses down her neck, being mindful of her eyes. "I'll never leave you. Welcome to the family, Theia." 

He stood up, wrapping his arms around her waist as he did so. She wrapped his legs around his to steady herself, and she felt his cock jump in excitement against her thigh. He walked her to his room, kicking his door open as he walked inside before quickly turning, pushing her against it. "Fuck, you're so fucking gorgeous. You're mine." He growled, panting against her neck as he slid a large clawed hand up her thigh, hastily pulling her skirt up. "Fuck, I've never—I've never done this before."

 "That's–That's okay." She panted, throwing her head back against the door with a soft thunk, bucking her hips in anticipation. "I know that you'll be amazing." She groaned as he nipped at the side of her neck, threaded her hands through his thick head of black hair. "You're mine after all." She said with a wink. He clawed at her panties, trying to pull them off her hips. "Shred them;" she moaned; "I just want you." The sound of fabric tearing hit her ears, and it fell away from her in an instant. She was slick, and wanting, and desperate. She knew that he was still fully clothed, and she couldn't possibly reach him from this angle even if she tried. She bit her lip and blushed again. "You're practically twice my height; how is this going to work?" He didn't respond to her as his claws dug into her now naked hips and he pushed her up against the wall. He lifted her legs over his shoulders as he licked up her thighs with a long thick tongue. "I'll make it work; I need to taste you first." He whispered low, before he was pulling her flush against his face, pressing his thick tongue between her glistening folds. He groaned in approval as if he were satisfied by the taste, as if she were a meal to be savored. He pushed his tongue deep inside her, dug his claws into her skin, holding her tight as she wrapped her legs around the back of his head. She burrowed her hands in his thick, dark head of hair, pulling at him, and he groaned. He felt her find his large wolf ears, scratching behind them, and he moaned, feeling his tail begin to wag in excitement.

She moaned too, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer to her, wanting him deeper, filling her. "You don't need," she purred as she bucked her hips into his face, "to be gentle with me. I like it rough." She found herself crying out and grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he nipped at her with those sharp teeth of his. "Yes!" She exclaimed as that tongue curled inside her. He was slow and deliberate, as if she were a feast to be devoured and he had all the time in the universe. "Please," she found herself begging, though for a second she wasn't sure for what, "please, Harry, faster, deeper. I need more."

She felt him snarl against her as she bucked her hips into his mouth. He raked his claws down her thighs, wrapping his hands round the back of her knees and pinning them to the wall behind her. She gasped in shock and felt a full-body shiver run through him. He burrowed his tongue deeper inside her, seeming to enjoy the way she helplessly rutted against his face, clawing her nails against his scalp. She arched her back and bucked her hips into his face again as his tongue found that spot inside her that always caused her to see stars. "There!" She cried out with a sob, tears pricking at the seven eyes on her face, "Right there!" Her nails dug into his scalp, and if she were less distracted, she might have been concerned that she'd hurt him, but in that moment, her only focus was climbing closer to that peak. "More," she begged softly, pleadingly, "more, please."

He looked up at her, his hands tightening around her knees as he pushed her feet up to her head. She looked beautiful, perfectly bent in two for him as she arched her back, clawing against his scalp. He slowly pulled away, licking up to her clit and pressing the flat of his tongue against it. He growled as she began to rock her hips, using his tongue to find her release until she let out a beautiful howl of pleasure. Her entire body shook around him and he let her ride out her orgasm. He slowly pulled her down, grinning as she wrapped her arms around him, and he licked up her neck. "Mine. All Mine." He growled into her ear. "I need to be inside you. I want you to take my knot. Tell me you want it; tell me you want me, gorgeous." She moaned at the thought of him filling her, stretching her so incredibly full. She had no doubt he'd be massive—so incredibly big even without it—but knotting her, she'd be stretched even more, stuck to him. "Please," she panted as she raked her nails across his scalp, "yours. Forever yours. I want you. I want you so bad it hurts." She bit her lip and bucked her hips into him, desperate for friction, for anything he could give her. "Please, Harry, fill me; mark me; knot me; break me. I need it." More words tumbled from her lips in an incoherent mess. She'd never been so desperate in her entire life, certainly not for a man. He was different though, made her feel like she was special, made her feel worthy of love. Just as long as she could be enough for him, maybe he would stay.

He tutted at her in gentle disapproval. "I'm not going to break you; I already told you; I take care of what's mine. I will fucking ruin you, though. You're mine now, I'm never letting you go. I'll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you from me." He pulled her with him as he walked over to the bed, pushing her down on the mattress. His room was bare, though that was hardly surprising. A wooden bed with gray sheets, gray walls, and hardly any decoration. The only splash of color in the entire room were the pictures on his dresser: all of his family, mostly Carla and who she could only assume was his little sister Poppy. He looked down at her sprawled across his bed, looking up at him with all her eyes, and he grinned. "Can I take a picture of you? I'd quite like to remember the day I made you mine." 

She flushed at the notion, surprised, and nodded, swallowing back a sob. He wanted proof of her existence, proof that she lived, and that made her want him even more. "I suppose it's fitting. I'm your first love. This is my first photograph." It was simple; it was honest, and she gave him a sad smile. "My father never believed in indulging photography, thought it was too modern, that portraits were classier, and even then, I was never to pose for one. I'm a lot of things, Harry, but being loved by my parents was never one of them."

The very notion that he wanted to immortalize her, keep proof of her long after she'd ceased existing from this burden of a curse, should not have made her wet, but it did, desperate to be wanted, desperate for someone who wanted her as she was for as long as she could be. She only hoped it would be enough. "A first is a big milestone. Let's make it one to remember, one no one but the two of us will ever see.” She winked and tugged at the hem of her dress. It parted just enough to tease him further, sliding off her shoulders and hugging her breasts, slitting up the side as she let her legs fall open for him.

She knew that it was a strange concept for Harry to wrap his head around—the idea of not being loved—and it showed. It was obvious that he was loved—cherished even—by all those around him. Carla put a lot of pressure on him, but her love was immeasurable for her perfect son. Even his brothers loved him—despite the clearly tense relationship; it was clear that there was a lot of respect and admiration there. As he looked down upon Theia, it was evident that he could not imagine the life she had lived. 

"Beautiful, gorgeous, mine." He praised her, pulling her out of her thoughts as he took picture after picture. “I’m going to plaster these over my walls; you will be the color to take over my gray, Theia.” She flushed at the declaration, at his poetry, moved by the notion that he wanted to surround himself with images of her.

She giggled and laughed as the light flashed, wondered if Vox was watching, if he was seeing what he'd once again failed to hold onto, a fact that she'd never dared to mention to Harry before, prayed it wouldn't affect them down the road even as she wondered to whom she ought to pray.

She knew that no man—no God for that matter—could ever compare to Harry anyway. No man could look quite like he did, could be as strong, as powerful, as tall. She had never been a good woman, never wanted to be, wasn't looking for a good man, either. She wanted a man who could be good to her—so good to her it was as if there were no other women in all of existence—and only Harry had ever met that criteria.

He put his phone into his back pocket before he slowly unbuckled his belt. There was an almost timid awkwardness to the movement, an unpractised action in front of company, and it excited her—she was his first. 

As he unzipped his trousers, she tugged on the collar of her dress again, so as he pulled himself free from his confines, the fabric split for him, falling open to expose her fully. She found her mouth falling open in shock when she saw his absolutely massive cock, erect and pulsing with need, precum already glistening at the tip. It must have been an entire foot long and just short of half of that in width. A line of drool trickled out of her lips at the sight of it, thinking how she'd have to contort her features into her demon form just to take him into her mouth. It was a long moment before she spoke, entranced and mystified by the sheer size of it. "I've never even seen, much less had a man as big as you." She said when she finally found words, breathless as she parted her legs wider, wanting it, wanting him. "You're not even inside me yet and you've already ruined me for anyone else, alive or dead."

She felt a shiver run down her spine, spreading through her body in a wave as she imagined how she'd feel, how impossibly full she'd be stretched open on his cock. "Please, Harry, I need you." She moaned, practically begged, another line of drool falling from her lips.

Harry ripped his shirt open to reveal a chest of rippling muscle and thick burn scars across his entire body. A long silver chain ran down his chest, the center of which rested an ornate golden ring with a huge diamond on it. 

He held the ring between two fingers, before placing a gentle kiss to it. 

“This ring has been in my family for generations, a gift from first born son to first born son. My grandfather passed it down to me, as his did for him, and now it’s yours. My grandmother wore it her entire life. I hope you’ll choose to do the same.” 

“I’m honored that you’d trust me with something so special to you, so important. I’ve never had something so meaningful as an heirloom before.” She replied, awestruck at the notion of having something so valuable: an heirloom that had somehow traversed death itself. 

“I trust you with my heart, with my life. You’re one of the most important women in the world.” He said, and as if often the case was with Harry, every word was purposeful and full of meaning. 

She blushed scarlet, shocked by his words. “Oh, view,” She said with a pun to try and brush away her self-conscious thoughts threatening to bubble to the surface, “it’s beautiful, Harry.” 

“You’re beautiful, gorgeous, but not quite perfect.” He said, before he pulled off the large chain, carefully placing it above her so it could fall upon her own chest. “Now, you are perfect.” 

She flushed even darker at his words, moved by his praise. While she didn’t think she was perfect normally, somehow, when he said it, she almost believed it. She moaned, opening her hips wider for him, ready and desperate. Understanding her want, her need, He gripped his cock, rubbing the thick head of it between the folds of her glistening pussy before he looked up at her. He slowly pressed against her slick entrance, carefully pushing forward with a clenched jaw. She spread her legs impossibly further, opening herself as wide as she could to make room for something so huge she was sure it would not fit, and then she watched as his eyes went wide. He seemed to stop breathing entirely as he finally thrust inside, and she felt her entire body tighten around him—he was so fucking big. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed, grabbing her hips to pull her down further onto his aching cock. "Fuck, shit, Theia, need, mine."

She threw her head back as she felt him deep inside her, stretching her so she was full of him. She ached to belong to him, to be Harry’s girl, and as if he had read her mind, he demanded it of her. 

"Say you're fucking mine; say it. I'll fucking—I don't fucking know; whatever you want Theia; what do you want? Fuck, I'll give it to you." He groaned. 

A choked moan escaped her lips as he slid slowly—oh so slowly—inside of her. It needed to be slow just this once—stretching her open so well on his massive, absolutely gargantuan cock. Her own string of curses—a rarity for her—escaped her lips as she reached for him, settled her hands on his chiseled and hairy biceps, wanting more but finding him too far away from her. "Fuck!" The first came as a surprise, even to her, and the rest tumbled soon after. "Fuck, Harry, you're so fucking big!" Another line of drool escaped her mouth as tears pricked her eyes. Her gaze kept drifting from between him and the necklace he'd bestowed on her, the ring he'd deemed so important that he kept it close to his heart. She felt overwhelmed at the notion that he would give her something so valuable, so important to him, as a symbol of what they were, a symbol of what it meant to belong to him. It meant forever, something she hadn’t even considered an option until him. It glinted in the low lighting between her breasts, bounced as he thrust his hips. She'd almost been married once, long ago, to a man who she had never wanted to spend days with, much less her life. Harry had always been different, even from the beginning, even before he didn't see her as worthy like she apparently was now. The notion of being his, so completely his had the tears escaping from the sheer relief of being wanted, needed, possibly even loved. "I'm yours; of course I'm yours. I'll always fucking be yours!" It came out as a combination of a wail and a howl as he continued to plunge deeper into her, and she thought he was done, but as she looked down, it was merely a pause, allowing her body to take even more inside. She whined at that, desperate for more.

This was never going to work without them, and they wanted to escape. Her eyes flashed red at him, and the silhouette of her tentacles loomed around her as she gave him a lustful gaze. "They want you, Harry, just as I do." She moaned as she felt him sucked into her deeper by the sheer notion of them coming out to play. "They want to wrap around you and bury you inside of me, make you mine just as much as I am yours."

"I'm going to make you my fucking wife; you're going to be Theia James, and you're going to spend the rest of your fucking life on my cock. I'll fucking—fucking—shit!" He cursed as her tentacles—The Thousand Eyes—emerged from her back to wrap around him, pulling him closer as he fell on top of her, his cock piercing through to the hilt and she screamed. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer so he could be deeper, and the head of his cock hit something, a wall deep inside her that made her wail. "Mine. You have no fucking idea how much I want you, how much I've watched you. Fuck. I'm yours. Forever and always. Fucking watch anyone try to take you from me, fucking watch them try." He snarled, claws digging into her as his usually yellow eyes slowly faded away into a dark, shadowy black. 

She looked down and saw the large bulge poking up from her abdomen; he was stretching her to force her to accept his cock. He was reshaping her body to suit his needs, remaking her to match his. He began to thrust with earnest, hard and fast as she howled and writhed around him. He placed a hand on either side of her head, pressing his forehead against hers, and she watched a broad grin split across his face, as if he felt giddy that the seven eyes on her face were all on him. "Perfect Theia for Perfect Harry." He purred as he thrust forward, burying himself inside her to the hilt. "Perfect Theia, Perfect Theia, Perfect fucking Theia." He panted in time to his thrusts, never once taking his eyes off her.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pounded into her, tentacles writhing around his limbs as she shook with pleasure, achingly close to the edge again as he called her perfect and his. Being his, being perfect enough for him was all she wanted, all she could ever need, and she felt this in every fiber of her being as she felt him hit that spot inside her over and over again. She could do that, be his perfect wife, be the perfect woman for him, if he'd let her stay, let her be his for all she had, all she could give him. She had a desperate want inside her, and he seemed to fulfill everything she'd ever needed, everything she'd ever craved. He wasn't familiar with how her body worked yet, but he would be, would learn every inch of her, would know every way that sent her reeling, but right now, she needed to teach him. One of her tentacles found his hand and pulled it to where she needed, curled around his fingers to show him exactly how she liked to be touched, brushing against her clit in just the right way to send her keening, arching into him as she took him even deeper, singing for him. "Perfect for you. Theia James, just for you. Yours!" She sobbed between breaths, so full to the brim and craving more even as her body shook. "Make me yours forever! I want your teeth on my skin. I want your name carved above my heart. I want to put my mark on your skin, show everyone that you are mine." She declared before it devolved into begging, "Bite me; mark me; fill me; breed me!" It was these words that sent her crashing through another orgasm, screaming, his name on her lips.

A snarl ripped from his lips, primal and violent, before he bit down into her neck. It was sharp and harsh as her blood flowed into his mouth. She screamed in pain but he didn't let go, couldn't let go. He wrapped his hands around the back of her shoulders, pulling her down on his cock as he thrusted up, before he was cumming deep inside her. He let out a howl as he did so, alerting all in the house that she was his. She felt his knot expand within her, stretching her impossibly wide as they were bound together. "MINE. YOU'RE FUCKING MINE." He snarled, claws digging into her naked shoulders and sweat dripping down his face. There was something animalistic to his voice, something deep and dark inside him trying to escape. 

"Ỹ̸̲Ō̵͍Ụ̶̏R̸̫͊S̸̟͆!" She howled, eyes flashing red as her tentacles tightened around him, pulled him even closer to her, her nails pricked his scalp as her blood flowed into his mouth. "Ä̷͙́N̴͕͒D̸̹͒ ̵͕̿Y̷̧̛Ò̶̗U̶͔̐'̶̯̓R̵̽͜E̵̪̎ ̸͔̌M̷̹͐I̷̻̽Ñ̶̳Ẽ̴̯,̶̙̏ ̷̠̏Ḧ̸̯Á̷̘R̶̨͌Ŕ̷͕Y̴͇̐ ̴̪̔J̶̺͒A̴̪̚M̵͇̐E̸̍͜S̸͍̽!̷͉͐ ̴̛̺D̶̫̃Ō̵̯N̵̛͈'̶̹͘T̵̪̏ ̵͙̈Y̵̠͌O̵̡̕U̵̻͊ ̶̪̀É̸̟V̵͍̿Ë̷̢Ṙ̵̦ ̴̝̀F̸͎̈́U̴͇͒C̵̺̿K̸͙̊Ḯ̴̲N̵̦͂Ḡ̴̝ ̷͓̎F̵̬́Ȯ̷̢R̶͙̍G̵̳̈E̵̢̊T̴͚̾ ̴̮͛İ̶͕Ṯ̶͑!" Her demon voice slipped through as she roared, sinking her teeth into his neck in turn. His blood was sweet on her tongue, strong and musky and so him. She moaned into his neck as she drank from him, felt as he drank from her. She stayed there, lapping at the wound and licking him clean, sealing it with her tongue as she felt him slowly do the same. She wondered what he'd think when he saw the color of her blood, or maybe he already knew, wondered if it tasted different than that of a sinner. "Yours, Harrison James. Always yours." She murmured as he held her, his full first name slipping out on accident from her lips, with him still knotted deep inside her. They'd be stuck like this for hours. The knowledge of this sent another shiver through her, and she reached up to stroke his ears with a sweet smile. She hadn't meant to call him that, but had thought of him as more than Harry, just Harry, Perfect Harry. He was Harrison: handsome, strong, brave, hers for longer than she'd cared to want, longer than she'd be willing to admit. She'd wanted him to be hers and now he was, so it slipped out without warning. She hoped he wouldn't be upset, wouldn't hate that name from her lips. She knew if it were anyone else it would be bitter or scathing, furious or disappointed. From her, that name would only be loving, affectionate, and kind, if he'd allow her to give him that. "Sorry." She whispered sadly, "I know that name makes you uncomfortable. I have to admit I think it suits you better. Strong. Handsome. Mine."

"I can be Harrison for you, only for you. It'll be our little secret." He whispered, before he kissed her, slow and sensual. Red and black blood mixed on their tongues as they kissed. He'd want to bring that up later, likely much later. She knew the kind of man he was; he would want to hold her, all her secrets, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. She could only hope he would trust her enough to let her hold his too. His ears twitched as she stroked them, and he could feel his large tail wag from behind him in pleasure. He'd have her tied to him for hours, and then they'd go again; she never wanted to be free of him. "My Theia, my beautiful Theia."

She flushed with a smile, kissed him back as she knew he understood she was different, different in ways he didn't fully understand but hadn't been upset or disgusted with her. Their little secret he'd called it, and she smiled. One more for them to share. "A secret for a secret then." She found herself telling him. "If you'll be Harrison for me, I can be Iris for you, if you want." She murmured softly. "I love the name Theia, and it's more mine than it, but I want you to have it, to know it, for I love you more than any name in all of existence, in all of time itself." She continued to stroke his ears, carding her fingers through his hair, as she told him, "I left a life I didn't want to have my own here. I meant to run away, escape a marriage I had never wanted, hide for the years I have left, and disappear. I never meant to fall in love." She kissed him again, deeper this time. "Well met, Harrison James. My parents named me Iris, gave me a title and power, then stripped it away. I left that life a long time ago. For you, I will be Theia James, your wife for now and always." "Your name is Theia James; no one can strip that from you: forever defended, forever cherished, forever mine." He told her, and she understood that just as she didn’t like the name Iris, he would never speak it, that he wouldn’t stand to hear anyone call her by it ever again, and it was just as she wanted. She saw his ears press against his skull in sudden embarrassment, pulling her from her thoughts. "Sorry for cursing so much; you just felt really good." He chuckled, as she saw his face go red with embarrassment. 

He pressed one hand against the back of her head, and the other to her waist so he could roll them over. He laid with his back on the bed while she was on top of him. He pulled her head against his chest—his heart—and sighed contentedly.

“I will never understand how my father could break my mother down so viciously, how he could stand to be so cruel to her, but know that I never will. I will never allow that swine of a man near you; I will never allow any man to taint your perfection. I will keep you safe: forever and always. I love you Theia James, my wife.” He said to her, and it sounded like more than a promise; it was a vow. 

As she internally winced at the notion of keeping her from a man she had once allowed his entanglement—his company—she thought about his declaration to her. Vows and integrity were important. To declare something so crucial and follow through to the end without the necessity of a deal was something to which she too adhered, something she insisted she followed. It gave her great relief to know he was the same. She purred and curled into his embrace; the sound of his heartbeat soothed her as she started to be lulled into sleep even as they were still tied together. She knew they'd likely wake to do it all again, more secrets to share and more devotion to confess. “I love you as you are, my Harrison James.” She murmured even as her eyes drifted closed. “Swearing and all.” He loved her, and it felt right. She'd given him her heart, and he had vowed to cherish it, protect her, and love her forever, even as she knew that wasn't yet viable. She'd never understand how her parents could be so cruel to their own family, their own children, to each other. She would never be that way to Harrison—her Harrison. No one had ever thought to come looking for her here, not in the last sixteen years. She'd stay safe from her family with him, and they'd never need to come looking for her, far away in Pentagram City. She didn't need to break the curse. She'd found happiness in this, in them. This was enough. She'd be safe, in his arms, for all the time she had left.

A/N: Theia and Harry are fucking stupidly cute. He'd tear the world apart and lay it at her feet for her if it'd keep those eyes on him, would devour anyone stupid enough to get in his way---especially those who would to seek to take the woman he's deemed as his, his wife, away from him. She's so desperate for love, for someone who will keep her safe and devote their life to her so that she can do the same, that all she wants to do is be perfect for him, just as he is Perfect Harry, the perfect son, for his mother. These two make me ill and their obscene height difference is hot as fuck. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

The Demon of a Thousand Eyes masterlist || A Mother's Devotion masterlist

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

The always lovely, skilled, and talented @hurthermore drew this sweet, almost cornea art of Theia and Al for my birthday! Thank you so much for this, luv, and keep doing everything you do! She always has her eyes on him, her 'mon point focal', so it's only fitting all those eyes would be looking his way!

Theia is from my fanfiction The Demon of a Thousand Eyes. It can be found on AO3 or on my Fanfiction Masterlist.

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

The always amazing and talented @lustylita drew this captivating and mesmer-eyes-ing Theia for my birthday! I am blown away and I will forever be floored by this breathtaking image. Theia is from my fanfiction, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes. It's on AO3 with the same name, or the Tumblr masterlist can be found here.

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

I have more art!

Did I forget alastor's antlers? No they just fell off (source: trust me)

*SCREAMING* THEIA AND AL ART?! I FEEL SO SPOILED!

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

So I drew my interpretation of theia

(bonus: I was listening to you'll end up looking like the scary bitches by scary bitches, so that may have influenced things.)

*Immediately screams then pulls up this song to listen while I post* I LOVE THIS THEIA! I love the dress you gave her! Green is one of my favorite colors. Theia likes green, too, thinks she looks good in it.

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 38 Killing an Eyeful Peep Again, View Were Always Meant to Be Stares

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: You delight in killing Edgar again, then things take a turn you hadn't anticipated.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Tentacles, Murder, Blood, Spitting, No Hands, No Eyes, Removal of Genitalia, Decapitation, Discussions of Implied SA of Minors

Edgar had never been an easy man to appease. Even from that first encounter, something seemed off about him, but he had always been careful in the beginning, at least with me.

He complained if my tattoos showed, but I explained that fresh ink always needed to be seen, and if I couldn’t show off my eye tattoos at an optometry clinic, where else would it be acceptable? While most places on Earth that I’d been had discouraged showing skin, he never did, at least on the younger women. The older you got the more he expected you to cover up, as if your age dictated how many inches of fabric you were to have covering your flesh. He always made a big deal about the length of my skirts, mocking me if they were modest, stealing glances if they weren’t.

He couldn’t keep staff, a revolving door of various women from all walks of life had come and gone in the mere six months that I’d worked there, and in that time, I saw many leave due to uncomfortable conversations, gifts, or drunken late-night texts—especially if the women were younger.

With Ellie, it started off small, too. I barely noticed at first.

She was a sweet little thing, all energy, excitement, curiosity, and smiles. His eyes always followed her, and I noticed. Of course I noticed. 

For a while, he was just keen to watch. Then, when she turned fourteen and joined our ranks, he got bolder. He seemed to have a physical space issue: he had to be within touching distance, couldn’t keep his hands to himself. They were on her shoulder, in her hair, caressing her arms. Subtle, but very noticeable to anyone paying attention.

He was always giving her things, little things, long before she had been employed with us, and sometimes these trinkets would make her uncomfortable. I didn’t see them all, but I could tell by the look on her face when she left his office some days if he’d given her something she didn’t like. She was so determined to be an apprentice with our clinic. On many occasions, I’d ask her why, why not go somewhere else. She said she liked it there, that we were nice, that Edgar was nice, but I didn’t know what to think, not for some time.

When Ellie changed, and everything changed, and he started doing it to me, the gifts started out small. 

Sweets—which I have never been partial to—consumed from his grubby outstretched palm and thanked immediately, swallowing down chalky candies with too much sugar. 

Hair ribbons, like the ones I’d seen in Ellie’s hair not long ago, in colors I had never been fond of but ones he preferred. He’d put them in himself, just how he liked, then take the mirror we used to show clients how they liked their new frames to show off his work. It was shoddy and messy, and my hair always felt greasy afterwards, but I let him, even and especially when the color of the ribbons he’d chosen clashed horribly with my clothing that day. I’d spend what felt like hours taking them out of my hair every night, wanting to burn them, throw them away, but knew that if I wore them the next day, wore them with colors that matched instead of clashed, he’d be pleased, in a better mood.

Usually that just resulted in more gifts, dolls I’d never been much for even as a child, makeup I had no interest in wearing, uniforms in colors that matched the ribbons that were too tight and too small. ‘What if customers see me in this?’ I asked, forgetting my place, and I remember he’d replied, ‘Oh no, you wear this, Iris, and no one will see you but me.’

Not long after that, he invited me to go to his house. Ellie had told me those words, those haunting words that I will never forget. ‘Never go to his house, Iris. You will regret it for the rest of your life.’ Sixteen words.  It only took sixteen words for me to understand. How I hadn’t connected the dots earlier, I’m not sure, other than just being so young, so unfamiliar, so naïve.

I'd never seen him or his wife after that night, the one where I cut off his hands and gouged out his eyes, the one where his wife caught me in the act of partaking in my new favorite snack and chased me into an alley with a kitchen knife, stabbed me over and over again and left me to bleed. I never thought to look for him, cared what had happened, not until I'd told Alastor and Ombre about him.

Now I want to kill him again.

You’re back on that same derelict  rooftop in the abandoned territory just outside of the Entertainment District, your hair whipping in the wind once more, thoughts of your first kill swirling around like smoke. Alastor stands beside you, his own tousled gently in the breeze, and Ombre is billowing slightly about your shoulders. It’s early morning this time, the Hellish ‘sun’ just peaking above the horizon, beginning to bathe the sky in the bright, blood red familiar to Pentagram City’s skyline. Behind the same door from before, you hear muffled grunts, and the sound makes your eyes flash that familiar red in anticipation. “Mes rois, who do you have behind that door for me?” You raise an eyebrow. “Is it who I think it is?”

“He was a difficult man to find, ma très chère, but with some determination and patience, I succeeded. How he managed to survive fifteen years in such a state is a feat in itself that I didn’t bother to learn. You’d think it would have been easy to track down a sinner that arrived in Hell with no eyes or hands.”

Yours flash red again, and you grin wickedly, pulling Alastor into a passionate kiss. When you’re panting for air, you break it to purr, “You brought me my first kill to do it all again.”

“But of course!” Alastor says with stars in his eyes despite the morning hour. “Anything and everything for you, nostre âme soeur.”

“Anything.” Ombre echoes from around your shoulders, “Anything for you, our majesty.”

You feel the urge to swoon as you fall into his arms and kiss him with fervor, then turn your head and do the same to Ombre.

A thud against the door brings you back to why you’re here; you sigh with a happy smile. “I suppose it’s time to move on to the main event now anyway.”

“Lead the way, nostre reine. I look forward to the show!” He says with a wicked grin, and yours matches his intensity as you look back at him.

“A dazzling performance, I have no doubt, our majesty.” Ombre purrs into your ear.

You take a few steps and open the door. The thumping sound comes not from a body bag like last time, but a struggling man tied to a chair. He’s gagged and bound, fighting against his bindings. He looks quite different from the last time you saw him, dead in his living room. Just as Alastor had described, he has no hands, and when his head tilts up to look in your direction instead of eyes, deep, hollow sockets meet your gaze. You drag the chair deeper into the room so that Alastor can walk in behind you. He watches you intently, and you wink with one of the eyes on the back of your horns as you step towards the sinner in the chair. Ombre stays draped around your shoulders. You suspect this is their new favorite place to be. For the fun of it, you remove the gag from his mouth. For this conversation, you’ll want him to be able to speak. The first sounds that pour from his lips are guttural and angry, and you chuckle, amused. “Now, now Edgar. That’s hardly the way to talk to one of your old apprentices. Don’t you remember lil’ old me, hm?”

His eyeless sockets stare hollowly at you, and while you can’t read his expression, you know there’s no recognition there as he spits, “Never seen a freak like you. Think I’d recognize one pretending to be one of my employees.”

You chuckle again and then, with a glint in your eyes and a bend at the waist, your human disguise slips over your features. You now have pale skin, two brown eyes in their normal locations on a human, a set of rather sharp but not too sharp teeth in a wide-set mouth, a pert nose, and shoulder-length black hair. Instead of the eyes that litter your body, tattoos of them cover your arms. “Does this ring any bells? Sure, I’m sixteen years older by now, so you’ll have to excuse me no longer looking like your type, of course, but one can only stay fourteen for a year, after all.”

You don’t need to read his eyeless sockets to see the jerk in his body at the sight of you. “Iris. Thought those freaky-ass eye tattoos were on theme. Now I know you’re a fuckin’ witch. It all makes sense.”

You cackle. “How cute. No, I’m not a ‘witch’ as you so stupidly put it.” You let your human disguise fall. “For someone who’s been in Hell for fifteen years, you sure don’t recognize a hellborn very well. Now before you get any grand ideas, I didn’t come up to Earth just to kill you in particular. Don’t go getting a big head now, silly little sinner.” You smirk as you run your fingers through his hair just so you can yank it up by the roots, pull it taut until it rips from the follicles. 

“You hurt so many people. I didn’t need to see the acts to know that. Ellie was enough. You were so careful with her. It was obvious to me that if you’d done it to Ellie, you’d done it to others, and you would do it again. So when you turned that revolting gaze on me, I knew I had to have those eyes in between my teeth.” You lean in close so he can look at you through the holes where his eyes should be. “You want to know something? It was the best snack I have ever eaten or will ever eat. I’m almost disappointed I don’t get the pleasure of doing it again. Eyes have always been my favorite because of you. It’s the only good thing you’ve ever done for anyone. So thank you for that, Edgar.”

A beat of silence, excluding the grunting coming from him as he tries to struggle from your grasp. “What,” you croon as you let your other hand cup his cheek and dig your claws into the flesh of his jaw, tiny droplets of red trickle and fall from where you snag him, “not going to tell me ‘you’re welcome, Iris,’? Can’t even manage to be polite when you’re bound to a chair for me? How rude. I see you truly haven’t changed. Good. This will be extra fun then.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?” He stutters out, and you spit in each of his eye sockets as he gags.

“Nothing you don’t deserve.” You shrug as you bat all seven eyes on your face. “The wounds I inflicted upon you to cause you your death were for Ellie and myself. The wounds I will inflict today, however, will be for everyone else you hurt. See, I never forgot about you since I came home to Hell, but I decided I didn’t care to track you down. I didn’t own your soul, so what was the need? It had been so long; I had expected you’d met the unfortunate end of an angelic spear, but that would have deprived me of this wonderful experience of a reunion. Aren’t you so happy to see me, Edgar? Tell me you’re happy to see me.”

“Fuck you, you psycho bitch.” He spits again, and you cackle as you use your claws to tear off one of his ears.

As he wails, you offer it to Alastor, who declines it with a chuckle. You shrug, and let it drop to the cement below you. “You may have lost an ear, but your tympanic membrane is still intact. So listen closely. Do as I say, or your death will take far longer and be far more unpleasant than necessary. Behave, and I’ll end you quickly; you can respawn and go about your shitty little sinner existence for the rest of time.”

He stutters out pathetically, “W-what do you want from me?”

Your eyes flash red and you chuckle darkly. “I don’t want anything from you. I’m here to kill you, plain and simple. I’m here to enjoy it just as much or more than I did the last time.” You say as you rip open his shirt, buttons popping off and flying in every direction. “I’m going to take my time with you, time your stupid bitch of a wife didn’t allow me last time.”

“Leave my wife out of this, you fuckin’freak!” He bellows, and as you grab his hair fiercely, you spit into his sockets again, then shove his head forward so it dribbles out onto his face like tears. Then, just because you feel like it, you tear the other ear off and drop it next to its mate on the cement below.

“I’d hardly call myself the freak, Edgar. You’re the one with no eyes, no ears, and no hands, after all.” You smirk. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who brought your idiotic wife into this. She did that herself when the bitch thought it was a smart idea to chase a girl who’d torn into her husband with her bare hands into an alleyway. She tried to stab me to death, and if I’d been more bloodthirsty, I’d have killed her too. How she didn’t care that the blood was black though? She’d either seen some shit or knew a thing or two. No human reacts normally when they see demon blood. Except her. She just kept stabbing. She’s either stupid, or isn’t the wife you thought you married. Is she down here yet? Can I kill her too?” Ombre chuckles in your ear and you shiver.

“I said leave my wife out of this!” He roars this time, so dig your nails into his chest and carve your alias into his flesh. As he howls and whimpers, you unbutton his trousers and yank them off his hips. “W-what are you going to do to me?”

“You already asked that question, and I already answered it: nothing that you don’t deserve.” You huff out another laugh. “However, this time, I think I’ll elaborate. See, all of this started because you had an urge that you refused to ignore. I, on the other hand, was taught to ignore my urges. As a lady, and as royalty, one must be prim and proper at all times. One must be aware of how one is perceived. Hmm,” you think aloud for a moment, “maybe that’s why I have eyes on the back of my head.” You shrug with a laugh and a wink towards Alastor, who smirks back at you in turn, leaning on his microphone to continue to watch the show. Ombre chuckles in your ear as you continue. “So I saw the way you looked at Ellie, even when you were blind to it. I didn’t have to witness what you’d done to her. The words she said to me that day when you invited me to your home were enough for that. 

“You touched her with your hands, so I tore them off of you. You looked at her with your eyes, so I gouged them from your skull and ate them. You wouldn’t listen, so I’ve torn off your ears. Next, I’m going to tear off your tiny little dick, since that was what you were thinking with when you thought it was a good idea to touch her and all the other little girls you abused. Then, I’m going to tear out your tongue for the nasty things you said to them. Lastly, I’m going to tear your limbs off your body, and then, when you’re nothing but a torso and a head, I’ll pluck it off, box it up, and mail it to your wife.”

He’s uttering out pleas that you’ve chosen to ignore and whimpers, fighting the bonds that have kept him firmly in place this whole time. You turn to Alastor, who has been watching with a rapt and delighted expression through the entirety of your little show. “Ma moitié, did your search prove fruitful in regards to the whereabouts of this filth’s pathetic little wench?”

“I’d have her here too, nostre reine, but due to an inconvenience, she is still where you last saw her.”  Alastor’s face remains neutral with that unwavering smile, but you notice his ears are pressed against his skull in irritation.

“It was rather annoying not to be able to have them both for you to slaughter, our majesty.” Ombre murmurs into your ear.

“Hmm, an irritating inconvenience, but not a bother. I have friends in useful places.” You say with a smirk. “All it means is in the meantime I’ll have to make room in our freezer, and you have to promise not to eat him.”

Alastor chuckles from his place behind you as Edgar makes noises of protest that you continue to ignore. “Of course not, ma très chère, I’d never. The torso and limbs will be sufficient for Rosie’s soiree this afternoon.”

“I hadn’t heard there was a party.” You say casually as you tear open the sinner’s trousers, exposing him to the dingy lighting of the room. Edgar is bitching and moaning, but you’re still ignoring him, your ears trained on the conversation with Alastor.

“Last minute arrangement. Rosie invited us both to attend.” He tries to look aloof, but you’re not falling for it.

“A fun night to be had for all, to be sure, our majesty.” Ombre says quickly—too quickly.

You narrow the eyes on the back of your horns at him. There is more he isn’t telling. He’s usually not so tight-lipped about such things. You peel off the sinner’s shoes and then his trousers. “Is there a dress code expected for such an event? I’ll just transform mine, of course, but are you anticipating needing to change?”

“No need, bien-aimée. I am dressed for any occasion as always.” He says with a wink, and you know for a fact he’s hiding something, but decide to let it go for now, as you have a victim to torment.

“We’re not done talking about this.” You tell him with a knowing look, then, even as your gaze is still focused on Alastor, you tell the soon-to-be-corpse in front of you, “You’ve been given a generous reprieve. Now that ends.” Edgar makes more sounds of protest, words you let blend into the background as you smirk up at him. You pull on the collar of your dress and unleash The Thousand Eyes. His eyeless sockets look back at them in horror. “Oh, you remember me now, do you?” You cackle, and your tentacles shiver in the anticipation of fresh blood. “The Thousand Eyes remember you too. They’re eager to tear you apart again. We’ll start with that tiny little dick of yours, as promised.”

Your tentacles, acting on their own accord but knowing your intent, wrap around each of Edgar’s limbs and one of them around that smudge of a dick that wasn’t even half the length of your hand. Edgar inhales in a panic, and the tentacle wrapped around it tears it from him without warning. Your laughter bubbles from you, maniacal and unhinged, and you delight in the howling wails that emerge from his lips.

The tentacle holding it wiggles it in front of his eyeless sockets in amused glee. “It’s not even the length of one of my fingers. A true representation of yourself.” The tentacle drops it to the ground, but not before running it across Edgar’s mouth, his own blood painting his lips.

You laugh as a mixture of your saliva and his blood spills into his mouth and he gags, nearly hurls. You cackle louder and sneer. “Now, arms or legs first?”

“N-neither, please, j-just let me go!” He cries out and you laugh harder.

“Very well then, one of each it is!” You sing joyfully, then realize something. “Oh, but I promised your tongue next! Guess that means those were your last words!” A tentacle forces his lips apart and then into his mouth, and you feel it wrap around his tongue. You grin maniacally, then feel it pull as it removes the muscle from inside, then within the same breath, you rip his right arm and leg off at the same time.

The whimper and wail that escapes his lips is something you revel in, and you hum to yourself as you wait for him to quiet and his breathing to calm, just so you can hear it all start again. “Now the other two!” You cheer as a giggle bursts from your lips, and you see Alastor’s smile widen with amusement. Ombre rumbles against you in a purr.

The sound mirrors the first, but is somehow more pathetic, more desperate. Blood sprays from both wounds and you take a step back, preventing it from getting on your clothes. “I have a date tonight. It’d be rude of you to soil my dress, now wouldn’t it?” You raise a brow then narrow your eyes. “Any last words before I kill you? Oh, I forgot. I tore out your tongue. That’s okay. I can speak them for you. ‘I was a terrible man, Iris. Thank you for killing me again to teach me a lesson and remind me of how I should behave in Hell.’ Why you’re very welcome, Edgar. Such kind words from a man like you. I didn’t know you had it in you! That must have come from such a deep place inside. May you find comfort knowing that I’ll scar your wife with your earless, eyeless, and tongueless decapitated head.” You wait until the words sink in, until the look in those hollow cavities where eyes should be widen in panic and fear, then you lick your lips. Your tentacles wind around his neck, squeeze once, twice, and then pull.

The job is finished, and you are pleased, but you look forward to presenting this gift to his wife, to be sure. Your tentacles drop the head into your hands, and you set it in his groin as you stride over to Alastor, appendages waving at him. “Your gifts get better and better every time, ma moitié.” You tell him. “You speak nothing but the truth. I love you so impossibly much.” You kiss him deeply, then leap into his arms, knowing he will catch you, and of course, he does. You giggle girlishly, delighted in how well today has gone so far. “Marry me?” You ask as a tease, as a joke.

He nearly drops you for a second, then sets you down on your feet. You blink, confused, as he narrows his eyes at you. Where is this going? You wonder in a panic. Have I done something wrong?

“You don’t get to ask that question first.” He sighs, but you can tell that there is nothing but love and affection in that gaze of his, so you relax. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but here we are.” What? What does he mean? What is he talking about? Then suddenly, next to the fresh corpse of your first kill, Alastor drops to one knee. You almost scream. Is this actually happening? “Iris, bien-aimée, Theia, nostre âme soeur,” he breathes out as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a ring box, “would you do me the greatest honor of being my bride?”

This time, you do scream, and tears escape all seven of the eyes on your face. You have to blink them away to even see the stunning ring he offers you as he opens the box in his hand. The stones are shaped like an eye, the band like antlers. “Yes,” you say the instant you see it, “yes, Alastor, of course I want to marry you!”

Alastor lifts the ring from the box and moves to slip it onto your finger, before Ombre, who’d been purring all this time, calls out, “Wait. It’s not ready yet, Master.” Alastor raises an eyebrow at them, but passes the ring to Ombre, who takes a small piece of themself to weave it through the antlers and curl around the edge of the eye. They pass it back to Alastor, who slips it onto your finger. “Now whenever you are wearing it, we will always know where you are. Not that it will matter too much, of course. You will always be by our side, our majesty, our fiancé.”

Tears prick your eyes again as you stare at it. “It’s perfect.” You murmur breathlessly, and kiss them each in turn, and then again. A moment of realization hits you as you break from it to breathe. “The soiree was where you were supposed to propose.” A giggle escapes you. “Rosie’s going to be livid.”

Alastor blanches, his ears pinning against his skull again. “We had an entire evening planned. She’s going to be terribly put out.”

“I’m sure she’ll be kinder to you since I’m there, ma moitié, mon fiancé.” You say as you kiss his cheek, delighting as his face colors at your words. “Besides, I’m sure she’ll be quite delighted at the sight of our fresh meat for her.”

“Always the smart one, nostre fiancé.” He murmurs against your lips, and you sigh into the kiss.

While Alastor might not have meant for his proposal to go like this, you are quite pleased with this arrangement. In your heart, in your mind, in the place where one usually had a soul, you knew it was supposed to go like this, that he’d ask you to marry him next to the corpse of the sinner that had started it all. He called you Iris; he called you Theia, and he’d asked for you to marry him. It seems that like all things that concern him, that it was always meant to be like this, that you were always meant to be theirs.

A/N:

IF ANYONE WANTS TO DRAW THE RING PLEASE DO! I'D LOVE TO SEE YOUR TAKE ON THE ENGAGEMENT RING! <3

These two are such simps for my sweet Theia (and I mean rightfully so, honestly).

Chapter 39 is the afternoon that Alastor had actually planned prior to his proposal, plus a few hiccups. Chapter 40 is a continuation in the evening, which leads him to the speech he'd scripted and some unexpected guests.

Things:

Contact Theia on Tumblr at: tumblr.com/blog/the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes

The Demon of a Thousand Eyes Youtube playlist

The Demon of a Thousand Eyes Spotify playlist

(The Spotify playlist doesn't contain spoilers as it is for the Discord Server)

See you all in the next update! Ta for now~

First || Chapter 37 || Chapter 39

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

I just want you to know I'm actually OBSESSED with Theia... boring closet stuff has become an inside joke between me and one of my friends as well as me and my mom (neither of them have read the fic I just don't shut up about it)

Boring Closet Stuff? Boring Closet Stuff. Boring Closet Stuff. Boring Closet Stuff? Boring Closet Stuff. BCS WILL NEVER DIE. THEIA WILL TELL THIS JOKE TO ANY AUDIENCE SHE CAN MANAGE TO FIND TO TELL IT TO IF CONTEXT PERMITS. (Don't forget~ Lucifer still hasn't been told about the contents ;) )

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

I made fanart of Theia would you mind if I posted it? I'll tag you :3

OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS! FOR ALL THAT IS HOLY ON ROD'S GREEN EARTH AND UNDER LUCIFER'S RED SKY, PLEASE POST AND TAG! I WANT TO SEE THIS VISION YOU HAVE OF MY SWEET, PSYCHOPATHIC THEIA! WHEN YOU DO, I'LL REBLOG IT AND ADD IT TO THE FANART MASTERLIST~

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

I am obsessed with Theia. Would it he alright with you if I cosplayed her? I'll tag you in the final results.

*screaming* Yes you can cosplay as Theia! I would love to see your vision of her! Please do tag this blog when you do, and I'll be sure to add it to the art masterlist!

I've been wanting to cosplay her myself, but have been struggling with any good dress patterns/fabrics, so if you have any advice there too, I'd love to hear them!

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 37

Deal with a Former Exorcist Takes Sight and Eyeing to Read a Look

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: You make the deal with Vaggie, have a chat with Charlie afterwards, and then try to read the book Hellborn High Society: A Complete History. Ombre doesn't let you get far before they distract you.

EVEN MORE SMUT because these three are insatiable.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: tentacles, anal sex, biting, SMUT

Ombre is draped across your shoulders still, clinging to you, and you take comfort in their embrace. It’s nice, supportive, but also the coolest cloak you’ve ever worn, in both breathability and in appearance. As for your own, you try to keep it calm and your face neutral, despite how giddy you are. You have Vaggie right where you want her, have offered her a deal. You’re so close to making it. Getting this far is closer than you’d anticipated. 

You’re standing in the lobby of the hotel with Vaggie. No one else is around. You wonder if you should take this conversation elsewhere in case someone walks this way, but don’t say anything as she narrows her eyes at you, judging your choice to say this to her. “I don’t make deals.”

“False.” You tell her easily and shrug, taking your hairpin out of your hair to lengthen it into a cane. “You don’t usually make deals. I think you’ll find my terms acceptable and my reasoning sound.”

“That doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you can shove it up your culo, Theia. I want nothing to do with it or you!” She spits, and you chuckle. Ombre chuckles too, amused at her antics.

“Escuchame, Vaggie.” You say with a raised eyebrow, and when her eye widens, you say, “Yes, I know Spanish. I’m fluent in quite a few languages, actually. Now that I have your attention, let’s take this to the office so we don’t risk any prying ears listening in, hmm? Al is gone for the day, so there’s no risk of anyone overhearing.”

She raises an eyebrow and puts her hands on her hips. “I hardly think that’s relevant with his shadow wrapped around you like that.”

“Ombre, for that is their name,” You stroke their head, which elicits another purr, “is here to protect me and see that I don’t get up to anything I shouldn’t while Al is away. They don’t need to relay any information to Alastor, and they won’t at my discretion. Now then, shall we head to the office?”

She grumbles out a sigh, then heads in the direction you’d indicated. You follow a few steps behind. She’s still not receptive to this conversation. Do I need to dismiss Ombre before I can complete this deal? Would they even be amicable to such a choice? I doubt it. As Vaggie reaches the office door, she turns the knob and opens it, walks through, and leaves it open behind her. You shrink your cane back into a hairpin and put it in your hair again. When you head inside, you turn to close the door behind you, and through the eyes on the back of your horns, you observe the room around you. Gone is the cork board and conspiracy string, but the documents are still piled on the floor where they laid previously. The pile Lucifer put next to the desk is back on it again, rearranged but not filed. I really should have Rana come take a look at this place. You think to yourself. She’d probably cry at how bad it is.

Vaggie leans against the front of the desk, refusing to sit. You take the seat opposite the it anyway, a few feet from her in the chair you’d occupied with Alastor the day before.

“So, ‘Theia’.” She says, and you can tell by the way she says your alias that she’s skeptical of who you are, who you claim to be, even though she hadn’t been there when Lucifer had called you ‘Iris’. You understand this. It’s been a bit of a sore spot between the two of you since you first arrived. “What’s so importante maldito that we had to come here of all fucking places?”

You sigh. “I know you don’t like me, Vaggie, but there’s no need for such animosity between us. I’d like to be your friend if you’d let me.” “You aren’t even honest about who you are with anyone! How am I supposed to trust you, trust that you won’t hurt Charlie?!” She says as she throws her arms in the air, her eye narrowing in frustration.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s rather hypocritical, coming from you. We’re rather in the same boat, you and I, when you think about it. Both hiding from our pasts, pretending to be sinners when neither of us are.”

“You know? You can’t tell Charlie what I am.” She says with panic in her voice, and her singular eye darts around with fear. “How did you even find out?!”

You shrug. “It was easy. I’m incredibly observant, after all. I read people, especially their eyes. I’ve known for about a week now. You whip that angelic spear around like it belongs to you because it always has, and you never share any piece of your life before Hell, just as I never do. As for telling Charlie, I won’t,” you say as you cross your legs at the ankle, “but you should. You’re going to Heaven. Adam and the other exorcists will likely be in attendance. I doubt you look all that different from when they tore off your wings and gouged out your eye.”

“Would taking your deal prevent them from realizing it’s me?” She asks hopefully, and you shake your head as you lean back in your chair.

“I’d be lying to you if I told you as much, Vaggie.” You give her a half-hearted smile. “Here’s what I have to offer, however. Make a deal with me and I’ll keep your secret, never breathe a word of it to anyone. I’ll give you a brand new eye to replace the one that you lost. I’m guessing one of your former comrades tore it from your skull when you did something that she didn’t like. It’ll look like mine, gold with a silver iris, so it won’t match, but you’ll be able to see with binocular vision again. Giving you this won’t change their ability to know it’s you. That, I’m afraid, is something you’ll have to face on your own, but that would be true even if you didn’t make this deal with me.”

“What do you get out of it?” She squints her eye again, suspicious, and rightfully so.

“Every deal I make, I place an eye like the one I’m offering you on their skin, somewhere visible, so others will know it has been made, though usually it appears as a tattoo, flat against the skin. Others who I’ve made a deal with will know that you are amongst them, that you too are protected. I protect my own.” You shrug. “As for what I get out of it, you now know that I am not a sinner. I shall elaborate on this, and you will keep it a secret. You can tell Charlie of course, but I’m in hiding from some key players in Hell and I’d like to avoid them for as long as I can.”

“You’re not an angel.” She says, and you suppose it was intended as a question, even if it wasn’t phrased as one. “No, despite the biblical angel energy going on with all these eyes, I’m hardly an angel.” You laugh as you wave your hand towards yourself. “I’m a hellborn, ran away from my parents when they set a date for an arranged marriage with a distant cousin of mine. Since the rest of the hotel excluding Charlie already knows, I will further disclose that I’m pregnant.” Ombre ripples slightly and wraps their grip slightly tighter around you.

Vaggie’s eye widens in surprise. “I didn’t think sinners could get hellborn pregnant.”

You bite your lip. “Neither did I, but according to a look Alastor found, it’s not only possible, it’s happened on multiple occasions.” You uncross your legs and cross them at the ankles the other way. “Lucifer thinks it’s twins.” Ombre places a soothing kiss on your temple, sensing your anxiety.

“So you ran away from your hellborn family and have been hiding out in Pentagram City for fifteen years? Why come to the hotel, then? You knew you couldn’t be redeemed. Was any of that talk of you believing redemption even true, or were you just saying that to try and stay in Charlie’s good graces?”

You give her a soft smile.  “I have never lied to you, to Charlie, to anyone at this hotel. Every word I have said has always been the truth—just only parts of the entirety of it. Like I said before, Rosie advocated on my behalf to come to the hotel because she could tell that I was depressed, that I needed to find people I could be friends with, and she knew this was a possible solution to that. Despite not having a soul, I’m a strong advocate for redemption as a possibility, even if it never was in the cards for me. Maybe that seems strange given that I’m a hellborn, but I’m not like most hellborn, either.”

“So the reason why Alastor’s shadow—‘Ombre’ was it?—is draped about you like a fashion accessory is because it’s here to protect you and your unborn children?” Vaggie asks curiously, and you nod.

“They’re wrapped around me like a cloak to prevent me from ingesting anything a pregnant woman shouldn’t and to keep me safe should anything attempt to cause me harm.” You emphasize ‘they’re,’ determined to uphold Ombre’s autonomy. “So,” you ask casually as you keep your face a calm, neutral one, “do we have a deal?”

“State your terms again.” Vaggie says, and you acquiesce.

“I will keep your secret that you are a former exorcist. You will keep the secret that I am a hellborn from everyone outside of this hotel. I will give you an eye to replace the old one you had. It will give you vision again, just like the old one did.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? You’re sure you don’t want more?” “I have more than enough from this.” You tell her easily. You’ll be able to see out of it at any time, but that doesn’t need to be stipulated for it to be true.

“There’s something more you’re not telling me.” She observes, and you realize you’d forgotten how observant angels can be, even fallen and abandoned ones.

“There’s plenty I’m not telling you.” Shrugging, you stroke behind Ombre’s ears, and they nip at one of yours. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“What more is there to this deal that you’re hiding from me?” Vaggie asks as she puts her palms on either side of her on the desk, digging her fingernails into the wood. “I won’t agree to it unless I know all of it.”

“An eyes choice of you, to be sure.” You tell her with a wink. “I want to be able to see into Heaven. I have a score to settle with a particular angel, and I’d like to see if they’ll be in attendance at this meeting of yours.” I also want to know if there are eye motifs in Heaven and if I can manifest there as well.

“What kind of beef could you possibly have with an angel as a hellborn?” Vaggie raises an eyebrow as she loosens her grip on the table but keeps her hands firmly planted.

“Aside from just the general disdain received from angels in particular? This one put a curse on my entire family line, and I’d like to end it.” Ombre hisses, and you stroke their ears to calm them. “Don’t mind them, Vaggie. They’re just a tad possessive at the moment and get quite cranky at the mention of that awful angel.” You say when you see her flinch. 

“Shh, Ombre, I know you’re furious at what the angel has done to all the women in my family. I’m vengeful too, but hissing at Vaggie won’t change that.” You kiss their forehead, and they seem to relax, if only a little. “So that’s why I want to be able to see through your eyes into Heaven when you go. So I can know if she’s there, what she looks like. It’s nothing much, but it’s a start. Plus, it might be a good idea for me to know what happens in this meeting, so I can help defend the hotel when it inevitably goes sour. I have already sworn my pledge to assist Charlie by any means necessary, even in my current state. Defending this hotel is a part of that.” “You’re going to fight for this hotel against angels while pregnant? How does Alastor feel about this?” Vaggie’s eyebrow raises again, and Ombre hisses.

“You will not fight this war, our majesty. You are far too fragile right now.”

You murmur words of soothing in their ear, then reply, “My capacity to protect the hotel will change as my condition progresses, of course, but in the meantime I am still able to assist, and ought to help with planning after the outcome of this meeting with Heaven.”

“I’ll keep your secret. You’ll keep mine. You’ll give me a functioning eye to replace the one stolen from me. You’ll use the eye given to me to see into Heaven to seek out the angel who cursed your family.”

You nod. “Deal?” You ask as you stride towards her.

She nods and offers out her hand. “Deal.” You grasp it gently and shake firmly. 

A gold and white chain forms on both of your wrists. She lifts her eyepatch, and you brush your finger gently across the mark where her old eye used to be. In a burst of gold and silver light, your magic burrows into her eye socket and manifests a new eye, the same size and shape as the other one on her face. 

She blinks up at you with one eye red and gold like she’s had since you’ve known her, and her new one is gold and silver, like yours. “How does it feel to see with two eyes again?” You ask with a smile.

“Strange.” She admits, and you catch her as she nearly falls.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” You suggest, and maneuver her to sit in the one you had just been occupying.

Just as she’s untying the eyepatch from around her face, the door creaks open. Charlie enters. It takes her a moment to realize that the room is occupied. “Vaggie?” She says with surprise in her voice. “Where did you get a new eye? It’s so beautiful!” She rushes over and pulls Vaggie into her arms.

Vaggie smiles softly at her and hugs her back. “Hey, hun. Theia gave it to me. We made a deal that she’ll be able to see into Heaven when we go. She has something else she wants to tell you, too.”

“She does?” Charlie’s eyes dart towards you then, apparently just now realizing you’re there even though you’re standing directly beside her girlfriend. “Hi, Theia. You do?” Then her thoughts catch up with her. “Wait, you two made a deal? I thought we weren’t supposed to make those.”

“No souls were exchanged, and it had to be a deal, Charlie. It was the only way to get my eye on her. This way, she can see with two again, and I get to see into Heaven. Why don’t you have a seat? I have a lot to explain.”

Charlie takes Vaggie’s hand and leads her around and behind the desk, takes a seat in the chair, then pulls the former exorcist into her lap, who blushes at being coaxed there. You chuckle and push the chair you’d just had Vaggie sitting in closer to the desk. When you do, Ombre pulls themself off your back and into your lap instead, yet they are still draped around your waist and shoulders. Charlie finally notices Ombre as they purr and you run your hands down their sides. She raises an eyebrow. “Is that Alastor’s shadow?”

You nod and continue to stroke their side as you continue, “Yes, Charlie. Their name is Ombre. Al asked them to watch over me today while he’s out on some business with Husk. They’re here to keep me safe and make sure I don’t do anything I shouldn't, given my condition.”

“You’re not sick are you?” She asks worriedly. “I didn’t think sinners could get sick.”

You shake your head. “I might get morning sickness later, but no, I’m not ill. I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant? I didn’t think sinners could get pregnant, either.” She looks confused, and you sigh.

“I’m a hellborn, Charlie. I’m sorry I’ve kept it from you for so long. I told you I’d tell you some day why I can’t be redeemed, though, and now I am. I can’t be redeemed because I don’t have a soul.”

She looks even more confused. “You’re a hellborn, but you believe in redemption? No hellborn has ever supported my idea before.”

You shrug. “I’m not exactly your average hellborn, frankly. If I can convince my father to give me the title he ripped from me fifteen years ago, I’ll be able to actually start doing something about it.”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

You stand and curtsy. “Well met, Princess Charlotte Morningstar. Back before I left that life behind me, I was called Princess Iris, daughter of Prince Seere, granddaughter of King Belial, heir to the throne of the First King of Ars Goetia.”

Vaggie, who’s been silent up until this point because you hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know, gapes at you. “You’re a hellborn princess?”

Charlie brightens. “We’re family?”

You nod, and sit back down. “We’re both hellborn royalty, so we’re related in a way, though I don’t think by blood. I’m the eldest granddaughter of the eldest daughter of King Belial and Queen Sclera, and as they only had daughters, this would have put me in line for the throne. When my brother Choroid was a year old, my father declared that he would take the throne instead of me. As the eldest, it should have been mine to inherit, but due to a nasty little curse put on my family line by the angel of fertility, my father doesn’t see me or any of my sisters as a viable choice for the throne.”

“The angel of fertility?” Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Why would an angel curse your family?”

You sigh. “I think the answers are in this book Alastor found, but I haven’t read it yet. He’s been smug lately, knowing things I don’t.”

Vaggie barks out a bitter laugh. “That sounds like Alastor.” Charlie gives her a look, and she sighs, but rolls her eyes in response even as Charlie whispers something into her ear.

Ombre hisses at her, and you ignore her jab to calm them, kissing their ears and stroking their side. When they do, you continue, “I’m going to read it later, when we’re done here, but in the meantime, here is what I know: about a thousand years ago, the angel Habuhiah cursed my family so that the only day a woman can conceive is on her birthday, and any female conceived would be born blind, acquire an eye on their birthday for every year of their life, and after being nothing but a floating eyeball for several centuries already, on their thousandth birthday, after acquiring their thousandth eye, they die. Every first child born is always a girl.” You place a hand on your belly, and you notice it’s already started to grow. “Your dad says he thinks it’s twins. There’s two souls in there somehow. I’m not sure how, since I have none and Al has one, but there’s two in there.”

“Wait.” Charlie blinks. “Alastor is the father? I thought hellborns and sinners couldn’t have children together, much less twins.”

You shrug. “It was in the book. Apparently it isn’t common but there have been occurrences of hellborns and sinners having children together, and Al and Ombre were the only two I was with on my birthday.”

“When was this?” Charlie squints, surprised.

“A few days ago. I just turned thirty. I’m surprised no one noticed the new eye.” You point to your tits. “It’s right here in plain sight.” You chuckle at your terrible joke and choke back a sob. Ombre kisses your temple and croons in your ear.

“You are radiant, our queen, no matter how many eyes you possess.” You scratch behind their ears again, and they rub their side against yours. You’re starting to wonder if deer was an apt choice for Alastor’s form, or if a feline would have been better, given the way Ombre behaves.

“I’m sorry we missed your birthday.” Charlie says a little sadly.

You shrug again. “They’re not exactly a jolly occasion for me, honestly. It’s just a reminder that one less year of my life exists in front of me. I know a thousand years seems like a lot, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s hardly anything. You’ll live for millenia, Charlie. In fact, if things carry on as they have, everyone in Hell will, unless they get culled in the next extermination.”

“That’s why Dad’s getting me that meeting with Heaven, so I can stop it!” Charlie says excitedly, and you give her a half-hearted smile.

“While I will always admire your unrelenting optimism, Charlie, I know we need to plan for all outcomes. That’s why I coaxed Vaggie into making that deal with me, so I can see into Heaven. Not just so I can see if Habuhiah is there, but so I can help you plan for the future, no matter what the result of that meeting may be.”

“You don’t have faith in me.” Charlie says, and her eyes well with tears. Vaggie hugs her tightly and shushes her.

You reply quickly, “That’s not true. I have faith in you. I don’t have faith in Heaven. I know you’ll do brilliantly. I’m just not sure that they’ll listen. That’s why I’ll be here to help strategize when you come back, and I’ll have seen what happened, so you will have less to explain.”

She wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “I guess that makes sense.”  Her gaze turns to Vaggie’s, and it’s as if Charlie has just truly seen how she looks with her new eye, and her bright smile turns into a soft blush. “Thank you, Theia, for giving Vaggie another eye. She looks beautiful.” Her eyes widen and she stutters. “I-I mean, not that she wasn’t beautiful before; she’ll always be the most beautiful person I’ve ever met—”

Vaggie kisses her to shut her up, and you giggle behind your hand as Ombre rumbles with amusement of their own.

“C’mon babe.” Vaggie says as she stands and picks Charlie up from the chair and into her arms bridal style. You stand, and as you do so, Ombre drapes themselves across your back again. Opening the door, you gesture for them to go through first. Vaggie gives you a smile before she leaves. “Let’s take this elsewhere. Theia has a book to read.”

You give a joking salute, declaring as you wave after them, “I’ll let you know what I find out!” 

Debating on whether or not to take the long trek up the stairs or simply manifest in Alastor’s room, you tell Ombre, “You know, my sweet little shadow,” your hand comes up to pet their ears and they lean into your touch, “since I’m never in that suite by myself anymore, we really ought to move all of my things from out of it.”

“Call Niffty, our majesty. She’ll take care of it for us while we manifest upstairs.”

“I’d hate to ask Niffty for that, Ombre. She does enough for me as it is.” You say as you sigh. “I also really wish I’d had that coffee.”

A few thuds come from the wall before Niffty pops out of the vents nearby. “I heard my name. What can I do for you, Theia?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to, but Ombre suggested I ask. Would you be willing to move my belongings into Alastor’s suite? Given all that’s happened I doubt he nor Ombre would want me to spend much time there by myself anyway.”

She salutes, and you chuckle. “Consider it done!” She climbs back into the vents and you hear small thuds as she leaves.

Closing your eyes and opening the ones in Alastor’s rooms, you manifest in front of his fireplace. You take a seat in his armchair nearby, prop your feet up on a footstool that Ombre brings when they detach themselves from you, then, before they can drape themselves over your shoulders again, you ask, “Ombre, love, could you bring me the book?”

“What book?” Ombre has the nerve to look sly.

You narrow all thirty of your eyes but there’s still a smirk on your face. “You know very well what book. The book the two of you were teasing me about this morning. Hellborn High Society: A Complete History. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, that book. What could you possibly want with it?” The sly look remains.

“The two of you know things that you’re keeping from me. If you won’t tell me, I think I ought to read it for myself. Be a dear and fetch it for me please. I know Alastor has it hidden amongst your shadows.”

Ombre huffs an affectionate sigh and it manifests within their grasp. They hand it to you then curl up in your lap. You open the book to the title of contents to see what lies inside as Ombre starts placing kisses on your neck, nibbling at the mark Alastor had bitten just last night. If they don’t stop, it’s going to be quite difficult to read indeed.

Skimming the Table of Contents, you decide to turn to the section that interests you most: Hellborn Royalty Family Trees. The first page is your family tree, for your grandfather, King Belial, is First. Beside him of course, is Queen Sclera, and below them both, their seven daughters from when this book was published. You know for a fact that they have more, and that they have all been girls. Princess Macula, your mother, is their eldest and first listed. She married Prince Seere, who came from the legion of Prince Amaymon. Below your parents, there is your old name, Princess Iris, your two sisters, Princesses Fovea and Uvea, and your brother, Prince Choroid. There are a few footnotes on the page. One beside Queen Sclera, one beside Prince Seere, and one beside…Princess Iris.

As Ombre nibbles your ear and runs their claw over the mark on your neck, you read the passage about you after thumbing to the corresponding page. You huff. All it says is that I gave up the throne, which isn’t even true. It was taken from me. I’m glad I clarified that point in front of Lucifer and Alastor, so ma moitié didn’t think I gave it up willingly.

Next, you go back to your family tree and look at the footnote for your father, Prince Seere. Thumbing to the page, you read, ‘Prince Seere, brother to Prince Amaymon, possesses the powers of teleportation, knowledge of stolen or hidden possessions, and can bring abundance if conjured. While none of these abilities have been seen in his offspring, one or more of these may lay dormant within them.’ Does that mean…?

Before you have time to think further or flip back to see what the footnote about your grandmother says, Ombre is nipping at the mark on your neck again, and as you arch into it, they run their semi-permeable claws up your leg and under your dress, teasing the inside of your thigh. “O-Ombre,” You stutter, and you hear a chuckle of a laugh in your ear.

They slip down to the footstool beneath you and then up underneath your dress. You let your legs fall open as their clawed hands palm each of your thighs. A ghost of a breath hits your clothed core, and you whine, nearly dropping the book from your hands. You hold it tighter as you feel yourself getting wet, so very wet.

A single semi-permeable claw teases your folds through the fabric, and you let out a soft moan and arch into it, your pussy slickening further. You feel it practically gushing out of you as you hear Ombre snicker, “So wet for me already, our majesty.” 

The small piece of fabric is torn from your skin unceremoniously, and you have no time to gasp at the feeling of it before that long, impossibly long semi-permeable tongue is delving into your folds, licking at your walls and cavern with fervor. It snakes along that spot that always has you seeing stars, and you snap the book shut with a moan.

Ombre pulls back from you immediately, but stays underneath the hem of your dress. “I thought you were reading, our majesty. There is such valuable information inside.”

With shaking hands, you pick the book back up and open it again to something randomly, not caring what you’re looking at anymore, letting the pages rustle loudly. You wait a minute, then turn the page, and Ombre purrs and slides their tongue back inside your folds. You let out a soft moan, delighted by the feeling of it teasing every spot that they’ve learned sends you reeling. Your legs open wider and you groan as they nip at your clit. You fumble to turn a page as they do so, and are rewarded with a semi-permeable claw slipping inside along with their tongue, which then traces a teasing line to your other entrance. You arch into the claw and it enters you gently, oh so gently. All of this teasing is deliberately slow and casual, and your face feels hot. You want it fast and hard and now, but Ombre could do this all afternoon and evening, it seems, as their tongue rolls slowly and you feel yourself grow hotter and wetter under their ministrations.

“O-Ombre, please,” you whine as you try to buck your hips, but you find those strong clawed hands are holding you firmly in place. The chuckle that reverberates from them echoes through your body in waves, and you cry out, your crest coming achingly close, yet still so far away. “Please,” you sob, and they take pity on you, sliding that semi-permeable claw deeper as they lick that spot that has you seeing stars and nip your clit in the same breath. 

You’re screaming out your first orgasm then, shaking and arching into them. They pull you closer, drinking in every delicious drop that falls from you and into their mouth. When you start to come down, they don’t stop, teasing your folds relentlessly. You curse, and closing your eyes, you manifest the both of you on top of the bed, your hands still clenched tightly to the book.

You land with a soft bounce, and Ombre chuckles into your folds, “Good choice, our majesty. Keep reading.” Then they dive back in, teasing tight circles into your cavern and that finger slides deeper.

Managing to turn a page, your eyes are unfocused and all the words blend together, tears filling all seven of the ones on your face. Another nip to your clit, and you arch into them, desperate to feel their tongue hit that spot inside you again.

When it does, you’re keening, desperate for more, sobbing and wailing, leaking onto their tongue as you beg for more. They chuckle into you again, and you’re sobbing harder, leaning into their ministrations as you feel another finger circle to coat itself in your juices before it joins the first. It burns in the beginning, but you relish in the pain as it mixes with the pleasure, and as you bite your lip you feel their tongue hit that spot as they nip on that bud again. You’re opening your legs even wider and arching into them, and you’re desperate, on the edge and wailing. Another chuckle from their mouth into your folds and you come undone, arching into them and screaming through your second release.

Their tongue stays inside you, and they drain you of your fluids once more, drinking in everything you give them, and you plead with a shaky breath, “P-please, Ombre,” you take an inhale and try to form the words your brain wants your mouth to say, “c-can I put the book down?”

Another chuckle into your sensitive flesh, which causes you to sharply inhale, and the tongue reels back so Ombre can snark, “Done reading, are we, our majesty? I disagree. Drop it, and I’ll stop.”

You sob out a whine as you feel their tongue enter your oversensitive folds again, and you manage to murmur out, “Y-yes, Ombre,” and clutch the book tighter in your grasp after you turn another page.

They pull their head back far enough to say, “Good girl.” Then dive inside again, and your brain turns to mush as you moan loudly and arch your back into them, your legs wrapping around their head to pull them closer to you.

Another chuckle, and you feel a whimper escape you, your oversensitive skin weeping for attention as a third finger circles to wet it then join the others. You feel the burn as it prods at your entrance and you turn another page, which earns you another nip to your clit, and you keen. You relax your muscles as best you can, enjoying the burn as you slide deeper onto those semi-permeable clawed fingers, and as you do so, you feel a fourth wet and join them.

A sob slips from your lips as their tongue hits that spot again, and you see stars. You’re somehow closer again and it’s only been a few minutes. Ombre is unrelenting, hitting that spot over and over again and nipping at your clit and digging their claws into your thigh as they stretch their fingers inside of you, and you’re screaming, wailing, writhing, desperate to cum again.

It’s as you’re begging for it, tears streaming down your face, that Alastor manifests into the room. He’s already hard, and as he watches you turn a page with shaking hands, he teases, “Doing a bit of light reading, are we, nostre âme soeur?”

You have no words anymore, just a strung together plea of syllables, and as Ombre chuckles against your skin, you watch Alastor teasingly divest himself of his clothes. First his jacket, one button at a time, and as Ombre hits that spot inside you, you keen again, tears falling from all seven eyes. Next comes his shirt, exposing that beautiful broad chest, ancient scars and tufts of hair that trail down, down, down. He smirks, and as Ombre nips at your clit again, you whine, watching intently as Alastor kicks off his boots and pulls off his pants, and the bulge in his boxers grows as you try to arch your hips again, sobbing into Ombre’s mouth. 

A moment later, and his cock springs free of its confines, boxers dropped to the floor and kicked aside. Your mouth, almost dry from all the moaning, somehow finds saliva again as you drool at the sight of him pulsing between his thighs, precum glistening at the tip. You find words again as you plead, “A-Al, please,” you moan again as you feel Ombre nip at your clit, and before you can beg again you cum a third time, screaming into it as Alastor snakes a tentacle up your dress to slip inside beside Ombre’s tongue.

As you start to come down from this one, you feel it zing through you a few more times before it ends, and as you feel Ombre drinking your juices again, you beg as your body shakes, “P-please, please, please, can I drop the book now?”

“How many?” Alastor asks cooly as his cock twitches, and you feel a line of drool drip down your chin at the sight.

Ombre pulls away from you then to reply, “Three, Master.”

Alastor chuckles as he wraps a hand around himself to stroke once, twice, three times. More drool slides out of your mouth at it, and he smirks. “Only three? Surely we can do better than that. I know you can hold on for just one more.” Ombre removes their tongue and you let out a sigh of relief. “Let go of it with one hand and open your dress, Iris.”

“Y-yes, Al.” You stutter, and keeping one hand on the book, you let go with the other to tug at your collar so the fabric parts from neckline to hemline and opens for them both.

“Hands back on the book.” Alastor croons, and you obey. “Good girl.”

You whimper, bite your lip, and then wail as Alastor pushes the fabric aside and slides inside you without warning. Ombre’s still four fingers deep in your other entrance, and you feel the stretch and burn as you’re filled again.

Turning another page, you feel Alastor retreat, and Ombre shifts to enter alongside their fingers, then removes them as they fill you. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as you punch out another wail, louder this time, as they both enter you, breach you, fill you. A tentacle wraps around your thigh to tease at your clit and you sob and beg for more, arching your hips and whining. Alastor’s hands find your hips to hold you in place again, and you turn a page as you plead for more, more, more.

Those clawed hands digging into your skin is just enough to send you shaking again, and you’re pulled over the edge  as Alastor pounds into you fiercely, brutally, and you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. This thought is what sends ripples of pleasure through you as the aftershocks hit you a second time.

The book is in a deathgrip in your fingers, and you don’t know if you could let go if you tried.

“Touch yourself, Iris.” Alastor says, and you drop it in an instant, flung beside you onto the bed. Your hands fly to your nipples, already erect and desperate for attention. As you pinch and roll them, Alastor and Ombre continue to pound inside you, and the tentacle continues to tease at your clit.

“More,” you beg as you pinch and roll your nipples, your claws teasing just enough, “more tentacles.” You arch your hips into his hands and keen. “Wrap me in them, please!” When the word leaves your lips, more emerge from him, and they do as you request, around your legs and arms, up around your throat. You open your mouth and it enters inside. You feel more tears prick your eyes as you gag, and you take it further, breathing through your nose and swallowing around it.

Your own shoot from your spine and The Thousand Eyes extend outwards for them both in turn, wrapping around Alastor’s thighs, his waist, his arms, and his throat, a few wrap around Ombre as well in any spot they can reach.

Your tentacles want control, desperate for another orgasm, but Alastor’s own refuse to let them lead, and even as he takes one into his mouth to tease them, he keeps his brutal and devastating pace which Ombre meets, while a tentacle teases your clit with perfect precision.

It isn’t long before another peak builds inside you, but it isn’t until Alastor croons, “Cum for me, Iris,” that you let yourself collapse over the edge, your hands pulling and pinching at your nipples.

They keep their brutal pace even as you scream into it, burrowing deeper into you as you wail and writhe through another orgasm, The Thousand Eyes tightening around their limbs as you drag them closer and deeper. The bulge in your belly seems bigger than usual, and you moan louder as you feel them start to draw closer to their own orgasms, as another inside you seems to build immediately, despite having just drawn yourself through another.

“Please, please, please, please, please!” You exclaim, even as you’re not sure what you want, what you need, driven mad and desperate for something, anything to drive you over the edge.

“Cum with us.”

“Cum with us.”

That’s all you need, and you feel as if you’re torn in two as you arch into them again, your mind going blank and body going limp as you black out with the sheer force of it. The eyes in the room open around you as you watch them cum inside you fiercely. Alastor kisses you gently as you blink open your own eyes, and you chuckle as you admit when you’re able to form words again, “I just saw you through the eyes in the wallpaper.” 

Alastor stays inside you as he rolls next to you, and Ombre rolls onto their side behind you as you roll onto your side too. He kisses your lips and says as Ombre retreats slowly, “Ready to see through them again?”

The Thousand Eyes widen and squeeze them both as Alastor pulls back, hard inside you again, and you sob as he starts once more, at the same time Ombre does, the new angle sending you keening yet again. “That’s it,” Alastor purrs as Ombre bites at your neck, “so perfect for us, alway so perfect, nostre reine.” You’re not sure how he’s so composed, how he’s so calm as he pulls you towards the edge again somehow, and your hands find each of their necks as you kiss them one after the other. Sounds leave your lips but none of them are words.

You’re achingly close, and you feel their own building within them both again and you’re uncertain of anything but the desire to feel them spill inside you as your own crashes down upon you.

“Cum, our majesty.” Ombre declares as Alastor bites your neck, and you wail out a scream and fall over the edge once again. Just as before, you black out, your mind blank, as you watch Alastor lick at and drink from the wound he’s reinstated on your neck and the two of them fill you with their seed a second time.

It seems like hours before you blink open your eyes again but it may have only been minutes or even seconds. Alastor chuckles into your neck as he nips at the fresh wound, and you sigh into it, pleased to have his mark on your skin as he has yours. Ombre nips at your other side, and your hands thread through Alastor’s hair and tease at Ombre’s scalp, petting both of their ears.

Twin purrs rumble through them and into your neck. As you continue to stroke them, one hand on each of their heads, you feel them go soft inside you and they both drift asleep. One purr in radio static and one purr of a cat, their heads find your shoulders. The vibration of their snores coaxes you into sleep.

A/N:

That's right, folks, Theia can make physical eyes too, that's why it's an important distinction that the one on the underside of Alastor's chin and the one on Lucifer's neck are just tattoo-like marks. Vaggie's looks exactly like the one she had, except its color palette matches Theia's. A truly sweet gift, if I do say so myself, plus now Theia has an excuse to look in on the the meet in Heaven.

Chapter 38 is the one where Alastor brings Theia to that same abandoned rooftop, where he has Edgar laying in wait, ready to be killed another time. Things go brilliantly until Theia says something that Alastor refuses to ignore. He's never one to back down from a challenge.

Things:

The Demon of a Thousand Eyes Playlist

See you in the next update~

Ta for now~!

First || Chapter 36 || Chapter 38

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 36

No Coffee For View, Glaring Your Sex Life With Angel

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: The next morning, you wake to the smell of scrambled eyes but no coffee. How dare pregnant women not be able to ingest liquid gold. Over a begrudging breakfast with orange juice instead, you talk with Alastor about your plans for today, then finally have that chat with Angel that has been long overdue.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Cannibalism, talk of sex, talk of tentacles and fucking in demon forms

You wake the next morning to the smell of scrambled eyes, but no coffee. Your nose twitches as you blink open all of your own and stretch with a yawn. Ombre curls into your side then wraps themselves around you like a cape again, and you rub your face against theirs as Alastor walks through the door, breakfast tray in hand. He’s dressed in his usual suit, and as you sit up in bed, you realize he slipped your night dress onto you in your sleep. As he sets the tray in front of you, you eye the contents of it, barely noticing the dip in the bed as Alastor sits beside you on top of the covers.

“Where’s my coffee?” You ask with a raised eyebrow at the glass of orange juice in its usual spot.

“You’re pregnant, nostre reine. No coffee for you.” He says with a chuckle and a kiss to your nose.

You sigh and look up at him with a pleading gaze, desperate for your liquid gold with caramel eyes. “Please, Al? What about my brown eyeballs?”

“Caffeine has been known to cause adverse effects on a developing fetus, Iris. This is for the safety of our future offspring.” Ombre murmurs into your ear, and you pout harder.

“You can have brown eyeballs in your orange juice.” Alastor suggests, and you roll the eyes on your face.

“Orange juice is disgusting, Al, and no one in their right mind would put brown ones in it.” You make a face, and Alastor just lets out a withering sigh.

“Surely there is something else you can drink brown eyeballs in instead, ma très chère.” He says, and  he lays back against the headboard as you stab your fork into some of the scrambled eyes.

Halfway to your mouth, you pause, to answer, “Whiskey?” “Absolutely not.” Alastor shakes his head. “No pregnant woman should ingest hard liquor, Iris, surely you know this.”

“You’re joking, surely, our majesty.” Ombre says as they nibble on your ear.

You wave with your unoccupied hand as you let out a chuckle. “Of course I’m joking.” You say, praying it sounds sincere. You know you aren’t supposed to drink whiskey while pregnant, just as you know you can’t drink coffee. “There’s going to be a lot of changes, I suppose.” You sigh, finally taking a bite of your breakfast. It’s just as delicious as every meal Alastor has made for you. You begrudgingly take a sip of your orange juice. It’s not as bad as you’d expected, but you’re bitter about the loss of your pair of morning brown eyeballs and coffee.

As you continue to eat, Alastor nods and strokes your back. “Yes, of course there will be, bien-aimée, but we’ll be with you the whole time to help you with them, as we always are.”

“There’s something else you should know.” You say as you remember something very important, something you forgot to tell Alastor. “My uncle is coming by the hotel the day after tomorrow. He’s a good man, and he has always wanted what’s best for me. I see him as more of a father to me than my own. He’s going to insist on calling me Iris. I’ll give you permission to call me Iris in his presence. He would appreciate it.” “You’ll need to tell me his name for it to be successful, ma très chère, and when he arrives, in front of all those who you are willing to let listen.” He kisses your temple. “It doesn’t work as a placeholder for the future.”

“The only reason I can call you Iris at all is because I am not seen as separate from Alastor. When he is alone, so am I. We are one, but two. We are two, but one. I can always call you Iris, for no one else can hear me say it, our majesty.” Ombre looks a little sad, so you kiss them gently. “I am grateful to be able to hear you and understand you, Ombre, even if it’s just me and Alastor who can. I love you.” You kiss them gently, and they melt into your arms. You scratch behind their ears and they purr as you eat another forkful, then sip your orange juice again. Your thoughts draw back to your uncle, and you begin, “Uncle Noctua is a good man. When he arrives, I will address him by his proper name and title so you can know him truly. I told Rana that I saw my uncle because she knew who I was talking about when I mentioned him, and it would seem innocuous to anyone else should they walk in, but he is not really my uncle nor is that his name. Nevertheless, he has been better family to me than my own ever has been. That’s why he calls me his ‘little nebula’ and why I call him ‘Uncle Noctua’. We’re both quite fond of the stars.”

“He sounds like a good man if you have put so much faith in him. Nostre reine, may I ask, for what reason are you still waiting to share this information?” He raises an eyebrow, and you frown. “Surely it wouldn’t be problematic for his true name to pass your lips.” You whisper it into his ear and then into Ombre’s. Their eyes widen, one after the other. “Quite a notable individual to have as a pseudo family member. I still don’t see the need for secrecy, however. It is just the three of us here, after all.” You shrug. “You never know who might be listening. I have eyes everywhere. Someone somewhere might have ears.”

“A strange notion to be sure, Iris. Your eyes derive from the motifs throughout Hell. There are no ear motifs hidden throughout the Rings.” Ombre rumbles into your ear.

You chuckle and scratch them behind their ears again, and they continue to purr as you finish your meal, then sip your orange juice. When you finish the glass, you tell them both. “There is more than one way to hear and more than one way to see. Perhaps one has to dabble in one sense to understand the true power of another.” You shrug, deciding to change the topic. “So what’s on the agenda for today, mes rois?”

“I am on a hunt for a sinner.” Alastor says vaguely, but by the way his eyes seem to almost flash to dials and his antlers start to elongate for a moment, you know of what kind of hunt he speaks. You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh? Who might this sinner be, Al?” You say with a smirk as he raises from the bed, taking the breakfast tray from you. You stand to dress yourself, walking to the chair where your day dress lays, and you return it to a sheath shape.

When Alastor returns, your dress is ready for you to slip into, so you do so as he replies, “It’s a surprise, ma très chère. I trust you’ll be able to entertain yourself around here for the day and not manage to get yourself into trouble?” He raises an eyebrow and you chuckle.

“When do I ever manage to get into trouble, beau?” You smirk as you reshape your day dress into something fun yet free flowing, tight in the waist but loose in the hips, flowing freely and full of layers. You decide on a pattern of a black background covered in red sunflowers with eyes in the center. It’s another you’d seen in the shop that day, and it had intrigued and haunted you from the moment you’d seen it. It contrasts well with your sapphire blue skin, and you twirl once before Ombre slips back onto your shoulders again.

Alastor snags your hand and spins you into his arms. You chuckle and let him dip you as you meet him chest to chest. “It’s as if you seek it, bien-aimée. Trouble ought to be your middle name. If you had one, that is.”

You shrug. “It’s a problem with Hell’s royalty, honestly. I don’t even have a last name. Just a title, ‘Princess Iris’.. I guess it doesn’t matter of course, since I’ll be taking yours.”

“Perhaps we ought to pick one together, nostre reine. Something the three of us can appreciate. I was never fond of mine. It came from him after all, not my mother.” He says easily as he kisses you gently, then spins you again so he can take in the dress. “It’s a shame I have to leave you, ma très chère, you look delightful and delicious as always.”

“I will stay by her side, to keep her out of mischief” Ombre purrs, and you shiver, “to prevent her from coaxing Niffty into preparing her coffee or Husk into pouring her whiskey.”

“Perhaps that is for the best.” Alastor agrees with a nod. “It will prevent me from having to tell Niffty.”

“Tell me what, Sir?” Niffty appears from the vents as if she’d been summoned. “I was about to start the coffee for you.” “No coffee for a while, Niffty dear. I’ll have to go without, as my darling Theia here will try to drink it, and I’d rather not risk it.” He says easily and summons his microphone.

“Why can’t Theia drink coffee? Or should I call you ‘Iris’ now?” Niffty looks surprised, and you flush.

“‘Theia’, please, I prefer it. As for eye I can’t have any coffee…I’m…pregnant, Niff.” You bite your lip.

She glares at Alastor. “You had better make an honest woman out of her, Sir!” Then she climbs up your side to sit on your shoulder and stare into your largest eye. “You’re pregnant?!” She shrieks, and you almost wince at the sound. “I’m going to be an Auntie!” She declares excitedly as she pulls you into a hug.

You raise an eyebrow, and at the same time that Alastor says, “I’m working on doing just that, Niffty dear.”

You ask, “Auntie?”

She shrugs. “I think of you as my little sister.” She squints. “I didn’t think sinners could get pregnant.”

“I’m not one.” You admit. “I’m…a hellborn.”

She cackles. “That makes total sense! No wonder you like my bug collection! You were made for Hell: born and raised!”

“You’re not mad? I didn’t even tell you why I’m here, why I’m at the hotel.” You raise all your seven eyebrows in surprise.

She shrugs. “You didn’t have to, Theia. I don’t need to know your secrets to like you. That happened all by itself.”

You hug her. “Thanks, Niff.” You say, and as she pulls back when it’s over, you ask, “So, about that coffee…”

“Don’t even think about it! No whiskey from Husk either! No niece or nephew of mine is going to come out wrong because you put something in your body you shouldn’t have!” She says sternly and you chuckle.

“I’m just kidding, Niff. Though it might be a little surprising to the other residents. It’s going to be hard to hide soon enough, and I get offered substances I’d usually partake in far more regularly than you’d expect.” You say with a sigh. “The others don’t even know I’m hellborn, much less a pregnant one with possible twins on the way.”

Niffty shrugs for a third time. “They’ll get over it. They’re your friends.” She doesn’t even bat her eye for a second, then exclaims, “TWINS?!”

Before you can elaborate further, Alastor says casually, “Niffty dear, go tell Husk I need him today. I’ll be down to the lobby in a few minutes.” No matter how light his tone, you hear the command within it.

Niffty nods, and after giving you another hug which you reciprocate, she tells you, “Congratulations, Theia! We’ll talk soon!” Then she crawls down from your shoulder, nods, and declares, “Yes, sir!” Afterwards, she crawls back into the vents.

“What do you need Husk for, Al?” You ask curiously.

“His contacts from his gambling days. The sinner I’m looking for has been in Hell for quite a long while. It might take considerable time to track him down.” He says decisively, and you wonder who the sinner he’s looking for might be. Before you can ask, he asks a question of you instead. “What are your plans today, then, ma très chère?”

“Among other things, I’m going to make a deal with Vaggie.” You tell him casually as you walk to the mirror to put your hair up in its signature bun and slip the hairstick inside.

“An ambitious choice, bien-aimée.” Alastor says as he comes up behind you to kiss the mark on your neck that he continues to keep fresh, then matches his gaze with yours in the mirror. “How do you plan to accomplish this feat?” He asks as he slips a few stray strands of your hair into your bun that you’d missed. “It was like pulling teeth to get her to agree to the measly one she made with me in the first place.”

Ombre grouses from your shoulders, “It took appealing to her need to satisfy Princess Charlotte’s silly little whims for her to concede, and reluctantly at that.”

“That’s my plan, actually.” You say as you turn back to look Alastor in the eyes. “I will swear not to tell her secret to anyone in the hotel or anyone who would wish to obtain this knowledge to harm Charlie with it.”

Clearly unphased, Alastor replies as he steps beside you to use the mirror to readjust his already perfectly straight tie, “It seems as if she will be getting far more from this deal than you are, bien-aimée. I’ve known for quite some time that she’s a former exorcist. It never mattered before.”

“Do you have so little faith in me, ma moitié?” You ask as you turn back around again, to meet his gaze in the mirror once more. “It never mattered to you. Knowing as such has never proven useful for either of us, until now. I’ll have access to anything  she sees at any point that I so choose. I’ll get to see what Heaven looks like.” You kiss your mark underneath his chin as he turns his head to look into your eyes. “I’m eager to discover if my manifestation abilities can extend to Heaven. I have no doubt it too is littered with eye motifs. Observation is a part of their whole shtick, from what I gather.”

Alastor hums. “Given the origins of your power for method of travel, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I don’t see how that would make much of a difference, Al. My powers come from my souls, just as everyone else’s in Pentagram City, aside from the Morningstars themselves.”

Alastor chuckles gleefully. “I know something you don’t know.”

“You really ought to read that book, our majesty.” Ombre teases into your ear as he nips at your throat.

“However,” Alastor says as he summons his microphone and twirls it, even as you refuse to forget this conversation, “I must be off now.” He holds out his arm for you to take. “Ready, bien-aimée?” You take it once more, your clawed hands digging into the fabric of his suit slightly.

You feel his shadows envelop you, and when you appear in the lobby, Husk is at the front door waiting for Alastor patiently. Angel, sitting at his spot at the bar, has a glass in one hand and is beckoning to you with another.

“Have a good day, nostre reine.” Alastor kisses you sweetly, then he turns his gaze to Ombre, who is still draped around your shoulders and holding onto your waist firmly. “Keep her out of trouble.”

“No harm will ever come to her while I am at her side, Master.” Ombre vows, and you kiss them for their protective words.

Husk looks at you strangely, his eyes darting everywhere. “You know.” You say, your gaze narrowed.

“Niffty told me.” He says awkwardly. “So I wouldn’t serve you any whiskey. Kid, is your real name actually ‘Iris’?” Alastor glares, daring him to ask further about your real name. 

You frown. “She would.” You call loudly enough that you know the words will carry into the vents. “Niffty didn’t need to tell you, Husk!” You say frustratedly, “I wasn’t going to ask, you know!”

You hear Niffty giggle from inside the vents, but she doesn’t come out. You’ll deal with her nonsense later. The hotel staff is ganging up on you, and they don’t even know the half of the mess they’re getting themselves into, honestly.

“May you find who you’re looking for, ma moitié.” You tell Alastor then, and kiss him once more. “Be nice to Husk, please. For me.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow, but nods. “Very well. Come along, Husk. We have a sinner to hunt down.”

The shadows swallow them both up and they disappear from sight. Angel calls to you again. “C’mon over here, Occhi! Husk didn’t pour ya nothin’ but I can make somethin’ fo’ yah myself!”

You stride across the lobby to the bar with Ombre still draped about your shoulders. As you have a seat on the stool next to Angel, you tell him, “Well, I’m not really supposed to be having any alcohol, actually. Circumstances would suggest otherwise.”

“Would any ah dose circumstances have tah do with Strawberry Pimp’s shadow clingin’ to yah like a needy brat in a rut? Or why Short King called yah ‘Iris’ yestahday?”

You flush. “Somewhat. It used to be my name. I prefer ‘Theia’. Though, Ange, you can always keep calling me Occhi.” You wink, then gesture to the sentient cloak about your shoulders. “As for Ombre, for that is the name I chose for them, they are here to accompany me today and keep me out of trouble.”

“Our majesty,” Ombre says, “I have a message I wish to relay to the porn star.”

“Ombre, Angel is far more than his occupation. What did you want to tell him?”

You listen and make a few noises of understanding as Ombre tells you the message, which you then  tell Angel, “They want you to know that just because they are a significant part of Alastor, not every word that you say will be relayed to him, and that they focus more on the concepts of them should they tell him what happened at all.”

“Fair ‘nough. S’ weird and freaky, but everythin’ always is wit’ ‘im, honestly.” Angel says with a shrug. “Yous gonna elaborate on why yah can’t drink den?” Angel asks with a cock of his head and takes another sip of his glass.

“Ombre,” You tell them, “I’d like a glass of water. Blue eyes. I’ll sit here with Angel until you get back.”

“Of course, our majesty.” Ombre detaches themself from you and bows, then disappears to Alastor’s rooms.

As soon as they leave, you tell Angel, “I’m pregnant. Alastor sent Ombre off with me today to make sure I don’t consume anything or do anything that might harm our future children.” “Wait, wait, wait.” Angel says with a shake of his head. “Yah think you can tell me about ya pregnancy befo’ yah tell me ‘bout the sex? Fogetta ‘bout it.” He says with a laugh. “Start from tha beginnin’. What was sex like the first time with Smiles?”

Ombre appears with a glass of water and four blue eyeballs inside it, which they set on the counter in front of you, then return to being worn like a cape.

You chuckle, your face red. “Um, tentacles. Lots and lots of tentacles.”

He smirks. “Kinky. Niice. Glad to see he appealed tah yah interests, Occhi.”

“He liked mine too. I was worried about that, but I guess I found the right one. He seems to like how much of a freak I am as much as I like how much of a freak he is.” You take a sip of your water and then stir it around to watch the eyeballs bounce against each other.

“O’ course he would. Have you met him? Freak might as well be his middle name.” He snorts and takes a sip of his glass. “So the next time?”

“Ombre joined in for our second time.” You say easily as you scratch behind their ears. They purr as you do so. “There’s nothing like the two halves of the man you love fucking into you at the same time. I highly recommend it, if someone gets as lucky as I do to have a man who is two at the same time that he is one.”

“Yah love ‘im?” He asks, surprised, and you nod.

“Of course I do, Ange. I love them both. They know all my secrets, keep all of my secrets, and tell me over and over again that they love me, that I’m their soulmate, and…I don’t even have one of those.”

“You do not have to have a soul to be our soulmate, your majesty. That will always be true.” Ombre says again, knowing full well Angel can’t understand them.

“Yah don’t have a soul? How can a sinner not have a soul?” He raises an eyebrow, confused.

“I’m not a sinner.” You admit. “Sinners can’t get other sinners pregnant either. I’m a hellborn. That’s why I’m pregnant and why I don’t have a soul.”

“Alright, so the time after you had sex with Smiles and Shadow was?” Angel asked, as if you hadn’t just told him one of your biggest secrets.

“You’re not furious that I kept this from you?” You raise an eyebrow, surprised.

“Of course not, Occhi.” He shrugs easily. “I’m your friend. Yah never lied and claimed you could be redeemed. Yous alright in my book.” He smirks again. “Now, tell me ‘bout the third time.”

“I killed Tino and then fucked Al in our demon forms.” You say casually, and Angel spits a sip of his drink across the bar.

“You WHAT?!” Angel stares at you, unable to speak, his mouth moving but sounds laying dormant in his throat.

You let one of the eyeballs fall into your mouth as you chew and swallow, relishing in the strange expressions falling across his face. When you’re done, you shrug and say, “Charlie wanted you to have time off from the studio. I wanted to kill him. So I did. Let me know when he respawns so I can do it again. It was fun, but I did it too quickly. I’ll make sure to make him truly suffer next time.” You say toothily. “Alastor and Ombre enjoyed watching me do it. We fucked in an open field in our demon forms afterwards. That was so fun.” You drool a little as you think about it. Ombre purrs louder and nibbles at your neck.

Angel looks at you bug-eyed still. You giggle, knowing he’s not actually a bug-demon but it still amuses you.

“Uh, thank yah, I guess?” He says awkwardly, and you chuckle again.

“So the morning after we had kitchen sex. That was fun too.” You snicker at the memory, and Ombre vibrates on your skin. “Then last night, after Luci told me I’m having fucking twins, I gave Al a blowjob while Ombre ate me out and then they both fucked me.” You sigh. “I sight have a problem.”

“I don’t see none.” Angel says as he sips from his glass. “Yous got issues, sure, but we’s all got ‘em. So yah cope with ‘em by fuckin’ the man and his shadow who got yah pregnant. Seems like one of the less harmful copin’ choices down here tah me.”

You shrug as you let another eyeball fall into your mouth. As you chew and swallow, you think about your response. “It’s more than that, Ange. I can’t fuck away every problem. Even if it’s just so I can think better, there are going to be times when I can’t just go have sex with him to solve them.”

“So deal with those when they happen and don’t stress ‘bout it now.” Angel says simply as he finishes off his glass. “You can fuck away your problems now, so do it. If I could, I would, but I do enough fuckin as it is.”

You give a half-hearted chuckle. “I guess you’re right.”

As you chew and swallow the third eyeball, Angel chuckles back. “Happy tah help, Occhi. Now did yah say you’re having fucking twins? How the hell does that happen?”

You shrug. “Luci said something about how Al is two people, himself and Ombre, how I’m two people, who I was before—Iris—and Theia? Honestly I think he sounded like he was talking out his ass, but what do I know. I may come from a well-to-do hellborn family, but that doesn’t mean I understand shit about hellborn genetics. The tutors they sent me never bothered to teach me something that useful.”

Ombre kisses your temple. You scratch their head again. It’s becoming a habit, but it’s one neither of you seem to mind. As you drop the last eyeball into your mouth and finish off the glass, Angel asks, “So who all knows?”

After you chew and swallow, you respond, “About the pregnancy? Al and Ombre, of course. Luci. Niffty. Husk. You. Pentious, Charlie, and Vaggie don’t know yet,” You say with a sigh, “or the implications of it, either.”

“What don’t I know?” Vaggie asks as she pops her head around the corner, and you wonder how many people are just waiting in the wings to have their names pass your lips so they can appear.

You open your arms to Angel for a hug, and he accepts it. You smile, happy to exist within the boundaries of his comfort. “I’ll talk to you later, Ange.” You say with a smile. He waves one of his hands as he hops off the stool and walks back in the direction of his room. You cross the lobby to where Vaggie is still staring after you, eyebrow raised. “Just the person I was looking for, Vaggie. How are you doing today?”

“Cut the shit.” Vaggie says harshly, and you sigh again. This isn’t how you wanted this conversation to start.

“How about this: if I tell you what’s going on, you make a deal with me.”

A/N:

If I count correctly, that's three different tidbits of information for me to sprinkle in later for fun surprises: what Alastor and Ombre know from the book that Theia doesn't, who Theia's 'uncle' is, and what Theia's deal with Vaggie will be.

I'm a tease, but I've given you some good clues, at least for the last two, and if you've done any research, you might be able to guess the first. Chapter 37 will be the deal with Vaggie, talking with Charlie, and...Ombre getting bored when Theia starts to read the book, which leads to some fun times for all.

Things:

As always, you can Contact Theia at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes.

The dress pattern she wears I also got on spoonflower.com. It is posted below :)

The Demon of a Thousand Eyes playlist

See you soon! Ta for now~

First || Chapter 35 || Chapter 37

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

"I want one!" *Theia is jumping up and down* It's so cute! I *sight* even want *view*! Where do I *eye* one?"

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

@midnightwisterian drew this stunning art of my Theia! She looks like she's contemplating a hunt!

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 35

View Panic, After More Compounding, They Reassure View

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary:  THANK YOU FOR THE 500 KUDOS ON AO3, HAVE SOME SMUT

After finding out that Lucifer thinks you're having twins, Alastor and Ombre try to comfort and reassure you. Tired of hearing their words and panicking further, you decide to do something you've never done: suck Alastor's massive cock.

SO YES THIS CHAPTER IS ALMOST ENTIRELY SMUT

Note: for those who might be concerned about the potential for miscarriage/abortion, there will not be any of that here. While Iris's parents may want her to get one due to racism and there may be talk of it, Theia will be carrying this pregnancy to full term and giving birth.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Tentacles, smut, demon form to suck cock/body horror

As Alastor’s shadows deposit the three of you gently onto the bed in the room you all share, you let out a sigh of relief. You rest your head on his chest as Ombre curls against your side. “Nostre reine, we will slaughter this angel to break the curse. We would kill all the angels in Heaven and all the other demons in Hell if it meant keeping you and yours.” His hand comes to rest upon your abdomen, and while you’re still uncertain, you let him.

Ombre’s hand comes up beside Alastor’s. “You will be ours even beyond our last breath. We have waited a lifetime to find you. We will not hesitate to devote ourselves to you, to ours, our majesty.”

You hum as you kiss each of them softly, and let them continue. You don’t feel like talking much right now, given, well, everything. 

Ombre purrs into your ear, “They will have three loving parents the likes of which none have ever seen.”

“Iris, nostre âme soeur, we would break the world, the universe, shatter it into pieces and lay it at your feet to prevent these children—our children—from enduring what you have endured, the burden you have carried.”

Before the dark thoughts that threaten to swirl into your conscious mind overtake you, you kiss Alastor fiercely and reach to undo his trousers. His surprise at the movement causes Ombre to loosen their embrace so you can slide down Alastor’s long torso and legs. As you take him out from within his confines, he starts to ask, “Iris, what are you—”

You shush him with a chuckle.  “You talk too much.” You take him into your mouth, and he arches into your touch, threading both of his clawed hands through your hair with a whimper. He seems even more massive as you look at him from this angle, and when you put your hands around him, your fingers aren’t anywhere near touching. He swells at your ministrations, and Ombre works to shed Alastor’s coat as you take him deeper, drooling at the feeling of him on your soft palate. 

You stretch your mouth wider to accommodate him, distorting your face into your monstrous form to take him deeper. Spittle falls from your jagged smile as he groans, and you feel him hit the back of your throat. Your lolling tongue winds around him, and you swirl it, bobbing your head as you take him further inside, breathing through your nose.

 He moans as you nearly choke despite how large you’ve stretched your features, and he bucks into you further. Tears prick your eyes. Ombre has pulled off Alastor’s coat and shirt, and your mind turns to mush at the sight of his scarred and handsome chest. Later, when you’ve drained him, you’ll kiss every one of them and tell him how gorgeous he is.

Right now, you have him right where you want him, gripping your hair tightly and whining. His claws are digging into your scalp as you struggle to breathe through your nose, bobbing your head up and down to slicken him further. Spit leaks everywhere, and it dribbles down onto your hands, which hold what little you still can’t manage to fit inside your mouth. Alastor struggles to form sounds, and words have become far too much, just as you’d planned.

You blink, and Ombre is behind you, lifting your hips and then your dress, pulling your soaked panties down and off you before slipping between your folds and deep inside your already drenched pussy. You moan at the stimulation, and it causes Alastor to buck into you deeper, impossibly deeper. You feel the tears fall from all seven eyes on your face as you gag, but when he tries to pull away, you force yourself deeper onto him, blinking up at him with pretty wet eyes and a look of desperation. Moaning harder, you let your throat go slack as he fucks up into you, gently at first, then gaining confidence as you encourage him with your sounds of appreciation. The look in his eyes speaks volumes, a story you know well but understand he can’t express with words. 

Ombre is coating your already wet cavern in your juices, and you feel their semi-permeable talons gripping your thighs to hold you up against their body. You let go with one hand to tug at the collar of your dress and it falls free as you return it to where it had previously been. Ombre whips it from you in the same movement that they run talons up the insides of your legs. Your body shakes and you moan louder, coaxing Alastor nearer. He fucks harder into you, and you feel your body shudder. Ombre’s semi-permeable claw traces circles, teasing at first, and you buck into his touch with desperation as you feel yourself grow closer to that peak you’re desperately seeking, until he chuckles and strokes your clit. You cum screaming, and you feel Alastor growing impossibly closer.

You feel and hear radio static buzz as he gives a warning cry that sounds like, “Iris, please, I’m—” 

You grab his hips and pull him flush against you, your nose buried in his hair, gagging and sobbing and slobbering as he drains himself down your throat. You swallow every delicious drop as you come down from your high. You lick your lips as he slips from your mouth, and your too-wide smile softens into your usual one as you kiss the sharp bones of his hips. 

Ombre continues to lick into you with fervor, evidently not satisfied with pleasing you only once even as Alastor looks like he’s seen God and came back down to Hell to find you instead. Ombre rolls you over onto your back as they continue to fuck you with their tongue, reaching up and inside to that spot that always sends you reeling. In a moment or two, Alastor recovers, and he’s turning onto his side to lick away your tears, to kiss your puffy lips, to purr words of praise into your waiting ears as he divests himself of his shoes and pants. “Nostre très chère, bien-aimée, nostre reine, nostre âme soeur.” 

His tentacles emerge to tease circles around your clit as Ombre’s tongue works inside you, and you feel one of the appendages prod at your back entrance once more. You let your legs drop open wider, arching your hips into the tentacle and encouraging it to slide in deeper. You moan. “Al, please,” You beg, “please, ma moitié, I need more.”

He kisses your lips and slides up alongside you, his cock twitching against your hip as you croon such desperate words. “Anything for you, nostre âme soeur.” He says easily, and the tentacle slides deeper to fill you. You buck into it further still, moaning as it coils inside. Then, the tentacle stops teasing you and goes in for the kill. You arch your back and bellow as your second wave crashes over you. Your body vibrates and your mind turns to mush again. You purr with delight as your body tingles with the relief of their touch. Ombre drains you again, pulling the juices that bless their lips from you with deliberate attention.

When you feel yourself return to enough mental focus that you can move your body again, you roll onto your side and place your lips on Alastor’s, then pull Ombre up to meet you, where you taste yourself on their lips. Ombre uses this new angle to their advantage and slips inside you with a purr. “Always so perfect for us.” Ombre moans as you feel them stretch to push your walls as far as they go, the bulge in your abdomen evident. You sob slightly, delighted to feel full again. “Our Queen. Ours. Ours.”

You feel Alastor grow against your hip then, and you pull him closer to you, determined to finally put your mouth on his skin, even as his tentacles still fill you and wrap around your limbs. You kiss the scars that litter his chest, delighting in the noise of surprise he makes as you trace them with your tongue and kiss them gently with your lips. You kiss and nip at the mark under his chin before you descend lower to his collar bones, his shoulders, his chest. Your hands find his waist and his hips. You trace lower, lower, lower still, until your hands slide around what little you can reach of his once again swollen cock.

Your fingers are feather-light and he is so massive, dwarfing them in comparison. You kiss him fiercely, licking into his mouth. Ombre bucks into you, and you gasp, arching your hips into their touch. Their semi-permeable clawed hands find purchase on your pelvis, and you cry out as Alastor kisses that spot on your neck before he bites down on it again. “A-Al,” You moan as his tongue snakes out to chase the blood that dribbles down and around his chin. “Al, please,” you arch your hips as Ombre picks up the pace, vibrating at your pleas. You sob as Alastor hums against your skin in a question. “In-inside me,” you stutter out as he drinks freely from the wound on your neck, “ma moitié, inside me, p-please.”

He removes his teeth from your neck and studies his work, kisses the wound, and then your lips. You taste your own blood and lick it from his teeth. He rolls onto his knees as Ombre shifts so he can slip inside you. You sob as you feel him stretch you again, the delicious burning you’ve come to associate with him filling you impossibly full.

With the two of their cocks filling and stretching you to capacity as one of his tentacles fucks your ass, another wraps around your thigh to pinpoint your clit as Alastor’s clawed fingers scrape gently across your thighs, then harder as you cry out, your hands in Alastor’s hair and Ombre’s semi-permeable equivalent. Your fingers tingle as they touch it, and as the tentacles in and around you hit perfectly while the two of them thrust in tandem, you are sent over the edge once more, seeing stars and screaming wordless praise for them both. You are a babbling, sobbing mess as you cum hard, impossibly hard again, coating the bed in your juices and panting noises of ecstasy. They both cum half a breath after, coating your walls with their essences and you ride the high of being full of them both for a little while longer. 

When the room quiets besides breathing and heartbeats, you murmur as you curl into Alastor’s chest and Ombre snuggles against yours, “I’ve always been terrified to be a mother, that I’d turn out like mine, like how she was to me and my sisters. I know that won’t ever be the case when I have the two of you here with me.”

“You will be a wonderful mother, nostre reine.” Alastor murmurs and kisses your temple. “Your worry and determination proves that already.” He hums for a moment and kisses your forehead. “Your observation was correct; I was raised by my mother. She always told me the choices you make as a boy dictate the kind of man you become; I became that man a lot younger than she would've liked. My father wasn't a nice man. In fact—that's too kind. My father was a piece of shit." 

His voice loses his trans-Atlantic accent for a moment, and your eyes, all thirty of them, widen in shock at both the swear and the change in tone as he continues. "He beat my mother, seemed to think because he was big and she was small that gave him the right to put his hands on her. I was barely a teenager, but I was big enough to teach him a lesson, so I got rid of him. I think she knew. I think a part of her always knew what I'd done, but he couldn't hit her anymore, and we didn't talk about it. ” He sighs. “Due to my father’s abhorrent behavior, I never wanted to be one, even if I had found some beautiful gal to spend my life with.” He sighs and brushes your hair from your face. “This, of course, never happened until I met you.” 

He says with a soft smile. His gaze is full of gratitude, delight, and something you can’t quite identify—something a little sad—as he continues. “I had two fears in life: my mother dying and becoming a father. My mother passed away shortly after I was murdered. I didn’t plan on being the sole reason for her to keep living, but she was ill, and after I was gone, she found herself a winner, up amongst the angels. She was a wonderful mother, and I have no doubt she would've adored you, because you are everything to me. No woman could compare to you, for only you can make me want the way you do. Only you could make me want to be a father, Iris.” He says easily.

As Alastor kisses you, Ombre murmurs into your ear, “I have been a part of Alastor from the moment he touched down in Hell. I never knew his father, but I shared his disdain and hatred for him, his fear of becoming one, for while we are two separate beings, we are extensions of each other. Just as he has never wanted to be a father until you, Iris, neither have I. You are our everything. You, and our future children, our majesty.”

You take one of each of their hands and place them on your belly. “You’ll need a way of differentiating between the two of you.” You say with a smile as you squeeze their hands. “You can’t both be Daddy after all.” “You will be Mommy,” Alastor decides, and you agree. “I will be Daddy, nostre reine.” “I would prefer to be called Papa by our little ones.” Ombre decides with a pleased purr, and you scratch them behind the ears.

Experimentally, you decide to reach up and scratch Alastor behind the ears as well, and in mere moments you have two halves of the man you love, the future fathers of your children, purring in stereo in your ear as a soft buzz of radio static kicks in from the set nearby. They both fall asleep curled up on either side of you. You sigh, a sleepy, satiated smile etched on your lips. I’ll never understand how these two can be so adorable, you think to yourself, yet they never cease to amaze me every day. You sigh again as you yawn, your eyes heavy. Maybe being a mother won’t be so bad after all, if I have these two as their other parents. The purr of Ombre’s snores and the radio static of Alastor’s soothe you into a gentle, dreamless sleep.

A/N: Mommy: You, Daddy: Alastor, Papa: Ombre. What a cute little family. My first time writing a blowjob in forever, and it was actually much easier than anticipated.

In Chapter 36, Alastor decides he needs to track someone down, and insists Ombre keep an eye on you all day, given your pregnant and vulnerable state. You finally have that talk with Angel about all the raunchy things you've gotten up to with Alastor and Ombre.

First || Chapter 34 || Chapter 36