One of the things I love the most about Alastor is that he refuses to stay down.
So many people, both in and out of universe, want to crush his spirit, want to see him āhumbledā but you canāt humble someone who refuses to lay down and just take it.
No. Alastor bites back.
He fights back.
And if he loses?
He regroups. He plans. He fights again. And he prevails.
Even when heās at a clear disadvantage,
even when heās weakened and injured,
even when heās cornered,
even when heās humiliated and jeered at,
even when heās at his lowest point,
He fights back.
He keeps getting up.
And when he triumphs?
Itās that much sweeter, because his victory is earned.
hazbin hotel smut | human!alastor x reader one-shot
summary: Alastor prided himself as being a man of great care - from having polished his appearance to please the folks on the street or charming his producers at the station, down to making sure nobody would ever think to suspect him of doing any sort of unsavoury business. So, how did he allow this slip up? It was no fault of his, certainly!
content & warnings: ~4,9k words, smut with afab!reader // porn with accidentally too much plot, mentions of blood, non sex-repulsed!alastor, dry-humping, fingering, p in v, alastor being terrible at dealing with feelings, alastor being alastor and doing alastor things
author's note: so, um. hello. this was written in one and a half nights so my friend had something to read during class or whatever, so bear with me here. this is also my first x reader fic that i did not even plan on writing, but i had to get this idea out of my system to get back on my main projects. so, i'll uh... just leave this here. for you. ~xoxo
Alastor prided himself as being a man of great care - from having polished his appearance to please the folks on the street or charming his producers at the station, down to making sure nobody would ever think to suspect him of doing any sort of unsavoury business.
So, how did he allow this slip up? It was no fault of his, certainly!
Alastor had been busy tonight. He told you he would be going out to a speakeasy, at the explicit invitation of Mimzy - it would be the first big gig she performed there, and she was very persistant to get him to attend her grande premiĆØre.
She invited you, too - of course she did - not wanting you to miss out on it, either. "It'll be a blast, I tell ya!" she woould claim like every time. "Lotsa people to get drunk with, lotsa high up people, too! That ain't gonna be ya usual shindig, missy. You gotta get out, dance some!"
Mimzy promised you the night of your life in her usual exaggerated and rhapsodic and very Mimzy-fashion. And yet, appealing as she made it out to be, you declined. You had to - you had an interview earlier that day and a possible lookout for a long term job.
God knows you needed it.
Since your father had been let go from his previous job, he was at home, lamenting. You did not blame him, his blues and melancholy forced him into passiveness. Your mother was devoted to take up work instead while also keeping the house from falling apart completely. It had been a rough few years, just trying to make ends meet.
You had to help them out somehow, and Alastor - bless him - had recommended you to a friend of his mother's who was looking for a maid. He could not do the work himself, neither having the time nor the capability as a veteran from the Great War.
While you were hesitant at first, Alastor promised you could trust him not to blab that you were working for him - it may not be prohibited by law for a woman on her own to be working nowadays, but with her mother in the same household? That could get them in a lot of trouble.
But as Mimzy pouted and pleaded with you to come, you eventually caved, and told her you would think about it. That seemed to appease her a bit, and she stopped her nagging. Truth be told, you had no intention of coming that night, the anxiety in anticipation of the interview had kept you up all week.
But, oh, you landed it! How joyous you were, and how kind this friend had been - you had stayed the rest of the day at his house, familiarising yourself with the tasks he would give you.
You just had to share the good news with Alastor, after all - he had played a big part in introducing you to your new employer. So, you had gone to the club where Mimzy was performing, grateful as you were, knowing Alastor had gone there without you.
However, when you did get there, Alastor was nowhere to be found.
You asked around, and Mimzy, in all her beautifully fetching glory, may have had a glass too much to drink in celebration of tonight, and let it slip where he had gone to; some lonesome cabin down the bayou. It sounded strange to you, but Alastor was also a strange man - perfect as he was - and you thought no further than that.
Perhaps you should have.
The bayou was both beautiful and haunting at night, some fireflies and crickets spending you some company on the otherwise rather gloomy trail that led you there. It was a shabby little thing; you would have walked past it were it not for the candle light flickering from a gap in the windows.
You didn't know why Alastor had left the party so early; usually, he would be one of the last to leave the floor, either having Mimzy or you on his arm and making sure you two got home alright. But he has had his plans made for the night when he thought you would not show anymore, and this 'gentleman' kept bothering dear Mimzy when she should be focusing on being the star of the night.
Finding an excuse to lure his victims away from the crowd inside was easy enough when they have had too much champagne; chasing them through the bayou and dragging them here was another thing. Not too mention all the preparations he had to do for the ritual, tracing the circle time and again. He knew it from heart by now.
But then the cabin door opened, and you gasped at the bloody sight.
Alastor froze mid-drag, his head lifting to find - you.
His fingers dug into the arms of his victim, the ever-present smile on his face twitching for just a fraction of a second before composing it again, though it did not quite reach his eyes this time. The panic in them was apparent; something you failed to pick up on in light of this.
"Oh dear..." Alastor chuckled, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as he straightened up. "What an unfortunate time to drop by."
He tilted his head slightly as if considering how to salvage this - if this was salvagable, indeed - the body at his feet was very much not a part of their usual banter. "How did you know where to find me?"
But you could only watch with awfully wide eyes, those welling up when you could not tear away from the bloodied corpse. Panic rose quickly to your chest, your breath catching. You reached back for the door knob for support, lest you stumbled, knuckles turning white around it. You froze up.
Alastor noticed, and his eyes narrowed on you; he was assessing you like you were a frightened animal - which you were, to him.
"Mimzy told you, didn't she?" He asked, carefully stepping around the body. He had to keep talking to you, to keep you with him before you could do something stupid. He clicked his tongue. "That hoofer - I'll need to have a stern talking with her when we're done here."
And it was working - you perked up at his voice. You knew you should not wait for him to catch you, you should be long gone by now. Your grip around the door knob tightened at his advance, yet something kept you from moving further.
His usually placid expression had changed, the edges around his dark eyes replaced with something you could only describe as predatory, so different from how you knew him to be; courteous and kind, so breezy that he had easily swept you off of your feet when the two of you met for the first time. It was an uncanny transformation.
"Now, now, darling, there's no reason to be upset," Alastor went on to soothe you, but under his shoe, the floorboard creaked, and you flinched. Your mind was catching up to the sceneplaying out in front of you, and your fingers finally twisted the door knob.
That was when Alastor bolted forward. He could not let you get away and risk telling someone.
Alastor had you trapped, and as gently as he could, he cradled your face in his hands to finally make you look at him; finally tear your gaze away from the body behind him. Hurting you now would achieve nothing, nor did he want to. You were his friend - a friend - who had somehow wormed its way into his heart.
But you closed your eyes.
Perhaps it was the way he noticed just how pretty you were in moments like these, when you were so close, and he could study your face and thoughts without anyone catching on. It was fascinating how someone so delicate-looking could ever think he was, too.
But his heart was a rotten apple - you would be sick if you ever tried it.
He had been foolish to think he could keep something so momentous from you, when you had a knack for getting under his skin in the best and worst ways; when you were the only one who had been told of his past, and his dearest Ma. It would have slipped sooner or later.
You raised your hands, your fingers dragging over the bones of his wrists, before your palms pressed against the back of his hands. Your clasp was tight, tense. He only now noticed the tears in your eyes, and his thumb brushed away those that rolled down; the blood from his hands staining your cheeks instead.
A fair trade, Alastor acknowledged. "Shh, shh... easy now," he murmured in that honeyed voice of his. "You don't need to cry. This isn't about you."
Perhaps it was the way he noticed just how pretty you were, or perhaps it was the way you whimpered when your eyes finally opened again, a deep furrow between your brows, and you looked at him like he could save you now, despite everything. That you still trusted him to do so.
That you saw not the rotten skin of the apple, but the seeds of something that was still good within him.
Alastor was bloody, too, and you were daunted to think how much of it was from the corpse on the floor, and how much of it was his own. His slender fingers were all bloody...
"Look at me. Look at me."
And you kept looking at him - just like he said - as his other hand reached for the door knob - not to slam it shut , not yet - but just resting there. He could see the questions reflecting in your eyes, the growing terror and confusion. He leaned closer, your faces only inches apart now as he whispered to you like a lover.
"Trust me," he pleaded, his fingers tracing down your jaw and neck. It was poison.
You tried to slow your breathing, tried to focus only on Alastor. Your foreheads touched, nose brushing against his cheek and your breath fanning over his skin.
Alastor felt the change, the steady relaxation of your muscles beneath his touch. He gently tilted your chin up to better look at you, his eyes roaming over your features. He could see the conflict there, the battle between the girl he had come to know and the horror of what she had just witnessed.
"That's it, just breathe," he murmured, encouraging. "Just like that."
His hand at the door slowly pushed it shut with a soft click, the world outside now shut out and leaving only the two of you in this grim tableau.
You nodded faintly - you could feel his glasses on your face, the way he was holding you was strangely intimiate, all things considered.
Alastor's smile widened slightly, the tension in his own shoulders easing as he pulled back and watched you respond so well to him. His fingers trailed down from your cheek to trace the line of your jaw again - slow, deliberate.
"There we go," he cooed. "That's it."
The praise is light, his voice almost playful. He leaned back in, enough for his lips to brush against yours when he spoke next - a ghost of a kiss more than anything real.
"Tell me you understand... that some things are better left unsaid?"
You were very tempted to kiss him. Whether that be genuine or just to cope with yourself from the situation at present, the urge was there.
You shook your head in denial, whispering against his lips over and over. "Why would you do that? Why would you do that?"
Your soft breath against his skin was like a caress, sending a tingle down his spine. He could feel the heat of your body against his, the way your fingers still gripped him so tightly - as if clinging to him for comfort.
His thumb brushed across your lips, shushing your protest. "Because sometimes, my dear, people need to learn a lesson." Alastor pulled back to look you in the eyes, his gaze dark and intense. "And I am the teacher."
Your breath caught.
You did not know what to do, just looking at him while also grappling with the fact that you did not seem to know Alastor at all.
You nodded once, faintly.
He saw the fear in your eyes, the tremble of your lips that you could not quite suppress, and a part of him relished it. Not because he enjoyed seeing you scared, but because you were finally seeing all of him.
Alastor ran his knuckles over your cheek, almost tenderly, smearing more of the blood from his hand onto your skin.
"You won't tell anyone, will you, darling?" he asked, his tone soft, almost teasing you. "We don't want to ruin our little friendship, do we?"
Your lips parted, wanting to tell him that no, you would tell someone, that you would go to the police and tell them-
But at the same time, you knew you could not bring yourself to do so. Alastor knew that, too.
He smirked as he watched your warring emotions play out right in front of him like cards to read. He could practically see your thoughts, the struggle between doing what was right and keeping quiet to preserve what they had. And he could use that to his advantage.
His hand moved to gently caress your cheek, his thumb softly tracing the path of your tears. He took a step back, finally putting some space between you, but his eyes never left you.
You were cold without him close anymore, awkwardly standing there with that little bit of distance between you, longing for him again.
You both looked to the corpse on the side.
Alastor's gaze flicked there, as if it were just another piece of furniture in the room. The nonchalance with which he treats this murder was both impressive and disturbing at the same time.
He looked back at you, foot nudging the limp shoulder.
"A bit of a mess, isn't it?" he asked lightly, as if he was discussing a spilled drink. You did not respond.
Not like you knew what to say to that, anyway. Your face was stained from where his bloody hands had touched you - your cheeks, your neck, your lips. Your fingers were a little bloody, too, from when you had touched him.
You still looked teary-eyed as you watched that lifeless corpse, a little lost on what to do with yourself here.
Alastor titled his head, studying the way you trembled. It was amusing to him.
"You look a mess, darling," he purred, reaching out to thumb at the streaks on your cheeks in an attempt to get it off before chuckling under his breath. "But I suppose that can't be helped now."
He walked over to a wooden table nearby, where a rag and bucket already sat waiting - for him. He dunked the cloth in the water with an almost careless flair before offering it to her, adjusting his glasses. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing you like this, would we?"
You stared at him blankly, but accepted the cloth from him.
Alastor watched you. You were shaking slightly, and there was a tremble in your fingers as you dragged it over your skin, wetting your clothes in the process. Despite it all, you were still standing there, still trusting him. What a sight for god you were, covered in his sin.
"Clean yourself up," he instructed, fiddling with the cuff links of his shirt and realising that it had torn when hassling with the rat that now lay on the floor - bled out. He scowled, trying to fix it. "We need to have a little chat, my dear."
You only managed to nod, your heart beating loud in your ears.
You were wiping your hand with the cloth, trying to get all that blood off, but your hands were just shaking too much, only succeeding in smearing it further.
Alastor sighed loudly as if this was all just a minor inconveniece to him rather than the life-altering horror it should be - what it was to you. He stepped forward, standing close to you again, and took your trembling hand in his own.
"Let me," he said sharply. "You're making such a mess of yourself."
His fingers were deft as they wrapped around your wrist, guiding the rag over your skin with slow, decisive strokes. It was almost tender - if ignoring the fact that he was wiping away evidence of his crime. "There we go... much better," he said, handing you back the rag. "Now then... about what you saw tonight..."
Alastor looked at you, pointedly.
"You won't tell anyone," he said, and you could feel the atmosphere shift into something colder and darker. That playful lilt was gone now; he was not asking. "Because if you do..."
He trailed off. The message was coming across, an implication should suffice and was perhaps even more efficient in terrifying than anything he could have described, if you had to fill in the blanks of what he was capable of doing. His smile returned in full as he patted your cheek.
"But of course you wouldn't! We're friends!"
You flinched, your hand touching that spot on your cheek as Alastor turned away to return to the table. You still held the damp cloth.
But Alastor could not bear to look at you for any longer, the image of you was now forever burned into his memory; if he did, he did not know what he would be compelled to do. You looked like a lost lamb in the den of a wolf, so vulnerable - and so beautiful with it. Even covered in blood, he could not deny how good you looked like that. It suited you in an odd way.
His back was turned to you, hunching over the table as he busied himself, or tried to at least - he did not know what he was doing. He had a ritual to tend to, and a demon to summon.
Busy as he was making himself out to be, you would hear Alastor's huffing, would see the way he gripped the edge of the table to lean on. You joined him there, slowly letting the now-dirty cloth drop back into the bucket with a splash. You were hesitating. Alastor glanced at you.
Your wide eyes, how you looked at him, the blood... that you knew, and that you were staying here. He could not stop thinking about any of it, no matter how hard he tried. Your trembling; chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation of what to do - your fingers curling into the bloodied rag, too, before letting it go! This was never for you to see.
"Alastor?"
He did not hesitate - he did not think at all - that the second your lips parted to form his name, Alastor kissed you. His hands cupped your face, and he kissed you like a man starved for it, his mouth crashing onto yours. He was much less gentle than at the door.
And you were stunned by the sudden kiss, though perhaps you had expected it and that was why you had approached him there. You froze up like a fawn, like you had before, but for a different reason altogether now - you were not terrified this time, simply surprised. Pure, simple surprise that made your hands tentatively come to rest on his arms before gripping them tightly, and pulling him closer.
You did not pull away.
His tongue pressed insistently into your mouth, trapping you against the closest thing. He was all over you - everywhere - surrounding you, overwhelming you. A hand in your hair, another on your hip as Alastor urged you into exactly the position he wanted you in - sat upon the table, his body between your thighs.
You felt the edge press uncomfortably into your calves, but Alastor was taking up too much of you to really care. He was rough, hungry, his fingers digging into your skin.
You were both just heat and breathless want.
You drifted one hand higher, cupping the back of his neck.
How long you had wanted to kiss him, you had completely forgotten, and it was silly to think of now. A kind of heartbreak that it had to happen under these circumstances.
Alastor could feel your response, the way you yielded to him so easily. For all the horror you must be feeling in this moment, you were still here, still kissing him back with just as much fervour. You were so soft and so sweet and so perfect, a part of him felt almost guilty.
But his hand moved down, gripping under your knee and hauling your leg up around his waist to bring her even closer to him. Their hips ground together as his mouth moved down to your neck.
You furrowed your brows, a quiet gasp falling from your lips.
Alastor's arousal was undeniable, and for a brief but horrifying moment you wondered just how much was you and how much was the blood.
You did not dwell on it too long; he bit down on the spot just under your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he panted, murmuring between kisses and grazes of teeth.
"Let me touch you," he begged. "Let me have you."
He was so needy, so desperate like you have never seen him before. This was not the smooth and collected Alastor you have come to know.
You were trembling, nodding faintly to give permission. "Yes."
It all happened so quickly, then.
His fingers found their way under your skirt, slipping past your underwear with impatience. You fumbled with his belt, freeing him the same way.
With a hand at the nape of his neck, your lips crashed together again.
The kiss only deepened as his fingers dipped between your folds and worked you with raw need. He could feel how wet you were, how ready, and a low groan sounded in his throat as his slacks pooled at his feet.
Alastor broke the kiss for only a second, his arms hooking under your thighs - just long enough to hoist you closer to the edge of the table - with a clatter of bits'n'bobs rolling and falling off. But his eyes were locked onto you, dark and hungry.
Then he pushed into you, burying his face in your neck.
You groaned against his lips as he filled you, feeling that delicious burn as he forced your walls to stretch around him.
You leaned back against the wall, holding onto Alastor's shoulder.
He groaned against your neck, his hips grinding against you before they began moving at a steady pace - rough, erratic thrusts that knocked the breath out of you. His fingers dug into your thighs as he held you in place. "Fuck."
His lips find yours again in a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, as if trying to swallow and lap up every sound you made. He felt drunk - the way you were clinging to him was intoxicating. All the charm that came with being a radio host was gone now, and not even the brutality of a butcher that had been terrorizing New Orleans remained. He just looked desperate.
Your grip on his shoulder is tight, pulling him closer against you. You needed to feel him more.
The table was shaking under you with every thrust, and you met his pace with each roll of your own.
It was all quick an messy; no thoughts, no words.
Alastor was lost in you - nothing else existed in this moment but you, and he forget what he was, what he had done; forgot that there was a body waiting to be chopped up. He did not care anymore. Nothing else mattered but having you with him, being given your heart and body. And if he took a bit of that innocence along the way, then that was just the price to pay for this kind of bliss.
His hands were gripping under your thighs, pulling you closer and pushing himself deeper, the head of his cock repeatedly bullying that spot inside you that made you see white.
You clenched around around him as his fingers joined between your bodies, your orgasm washing over you as you tilted your head back, and triggered his own.
His breathing was ragged now; the need for air finally catching up to the both of you.
It took a few seconds for Alastor to come back to himself. But then the smell of death and blood wafting up from the floor jolted him back to the harsh reality. The body. The body was still in here, and it was in here with you. Alastor quickly looked back at you, at your blissed out expression as you caught your own breath.
He took a deep, shaky breath. He knew you will never look at him the same, that any innocence that was left had now been stripped away.
Your chest was heaving, completely undone.
Your breath came out ragged and panting, your back leaning against the wall behind you while staying seated on the table, Alastor between your legs...
... but the reality of your situation slowly dawned on you, too, and when Alastor saw that happening, his hands slowly released your thighs; fingers ghosting across the imprints he had made.
He took a moment to look at you again - really look at you. You were flushed and dishevelled, marked in all the places he had touched and kissed you. You looked beautiful like this. Completely undone by him. He could not look away for a beat.
But he pulled away from you, tucking himself back into his trousers as he gave himself a second to collect himself.
You did the same, sliding off of the table and pushing down your skirt. There was not much to do about your hair, or the blood Alastor had smeared on you again during the act.
You slowly came to stand next to him, looking down at the corpse at your feet with him.
Alastor glanced at you. Something about it - the way you were still so neat and proper even after everything that had just happened - it irritated him to no end. He could still taste your lips on his, still feel your body against his. So how dare you look so untouched? So pure for having just let him defile you.
"What do we do now?" you whispered to him, your voice urgent. You looked to him for guidance.
Comfort. Safety.
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling - almost a laugh, but not quite.
"Now?" He tilted his head at you, amused by how she looked to him for answers like some kind of saint instead of the monster that was really standing in front of her. "Now you walk out that door and pretend this never happened."
"What?"
Your eyes went wide; you could barely believe what you were hearing. But Alastor cocked an eyebrow at you, his smile widening.
"I said, you are going to walk out of here and pretend that you never saw a thing. This never happened, and our little friendship can continue unhindered."
His irritation began to show now, like you were being willfully obtuse, or slow. He hated having to explain something that seemed so obvious to him. The sudden burst of passion had served as a temporary distraction. Nice, but temporary.
"Our..." you could not even bring yourself to say it, and just looked away. You nodded, resigned. "Okay."
Alastor's grin faltered for a second time this night. His hand lifted as if to touch you again, then stopped halfway. Regret crossed his face before it was gone again, and he recovered, chuckling as if this was some joke you were not in on.
"Darling," he drawled, tilting his head in mockery. "I just had you on a table where a corpse is rotting barely two feet away - and you're hung up on a word? Priorities!"
Your face flushed hot at his words, both upset and embarrassed.
You turned to leave like he told you to, opening the door - but you stayed there for a moment, not looking at him when you spoke.
"You didn't have to do that to get my compliance, by the way," she told him - her tone bitter and her intentions petty. "I wouldn't have said anything, either way."
With that confession lingering between them, you went.
Alastor looked after you, his lips turning into a thin line. For a long moment, he just stared at the door you had just walked through, simply... leaving. "... I know," he grumbled quietly.
Then his head snapped back toward the table with a sudden violence, and his hand reached for his knife as he stormed out after her, and into the night.
The cabin door slammed shut behind him.
āāāāā the dividers were made by me, please do not use them on your works without my explicit permission // header pictures were found on pinterest
He was mummified with a very pronounced erection (meant to symbolise the Egyptian god of fertility and the afterlife, Osiris) and heās just stuck like that all the time š
He has the oldest known c*ndom in existence, or maybe it was just an ancient menās g-string lol
He was pretty well endowed with eight inches. Also the ancient Egyptians practiced circumcision, especially among royalty, so he probably was ccāed as well.
He has a very seductive slow burn style of lovemaking where heāll kiss and cuddle his partner a lot. He is really good at foreplay
Heās pretty loyal but he likes sex a lot. Most pharaohs had harems but he only took one wife, and was quite faithful to her.
Heās a passionate kisser and likes to hug his partner close as he kisses them.
Heās very open minded and nonjudgmental in the bedroom. He might be bisexual?
He likes sensory play and all that sensual stuff. He might be into kink but heās also happy to just make love missionary style.
He has a kingly pride in his sexual prowess but also cares deeply about his partnerās satisfaction and making them feel comfortable.
He knows how to be both strong and gentle, and this extends to sex.
Headcanon that Alastor's bedroom bayou is actually a portal to earth. Sinners can't pass completely through, but Alastor's ghostly semi-corporeal form haunts the swamps where he died, wandering in and out of the trees
N/A: Thank you so much @bookwormette for giving me the idea and requesting this prompt. To be honest, it was a bit strange for me to write because, out of the wide range of kinks I like, this isn't one of them. In other words, I'd never explored it before, hahaha. (But it was rewarding, and now I might even like it a little, oops). Also... 2k words! For me, that's an achievement. I always feel like my fics are short, so I think I'm making progress, yay.
Warnings: smut, blood drinking, Alastor sucking your pussy, Alastor sucking your blood period, YEAH HIM SUCKING THAT IN THAT DAYS, biting, fingering, oral sex (f receives), squirting, PLEASE dont read it if you feel uncomfortable with this.
Your period was about to start. How did you know? Because whenever you were about to get your bloody period, you would get a kind of mild warning that you called āpremonitory painsā, which basically told you that your period was almost certain to start the next day.
You were right.
In the morning when you woke up, you went to the bathroom and found your underwear stained with a small puddle of the disgusting fluid. You let out an exasperated sigh and put on a sanitary towel after changing your knickers. You prayed that you wouldn't get the typical pains of those days, as they were always a nuisance. There were rare occasions when they either hurt less or simply didn't appear.
You went down for breakfast and when you walked through the door, your friend Angel was the first to notice that you weren't feeling too well.
"Darling, what's wrong? You look awful. Let me guess, you're on your period, right?"
āUh-huh,ā- you nodded half-heartedly. You reached for a pancake from the nearest plate and put it in your mouth. On days like these, you liked to eat sweet things. It was a kind of craving you always had, and it somehow put you in a better mood.
āThen you'd better go and rest, sweetheart. I'll go and make you a hot compress to put on your tummy. It always works. And I don't want to see you around here until you've recovered.ā
Somehow you managed to smile. āThanks, Angel.ā
After expressing your gratitude to the others for the meal, you retired to your room and closed the door. You slipped under the sheets and, as Angel had promised, a few minutes later he arrived with a hot compress, which you applied to the painful area. It seems that this month you have not been fortunate with regard to the pain either...
You tried desperately to sleep, which was quite difficult with a time bomb in your ovaries about to explode, but the hot compress helped a lot. You got up several times to go to the bathroom, and after what seemed like hours, you were finally able to fall asleep and rest for a couple of hours.
When you woke up, the pain had subsided considerably, and you felt as if you had been hit by a lorry and were in a hospital bed after a super complicated operation, with zero strength to even get out of bed.
Suddenly, you heard a soft knock on the door. It must be Angel, you thought, and shouted ācome inā to let him know he could enter. How strange it seemed that Valentino had given him the afternoon off, but you were very grateful because you really wanted him to cuddle up with you for a while and talk about anything or just watch silly videos on Sinstagram while eating junk food.
But to your surprise, it wasn't your beloved spider friend who entered the room, but your boyfriend: Alastor.
āWell, dear, it seems I've caught you awake. How niceā - he said, closing the door behind him and entering the room. He walked slowly towards your bed - āHow are you feeling?ā
āMuch better" - you nodded as you tried to sit up in bed. Although the pain had subsided considerably, it was still somewhat uncomfortable.
āI'm glad to hear itā - he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning his cane against the bedside table - āWhen Husk told me you were on your period and hadn't left your room all afternoon, I came to see you right away.ā
āAll afternoon? What time is it? Have I been asleep that long?ā
āIt's almost dinner time, my dear.ā
Now that he mentioned it, you realised you were hungry. You hadn't eaten at lunchtime and your stomach felt very empty.
"Wow, I've lost track of time. Now that I'm feeling better, I'll go see if I can go to... W-what are you doing, Al?" - you ask, confused, as the demon deer has taken off his jacket and is now rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he comes back over to you and climbs onto your bed, placing his hands on either side of your body, trapping you.
āYou know, darling? I've always wondered what your blood tastes like. Will it be sweet? Or bitter? Will it be thick? Or perhaps very liquid? Will it taste better than your delicious, juicy fluids?ā His eyes turn red, and you can see something more primal taking hold of them. You can't understand what's happening.
āWhat are you talking about?ā
āOh, sweetheart, I just want to try to ease some of your suffering. You let me taste your appetizing blood, and I'll make you feel good. What do you say?ā
āW-well, I...ā āyou are interrupted by his warm breath against your ear. His tongue comes out to lick your sensitive skin and you can't help but let out a gasp. You feel him smile even though you can't see him, and what he whispers next sends a shiver down your spine - āI'll take that as a yes then.ā
Before you can process what's happening, he's already unbuttoning your nightgown. He pulls the garment aside, sending it flying somewhere in the room, and then fixes his gaze on your neck for a few brief seconds before pouncing on it and covering it with wet kisses, first on one side and then the other. He moves up your jawline, down to your collarbones, and continues to the edge of your shoulder. He starts the journey again.
And then. Ćac.
First bite. Rough and fast.
You scream in pain and your hand flies to his hair, pulling it slightly.
āAlastor... I-It hurts.ā
Ćac. Second bite. This time he stops to watch as a trickle of blood begins to flow from the wound and slide down to your chest. He licks his lips and throws himself into collecting the red liquid with his tongue, slowly and taking his time. When he reaches the source of the delicious nectar, he sucks hard and you moan.
He is draining you. He is ripping the damn blood from your body, and you shouldn't be feeling the pleasure you are feeling right now. The excitement of feeling him take something as vital to you as your own blood makes you feel even wetter than you already are in your lower intimate area.
He continues biting along your chest, neck, and jaw. Licking and swallowing every milliliter of blood he can collect. He admires the work of art he has created on your skin, now covered in large bruises. It's impossible for you to go out like this for at least a week, and even then, the map of domination he has imprinted on your chest would still be quite noticeable.
āYou taste better than I imagined, darlingāāyou see blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and how he sticks out his tongue to lick it, taking the opportunity to savour it while looking you straight in the face. He is panting and his eyes are filled with desire. He wants more, it hasn't been enough - āand nowā - he looks down at the lower part of your body - āthe jackpotā - he murmurs more to himself than to you as he leaves his former place on your hips to move lower.
He lies down face down and spreads your legs with astonishing gentleness, which contrasts with the rough treatment he has given you so far.
He removes your underwear and his eyes fixate on the menstrual pad you changed a while ago, the last time you got up to go to the bathroom. He swallows and his Adam's apple moves in his throat as he brings the garment to his nose and inhales the putrid aroma.
āHow exquisite,ā he declares as he sets it aside and positions himself between your legs. You lift your head to see what he's doing down there, and your breath catches when he sticks out his tongue and gives your soaking pussy its first big lick.
A gasp of surprise escapes you as you involuntarily shake your hips. His tongue is surprisingly cold against your folds, which only heightens the sensation. You squirm as the second lick opens your vaginal lips and goes deeper to reach your sensitive clitoris.
The view for Alastor is beautiful, thick strands of crimson flowing from one of your vaginal lip to the other, caught on his tongue every time he pulls it back and admires the great show your pussy is giving him. Your hole contracts around nothingness and it takes all his self-control not to throw himself at it.
Your hand goes straight to your eyes, covering them as you moan uncontrollably and bring your hips closer to his face, seeking greater friction, rubbing yourself against his tongue so that it hits your sensitive button relentlessly.
When you feel the familiar pressure building in your stomach, he pulls away and you let out a whimper of protest.
You're about to ask why he stopped when you feel his invasive tongue penetrate you.
āO-o-ohhh, god... A-alastor. Fuckā - you let out a string of curses, one after another. His tongue penetrates quickly and his lips suck your hole every so often, causing your mind to cloud and your hands to grip the sheets so tightly that your knuckles turn white.
He drinks every drop he can squeeze from your intimacy, making obscene sounds every time his mouth tortures your battered wetness.
A mischievous finger slips inside. You didn't expect it. He curves it and inserts a second one. Now his tongue moves towards your clitoris again and you're pretty sure he's left your vaginal lips completely clean and unblemished.
The double stimulation is driving you crazy. You can't think, you can't talk. You can only feel him, his fingers going in and out of you, his mouth working wonders on your intimate area.
Plop, plop, plop, plop.
āFuck, fuck, fuck. I'm coming, I'm going to come,ā you declare breathlessly, āfuck, you fill me so well with your fingers. Every time they go in... Nggggahhh~ every time they go in, it's so fucking delicious.ā
A long moan leaves your throat and the knot in your stomach loosens when his mouth surrounds your clitoris and immediately sucks hard.
Your back lifts off the mattress and you push your body toward his face as far as possible. He grabs your thighs with his free arm to hold you in place and positions himself firmly, his face rubbing against your pussy. When the climax hits you, a huge gush shoots out toward his face. Fluids mixed with blood and clots land directly on his mouth, splattering his face and, of course, the sheets.
You writhe, crying from the overstimulation and force of your orgasm. Your heart is racing, and you take a moment to regulate your rapid breathing.
Pop.
You open your eyes and look at him.
Pop. Pop.
Sucking his fingers one by one. Licking up the remains of your blood.
You feel a large puddle between your legs and try to close your thighs, while processing what was probably the best climax of your life.
However, he holds you and invites you to lie down again with just his gaze.
āWhat do you think you're doing, my sweetie? I'm not done yet. You have no idea what a mess it is down there. Since I caused it, I think it's only fair that I clean it up, don't you think?ā
He smiles smugly and immediately buries his face back in his favorite spot, with the intention of repeating it later and every day for the duration of your wonderful period.
For your part, you can't help thinking that, crazy as it may seem, the pain in your belly has completely disappeared and that, strange as this side of him may seem to you, you can't wait for him to do it again.
Imagine being Alastorās wife. Imagine surviving a car accident together.
You wake up days later from a comaā¦ and the first thing you ask is his name.
āWhere is he? W-where is Alastor? W-where is he?! My husband?!ā
Your breath locks in your throat. Your chest rises and falls too fast. You canāt breathe. Panic and anxiety make your head spin. The fluorescent light above you is blinding. Your eyes canāt focus on the faces surrounding you.
But you know he isnāt there.
āPlease, someoneā where is he?! Where?! Somebody tell me! I needā¦ I need him!ā
Your throat tightens violently. Instinctively, your hands fly to it, fingers clawing at your own skin as if you could rip it open and force air inside. But itās a mere illusion. Your airway constricts further.
Doctors surround you, explaining what happened.
What happened to you.
They talk about the crash. About your injuries. But they donāt talk about your husband. You donāt care about yourself. You just want to know where he is.
You tear out the IV lines. The machines begin to beep in protest. You try to stand. You collapse to the floor, gripping the metal IV pole.
āMyā¦ Alastorā¦ā you scream breathlessly, gasping.
Why wonāt anyone tell you? Why is no one answering? Why does no one seem to listen to you?
And then you see it.
A stretcher beside your hospital bed. A white sheet covers it. Beneath it, the unmistakable shape of a body.
You crawl across the cold floor until you reach it. Standing feels impossibleāsomething that was once effortless now takes everything in you. The doctors donāt stop you. They know what lies beneath that sheet.
Your heart beats so violently it feels like itās breaking your ribs.
Now you remember. The truck. The impact. The glass shattering into your face. His blood. His eyes. His smile fading slowly before he slipped into unconsciousness.
āTell me this isnāt real!ā you scream at the room, at the doctors, staring at the white sheet. And yet your mind whispers that when you remove it, you will find him underneath. Alive. Breathing. Yours.
Slowly. Carefully. You pull the sheet away from his face.
Your face changes expression. It wrinkles. It despairs.
There he is.
Your Angel.
Your husband.
Your life.
Still. So... still. It wasn't like him to be so still. Soā¦ silent.
His dark skin, just slightly paler from the days that have passed. His eyes whitishs, lifeless. The smile gone.
He is not your Alastor anymore. He is a body without a soul.
You scream again.
Your hands fly to your face, then into your hair, ripping at it. You clutch at your hospital gown, tearing at your chest as if pain could wake you from this nightmare.
The man you love is gone. His hand in yours is cold.
His whole body is cold.
Broken by the crash.
Nothing makes sense anymore. Your life without him makes no sense.
You collapse against him, pressing your tear-soaked face against his chest. Your lips brush hisāviolet, cold, unmoving.
Alastor doesnāt return that final kiss.
Alastorāyour heartāhas been torn from life.
And there was no courtesy. No mercy.
Just the cruelty of losing him forever.
Suddenly.
You would never be the same again.
You would never let anyone into your heart, into your life, because there was only room for him and his ghost.
You could never love anyone other than him. He was you. You were him. You were the perfect combination.
You only managed to survive a few days before you let yourself fade.
You couldnāt live without himā¦ he was your breath, your shadow.
Without him, everything felt wrong. Your skin. Life. Even your own heartbeat sounded foreign inside your chest.
You stopped fighting. Stopped eating. Stopped answering when the nurses spoke.
You simply lay there, staring at nothingābecause everything that had mattered had been buried under a white sheet.
And one night, quietly, in the silence of the nightā¦ you followed him.
Imagine being Alastorās wife. Imagine surviving a car accident together.
You wake up days later from a comaā¦ and the first thing you ask is his name.
āWhere is he? W-where is Alastor? W-where is he?! My husband?!ā
Your breath locks in your throat. Your chest rises and falls too fast. You canāt breathe. Panic and anxiety make your head spin. The fluorescent light above you is blinding. Your eyes canāt focus on the faces surrounding you.
But you know he isnāt there.
āPlease, someoneā where is he?! Where?! Somebody tell me! I needā¦ I need him!ā
Your throat tightens violently. Instinctively, your hands fly to it, fingers clawing at your own skin as if you could rip it open and force air inside. But itās a mere illusion. Your airway constricts further.
Doctors surround you, explaining what happened.
What happened to you.
They talk about the crash. About your injuries. But they donāt talk about your husband. You donāt care about yourself. You just want to know where he is.
You tear out the IV lines. The machines begin to beep in protest. You try to stand. You collapse to the floor, gripping the metal IV pole.
āMyā¦ Alastorā¦ā you scream breathlessly, gasping.
Why wonāt anyone tell you? Why is no one answering? Why does no one seem to listen to you?
And then you see it.
A stretcher beside your hospital bed. A white sheet covers it. Beneath it, the unmistakable shape of a body.
You crawl across the cold floor until you reach it. Standing feels impossibleāsomething that was once effortless now takes everything in you. The doctors donāt stop you. They know what lies beneath that sheet.
Your heart beats so violently it feels like itās breaking your ribs.
Now you remember. The truck. The impact. The glass shattering into your face. His blood. His eyes. His smile fading slowly before he slipped into unconsciousness.
āTell me this isnāt real!ā you scream at the room, at the doctors, staring at the white sheet. And yet your mind whispers that when you remove it, you will find him underneath. Alive. Breathing. Yours.
Slowly. Carefully. You pull the sheet away from his face.
Your face changes expression. It wrinkles. It despairs.
There he is.
Your Angel.
Your husband.
Your life.
Still. So... still. It wasn't like him to be so still. Soā¦ silent.
His dark skin, just slightly paler from the days that have passed. His eyes whitishs, lifeless. The smile gone.
He is not your Alastor anymore. He is a body without a soul.
You scream again.
Your hands fly to your face, then into your hair, ripping at it. You clutch at your hospital gown, tearing at your chest as if pain could wake you from this nightmare.
The man you love is gone. His hand in yours is cold.
His whole body is cold.
Broken by the crash.
Nothing makes sense anymore. Your life without him makes no sense.
You collapse against him, pressing your tear-soaked face against his chest. Your lips brush hisāviolet, cold, unmoving.
Alastor doesnāt return that final kiss.
Alastorāyour heartāhas been torn from life.
And there was no courtesy. No mercy.
Just the cruelty of losing him forever.
Suddenly.
You would never be the same again.
You would never let anyone into your heart, into your life, because there was only room for him and his ghost.
You could never love anyone other than him. He was you. You were him. You were the perfect combination.
You only managed to survive a few days before you let yourself fade.
You couldnāt live without himā¦ he was your breath, your shadow.
Without him, everything felt wrong. Your skin. Life. Even your own heartbeat sounded foreign inside your chest.
You stopped fighting. Stopped eating. Stopped answering when the nurses spoke.
You simply lay there, staring at nothingābecause everything that had mattered had been buried under a white sheet.
And one night, quietly, in the silence of the nightā¦ you followed him.
"If you masturbate you're a filthy gooner" you sound like a fucking nazi and I'm not kidding, why are people so eager to turn into pearl-clutching reactionaries about normal sexual activity
Addendum to this is that if you call normal goddamn women "goonbait" for the crime of Being Women In Public then I think you should get beaten with hammers
"Masturbating and sexual activity in general are not things you should be shaming people for" and "acting like women existing is basically porn is fucked up and dehumanizing" can and should be simultaneously-held viewpoints
I can't stop thinking about the fact that you collide with Alastor and fall to the ground. You look at each other for a long moment and his thing swells in his pants. He "runs away" because he doesn't know what it means and what he has to do (after) but the baby doesn't even realize that he's lost his smile.
I'm torn between liking Alastor not being the type to use his body for manipulation and stuff, and also Alastor not at all being above using sex as a form of easy manipulation and deal-making.
Text below in case handwriting is hard to read:
Vox: "Y'know... you're right Val..."
Vox: "I CAN FUCK ALASTOR AND TAKE HIS VIRGIN ASS! AND HE CAN'T DO SHIT ABOUT IT! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Alastor: "I'm not a virgin."
Vox: "B-but only with women, right?"
Alastor: "No."
Vox: "But you haven't bottomed, right?"
Alastor: "Mmm..."
Vox: "Oral? Doggy style? 69? YOU HAVEN'T 69ED, RIGHT?????"
Alastor: "The body is surprisingly quite versatile for deals and manipulation."
Hey guys. Please remember that Tumblr is NOT a safe place. Aside from war scams, there are scams and phishing attempts, or people creating fake screenshots claiming someone has stolen your profile. They'll then tell you to follow the instructions they sent via email, BUT IT'S A FAKE EMAIL! They'll ask you for money to unlock your profile. BUT IT'S NOT TRUE! TUMBLR NEVER ASKS FOR MONEY!!! This is the second time they've contacted me today with different profiles.
DO NOT BELIEVE THEM. THEY'RE ASKING FOR $200!!! YOU JUST NEED TO BLOCK AND REPORT, PEOPLE. THAT'S ALL.
I love the idea of alastor liking the fact that we have a built in waterfall
Just imagine him pulling you onto his lap and then making you cum so fucking much while sitting naked but he's still dressed, all prim and proper.
He makes you orgasm again and again until he's a fucking slip and slide! He doesn't even give a damn about the mess but he will act like he's above it all and taunt you about being so sensitive and such a pathetic little thing for him
areudirty
janainaart
2087
jacobvanloon
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
