Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart .ᐟ Quite a pleasure .ᐟ
Welcome to my blog 𖹭
Welcome everyone who steps foot in my small comfort naughty zone! I'm Lumi ໒꒰˵- ˕ -˵꒱১
I'll be sharing my art and rambling about stuff related to Alastor, my ocs and Hazbin Hotel mainly. Feel free to interact with me, I enjoy that a lot — I'm semi-active!
you can find my art at the #aaltruistor art tag ! 𖹭
you can find my other socials and info here 𖹭
I do art commissions! they're currently [CLOSED] ! 𖹭
I also do art requests from time to time ! 𖹭
Little quick informations.. ⋆.𐙚
・Minors do NOT interact! It makes me feel extremely uncomfortable and this is not the safe place for you. This is an 18+ blog as I share, draw and talk about mature content sometimes.
・I'm a sharing yumeshipper, I enjoy oc x canon a lot. This blog is Alastor-centric so I will be sharing mostly art of my yume with him. I'm also a Lucifer yume! :]
I also really love seeing other people' yumeships with Alastor/Lucifer or any other character, show them to me pretty please! Ꮚ꒰๑ˊ ꈊˋ๑꒱Ꮚ
I don't heavily dislike any Hazbin pairings as a multishipper.
・Please feel free to interact with my posts or dm me; I try my best in being quick with replies even if my busy life schedule doesn't let me — I'm sorry in advance for that, hope you understand! I'd love befriending more hellaverse fans. ໒꒰˵- ˕ -˵꒱১
・I get easily burned out by both writing and drawing, that's why I might not be consistent in it. Please respect that! Also AI is banished from here, I don't support AI training. NEVER use my art for AI training.
・Last but not least, being nice and respectful is something I deeply cherish. I won't hesitate in blocking whoever is rude, mean and/or disrespectful to me.
Thank you so much for taking your time in reading this introduction! Happy blogging! 𖹭
just a little something I did a couple days ago because I really wanted to see them have an happy ending in life 💔
fun fact: something similar to this does happen canonically in their story, but the vibes are totally different. I wonder if I should actually draw that. 👀
I should have posted this way before... I've been trying to come up with decent tags and titles but I guess I'll have to add it later.
This guy belongs to another original story, which I'm trying to solidify the main plot points to be able to write a little about it in here. His name at the moment is Oneyroz, but this could change.
It's an improved concept of something I made when I was a preteen I think. This character has always been linked with dreams, the most I can say so far is that he creates dreams and participates in them as well.
Old concept under the cut ↓
These are some of the drawings from back then for whoever is curious. They suck but I'm glad I found them :)
I've been mindlessly doodling stuff because I've been terribly busy and also getting used to clip studio. I still wanted to share them! Ꮚ꒰๑❛ ꈊ ❛๑꒱Ꮚ
I really had fun making these, they were a good warmup. I might turn some into full pieces, who knows!
all the ocs are from the alastor yume server! owners: @kewpikayo, @doe-not-disturb, @rougedoe, @veniscera, @dawn-of-fawn, @lux-moth, @spiritflakess and @tadohazbinokayy
. 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 𝑨𝑰𝑵❜𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻 : alastor can't help himself when it comes to you, or your blood, for the same reason. alastor x reader ﾉ masterlist
˖ ࣪૮₍ cw ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni :: afab reader with no gendered pronouns used :: blood play + blood kink :: dacryphilia :: possessiveness :: marking :: scratching :: p in v :: pain play :: cunnilingus :: clit teasing :: fear play :: prone bone ა ࣪˖
based on this ask !
it must be sweet.
you, still aching and breaking, grow soft on him, like a fractured thing leaking honey sweet affection. there is so much love in you that does not know where to go— it overflows. it squeezes out of the cracks in your crumbling walls. it spills onto him and when he goes to clean it off it lingers in his mouth.
( he aches for more. he spits it out. it satiates. it makes him hunger in a way that hunger never used to describe )
alastor is enthusiastic. he's not hesitant at all, not at this, and your head falls back against the pillows as everything between your legs goes bright and warm with pleasure under alastor's tongue. alastor's tongue reaches up and up and into you. it's freakish, it's insane—but you feel the pressure of it inside of you. it keeps coming and coming and coming, until it curls around the nub of your cervix and dips inside.
"fuck—!," you whimper, "alastor, please, yes—"
you can't possibly begin to articulate what you're begging for, but alastor seems to take that as some kind of plea. he doesn't even break his rhythm as his hands finds the backs of your thighs and digs in so hard that alastor can pick up the sweet copper tang of blood from where his own claws are leaving scratches as he holds you open for him.
alastor just makes a sound of delight, casual and pleased, and keeps going.
your fingers wind into the sheets and you moan without fully realizing you're even bleeding because you, terrible pathetic masochist that you are, can't help but goad him into tasting it. his lips on yours like nails over fresh scar tissue. splitting you open to weep anew.
your voice cracks on a keen as alastor's tongue bullies at a part of you that nobody has ever touched quite like this. you're a little softer there, right now, a little more open—and alastor keeps at it just like that, lapping at you like he's fucking drinking you, each slick drag of heat making your hips twitch fruitlessly in alastor's tight grip as shocks of pleasure skitter, electric and irregular, up your spine.
it's not firm, there's no real friction, but it's—wet, and warm, and it's alastor—and he brushes against your clit, sometimes, mostly on accident, just the side of his nose, or the top of his lip, and it's so—it's so—
you make a confused sound when he pulls away.
"wh-why?" you ask. when you look down, his eyes are lidded, molten red, magma glowing through a crack in the earth, blood in the water, rubies set in steel—a hand cups your knee gently, thumb pressing into the little divot in the side of it, and you feel faint.
he shifts, his obsidian claws digging into the soft skin of your thighs as he steadies himself, and you wince instinctively at the familiar, stinging sensation blooming and the flesh beneath follows his touch. it's a sharp, sudden heat. a pleasant ache.
you know the crimson beads of blood are forming where he holds you, but you don't pull away.
"still so fragile. you bruise like a ripe peach, yet you hold so still." alastor wears a mischievous grin, knowing damn well what you want and opting to see just how full you can get without bursting at the seams.
"alastor?" you ask, plaintive. everything is fuzzy with heat and alastor's mouth looks like a fucking weapon. you want—
"yes, dear?" his arm wraps around your thigh and pulls it up over until it rests heavily against his shoulder. you let out a squeak as you're bodily tugged up a little more.
"what-what are you—?"
"well then," he murmurs and presses his face to the site of the scratch. "none of this should go to waste, and you are ever so willing, if i'm the one asking, aren't you?"
the movement exposes the jagged puncture wounds near the insides of your thigh. the blood is dark and vibrant, tracing slow, lazy paths down your skin.
alastor isn't looking at your face anymore, but at the evidence of his own mark. he hums a discordant, satisfied note in the back of his throat as he leans closer.
"o-oh." you might be shaking. when alastor speaks, you can feel the heat of his breath against your cunt, a gentle brush of temptation. you suddenly want nothing more than to shove a hand into alastor's hair and grind against his face. "oh, god."
"just me," alastor hums. "too late to pray, i'm afraid."
when his tongue finally traces upward the length of the fresh scratch, your entire body goes taut. the sensation is exquisite, a friction that feels like a burn being soothed and reopened all at once. when he reaches the deepest of the wounds, his mouth lingers over the broken skin as his tongue dips into the indentation.
you feel—hypersensitive, there, maybe even more than your cunt. you're throbbing, can feel the wetness pulsing out of you with no way to tell if it's blood or your own want, and alastor just—takes his time, like he's savoring it like he's sampling a fine wine. he trails up one of your thighs, nips at the sensitive place where thigh meets hip, and then trails down the other side to clean up there, too, paying no attention to the increasingly desperate hitching of your breath.
you stifle a gasp and immediately give yourself away, trying in vain to grind against his hand that rests over your mound.
"al-alastor, i need to... to..." your labored breaths tell the story for you, the heat dripping from your slit punctuating your request.
you can't wriggle your way onto his fingers, even if you're treated to the uncanny, horrifying sensation of alastor's claw, curling gently, tenderly, against one of your most intimate places; the emptiness hurts. the half-assed teasing isn't enough, and alastor knows it.
"hm? you need to what, stop?" when he pulls back, there's a bit of red at the corner of alastor's lips. he leaves his face pressed against the curve of your leg, his nose grazing the heated skin near the wound.
he leans down to press a firm, possessive kiss near the spot he just cleaned, his hand tightening once more, inviting the sting to return.
"no! no, no–fuck, i– can you touch me some more?" you whimper, swallowing.
admittedly, you can't really tell what he's doing at this point; everything's blurred by tears of ecstasy and pain. garbled nonsense torn into scraps of coherence as alastor swirls his thumb over your clit, as if it wouldn't be your own fault for trying to get a safe fingertip by lifting your hips to his hand.
"i believe i'm spending quite a lot of time doing just that, sweetheart." he says, his tone condescendingly sweet, dripping with the affection one might show a particularly insect pinned behind glass.
in retaliation he bites the inside of your thigh until you squeal. sucks until your skin discolors and he knows, knows, those pathetic little cries are for him. if you're crying he wants it to be for him.
he reaches up with a clawed finger, tracing the damp trail his tongue left behind, pressing firmly enough to reopen the wounds, letting a fresh bead of red well up just to watch it bloom. he laps that, too.
"i'm not," you stutter, "i didn't—"
"there is no need for such bashfulness now," he chides softly against your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue echoing in the quiet room. alastor finally puts down your leg to lick off the heel of his palm after. "after all, you have always been quite generous with your secrets. why should this be any different?"
there's still blood at the corner of his mouth, and if you didn't know where it really came from, it would feel like a threat. it feels dangerous, and you shiver under the pressure of it for a new reason—though not entirely new.
"i want to come," you whine pathetically. your whole pelvis is throbbing despite the faint soreness of your body. you're been so close for what feels like hours.
you're being shy. it almost makes him laugh. he places a hand on your stomach and you shiver again.
"you wanted to come, yes? turn over. on your stomach,"
you shiver but listen with ease. alastor likes seeing your face—but this is a reward. you lay on your stomach underneath him, limp and focused on nothing but getting fucked and alastor still gets to be as close to you as possible, bodies pressed together and all.
it must be sweet.
alastor won't ever get over it. the sight of your spine covered in sweat, the slight raise of trembling hips, all the curves and scars he's lapped over and over again. cheek pressed to the the space where your neck meets the curve of your back, alastor rubs his nose amongst the baby hairs that sprinkle your nape.
"you are such a quiet, compliant thing," he feels at his wits when he finally bends himself over you to fuck you. you push yourself up against him as invitation as alastor lets his cock rest against the swell of your ass.
you spread your legs for him as alastor slowly, carefully finds the right angle until the tip of his cock catches.
your pussy stretches for him like it was made to do exactly this. the ruddy, leaking head of slides into you with ease. silken walls hugging him, enveloping him in an impossible warmth. he puts both hands on your hips—making sure to ease in slowly, even if there's new scratches blooming there as well.
you gasp. "w-wait, wai—nghh,"
"shh," alastor soothes with false sympathy—you don't know how to describe how it feels now. he holds steady anyways until he bottoms out, his pelvis flush to your ass. "just relax, my dear."
alastor drops his head onto your shoulders. he noses his way down to the junction of your shoulder and neck where the muscles settle. after a single chaste kiss, his teeth dig into your neck, piercing the skin with precise fury. the burn spreads through your face and chest like poison to a wound; gasping and whining every time alastor sucks at the fresh marks.
there's meaning in that, too; your dark blood runs thicker when you're gasping with pain, and that means it's heartier and richer, dribbling down his chin like molasses but earthy like a tree spewing maple syrup.
he pulls out and pushes back in all at once.
"c'est exquis," alastor murmurs against the back of your neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck, fraying every nerve and severing your connection to your body as he ruts himself into you again and again.
his grip is always tender, but there's a lethal firmness to it, and even he can't deny that he'll sometimes squeeze your jaw just enough to fill your head with the sounds of your neck snapping and your bones cracking. it never fails to make him laugh softly, playfully, almost, when you whimper abortively, when your blood starts to taste sweeter with fear.
it's not fast, but it's deep. in the way that's more brutal then him fucking into you hard. deep and calculated—measured thrusts that force you grind into the bed chasing the friction of your clit. your legs kicking up from the pleasure, just crushed by the weight of him. limp and spent from being strung out so far and simply taking what alastor is giving you. he likes being able to feel you pressed, pinned underneath him.
oh the ecstasy, the sweet relief of pressure relieved. of muscles tearing and tendons snapping. blood pooling and spilling, the most delicate of aged wines like ichor upon histongue. the orgasmic delight of hunger finally, finally, sated.
it must be sweet—he thinks—but no sweeter than this.
