No update to VoxNews next week- I'm going to be out of the country :)
CW: Smut. Smutty smut. You're welcome
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Chapter 8
Static scratched through the air. The sound built as the two powers challenged each other. The delicate bone china clattered and clinked on the table. The vibrations in the air built and built, challenging and then overwhelming the static.
There was one last rush of vibrations crushed the static and then suddenly there was silence. The ripples in the tea settled and stilled.
Alastor sat, stone still as the old clock on the wall marked seconds that didnât really matter in death.
âAre you ready to listen, pet?â
He hummed in response. Rosie knew well that that was as close to an answer as he was going to give her in the moment.
âYouâre go to home. Spend the day with her. Be gone before dawn.â
âFor how long shall I tell her Iâll be gone?â Alastor asked, radio filter thick over his voice, sounding off balance without the backdrop of static in his own ears.
âYou will not,â Rosie picked up the tea cup, holding it delicately in her fingers.
âIâm sorry?â Alastor was sure there was something missing.
âYouâll tell her nothing of our conversation. You will disappear until I send for you.â
âYou have got to be-â The shackle around his neck snapped tight in a forceful reminder of how little control he really hand in his afterlife.
âShe will be safe. You will do as youâre told.â
The door clicked softly and then swung open. The hinges were well cared for, as were all things within your home, turning with hardly a whisper to draw your attention away from your knitting. It was the red daylight spilling through the door that drew your attention up.
âWelcome home.â You set your project, a poorly constructed shawl that would likely end up being swallowed by the shadows when you no longer wanted it, and stood.
The beads on your dress rattled as you moved, a sound youâd grown as accustomed to existing in the background of your life much as you had grown used to and to be comforted by the near constant static that surrounded the man that walked through the front door.
âHow would you like to go dancing?â Alastor crossed the room in a few long strides, sweeping you up in his arms. âMimzyâs speakeasy just opened.â
âIt would do us good to go out and support her.â You couldnât help the way your lips curved into a smile. A warm laugh bubbled out from between your lips as Alastor dipped you low, leaning over you to claim your lips in a soft kiss.
âItâs been too long since Iâve taken you out.â There was a tone to Alastorâs words that you couldnât place. Whatever it was, it matched the strange look in his eyes and the way his smile seemed off.
But then he was snapping his fingers and replacing your outfits with something just a little fancier and yet perfectly stylish for the era from which you both died within.
Laughter carried as Alastor lead you down the sidewalk in a dance. Music played from the staff that floated around you, weaving through the air as if it was somehow dancing with the two of you as well.
Perhaps it was. You never really understood where Alastor began and ended.
The same music filled the air, floating down from the speakers that littered Alastorâs territory, perched atop tall poles and secured to the sides of buildings.
There was only one place in all of Alastorâs territory where the screams of tormented souls trapped within the confines of Alastorâs power was broadcast automatically and that was within his home.
âToday was magical,â you whispered up at him as he dipped you low in front of the steps leading to your shared home.
âYou deserve it,â Alastor said, pulling you up. âIâve been neglectful of late, my flower.â
âYouâve been busy.â And it was true. He had upset the balance of hell and maintained quite a large territory. It required a lot of his attention. That didnât mean you didnât miss him, miss the quite times that you shared in life.
âThat is hardly an excuse.â With a flick of his ear, the shadows opened the door to the home, allowing Alastor to lead you inside. âI intend fully to make it up to you.â
And make it up to you he did.
The night continued with a few drinks between dances in the living room. The music did not come from the speakers. Instead it flowed from the shadow imps, their white faces plastered with sharp toothed smiles and shinny brass instruments in their clawed hands.
âI love you,â you whispered as you draped your arms up over Alastorâs shoulders, pulling him to you in a kiss.
âAs I you, cher.â Alastor said before sealing his lips over yours in a kiss that melted all of hell away.
When he kissed you like this, you were back in the little cabin on the beach, somewhere far away from life and death once again learning to love, experience and give pleasure for the first time in your life. Alastor wasnât red clad back then. His hair curled when it got damp and in the mornings.
That was the man that kissed you in a way that stole the breath from your lungs, made your head spin, and made your heart beat fast. That was the man that existed under all the red, sharp corners and bloodlust.
That was your Alastor.
That was the man that you followed down the hall, pulled along by your hand in his until he pressed your back against the wall, once again taking the breath from your lungs. The scent of him wrapped around, just as his arms did.
A giggle slipped from your throat, swallowed by him as he lifted you off your feet. He carried you easily into the shared bedroom, lips working from yours down to your neck, leaving a trail of sharp nicks that stole your breath from your lungs.
His fingers dug into you, each pointed claw catching on the strands of beads hanging from your dress. Rattling strands filled the near silence as his hands trailed lower. Claws dug into the fat behind your thighs. You may as well have weighed nothing as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist.
The live music from the living room faded as he carried you toward the bed. One instrument after another cut off, going silent suddenly as itâs player disappeared in a puff of smokey shadows.
You hardly noticed. All your attention was focused on the man kissing your neck. Static was all that you heard over the soft groan of the bed as he laid you back. Your hair settled softly a short second after you, pooling around your form as if carried there in unseen water.
Long clawed fingers slipped under the strap of your dress, brushing the beaded fabric side. Beads rattled as he leaned down, kissing the exposed shoulder. His hand snaked under your back, fingers walking along the beaded fabric to find the tongue of the zipper.
Your painted nails glittered against the black fabric of his bow tie. The fabric slipped free, soft silk flowing against silk. There was a soft clicking as your nails tapped against each button, one giving after the other. His fingers guided the zipper down your back.
As his hand moved below your shoulders, you arched your back, giving him room to work along the small of your back. Pale, gray fingers ghosted over his cool brown skin. You brushed the shirt off his shoulders.
âYou grow more beautiful by the day,â Alastor said, pulling back from you. The ridge of your clavicle shimmered as if it was damp under the dim lights, along with the exposed swell of your breast.
All of you had that ethereal appearance of being both of the land and of the water. His very own bayou flower.
Your eyes crawled over his skin, taking in the warmth of him that somehow transcended death. It wasnât the same shade as when he was alive but somehow it was still uniquely him.
âI love you.â The words came out as a whisper when your eyes reached his.
âAs I you, Cher.â Alastor said, leaning down to place a soft kiss upon your lips. âMore than you know.â
Something was wrong. It wasnât something you could put your finger on but it was something you could feel deep in your bones.
Whatever that thing was, you lost your grip on it as his lips sealed over your nipple. The pointed tip of his tongue swirled, working the tip into a stiff point before working the neckline of your dress down to expose the other breast.
Alastor knew how to touch you. Each caress of his claws, each kiss was placed by an expert. He knew your body better than you knew it yourself.
There was little choice but to surrender to him. There was no one else who could love you, who could make love to you the way Alastor could.
Beads rattled, adding to the music in the air as he pulled the dress down your body, exposing every curve of you. The dress fell in a heap, joining his discarded bow tie. Pointed shoulders shrugged as he slipped out of his shirt. The belt buckle clinked and then his pants hit the ground.
Long fingers wrapped around your ankle and then his lips joined them. Each nipping kiss walked higher up your skin, his lips working their way toward where you were beginning to burn for him.
Before Alastor, youâd never burned for another. You thought it was simply story book love, story book lust.
Alastor could look at you and light the fire. He could kiss you and stoke it.
âOh,â you gasped as his tongue ran up your inner thigh, dancing the pointed tip toward your core where you could feel your slit weeping with anticipation of what you knew would come next.
Alastor didnât keep you waiting. It wasnât that he wasnât one to torture you, to tease you. There were plenty of times he left you dancing on the edge, begging him for just one more touch to send you over but that wasnât the Alastor that was with you tonight.
Tonight he gave you everything you wanted. Tonight his tongue worked through your slit eagerly, slurping up your slick in a way that left you twitching, legs spreading wide for him as you asked for more. What you needed was for Alastor to fill you up in a way only he could.
âPlease, Alastor.â His name was little more than a breathy moan on your lips, your voice stolen as his tongue swept deep inside your opening.
Soft kisses peppered your stomach as he climbed you. Fingers dug into your thighs as he pulled your legs up and out, opening you wider than needed to accommodate his narrow frame.
The pointed head of his cock, just slightly rounded and velvety smooth settled at your opening and then he breached you, filling you in one torturously slow thrust. He pushed forward, moving unrelentingly until your body was forced to accommodate him and his hips nestled against your pelvis.
There was a painful stretch deep within your core. You could feel where the head of his cock pushed against the back of your canal, where his cock slipped beside your cervix and demanded more length than you could naturally give.
You wanted him. Every inch of him. You needed him inside you. There wasnât a single complaint waiting on your lips as he shaped your body to his once again.
The bed creaked lightly as he thrust into you, slowly at first. Each time his length pushed through you, you saw stars. Gasps ripped from your lungs as his breath puffed against your neck, lips littering the soft pale skin with marks that would surely be red for at least a few hours, even with your demonic healing.
Each time his body moved within you, he played you as if you were a part of him. In may ways you were. This was how a man and a woman, husband and wife became one, after all. Just because youâd not made it to your wedding night didnât change the fact that you were his and he was yours.
âCher,â Alastor groaned in your ear as your walls tightened around his cock, squeezing him with with each twitch that gave away how close he drove you to your orgasm.
He pushed you through your orgasm, demanding more from you until you had little choice but to cling to his back, pointed nails digging into the skin. Your back arched as each wave of pleasure ripped through you. His teeth nipped at your neck as he pushed harder, thrusting into you with more power. The wind was knocked out of your lungs with the power of his thrusts while he chased his own pleasure, not stopping until he spilled his seed deep within you.
You cuddled into his chest the moment he rolled off of you, not waiting for him to gather you into his arms. He would have, if youâd given him a moment, gotten you a rag to clean the mess heâd left within you but there was no need. What you needed, what you wanted, was to settle into sleep in the arms of the man you would love today, tomorrow, and every day after no matter what the future would bring you.
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content & warning: ~2,4k words, smut duh // alastor is written as grey/demisexual in my mind, written for afab!readers, it's a nsfw alphabet for a cannibal demon what warnings are we expecting, mentions of blood, mentions of cannibalism, lots and lots of biting mentioned you'll see, description of sexual acts, blood kink, alastor being alastor being a warning itself, can you guys tell i'm tired yet
author's note: hello! so while i was writing something smutty for alastor, i got sidetracked by another fandom i wanted to write these headcanons for, and now i am sidetracking my sidetrack by writing this alphabet for alastor. i really enjoy reading headcanons from others, and especially relationship alphabets are soo interesting to me. also, i hope to feel less of a fraud to my followers with this, considering i've gained most of you from my human!alastor x reader oneshot and then was only posting about my oc. my bad, but i warned you, so
i may or may not be compelled to write one for vox also but that honestly just depends on the level of desperation i will be on while writing the main thingyâą. anyways, ~xoxo
A = Aftercare (what theyâre like after sex)
Alastor doesn't enjoy to cuddle after. He'll allow you to cuddle into his side while he is already on his back, coming down from your shared ecstasy, but don't expect him to return it. He won't stay too long like this either, preferring to get cleaned up right away before he will want to wrap his arms around you. If it was a more emotionally charged session, he will be more inclined to stay close for a while.
To him, sex is less about the physical relief it gets him than it is about how close he can be with you; it is an intimate act between the two of you, and the closest thing to being literally under your skin.
However! He will be more than happy to fulfil any service you need of him after. Your throat is a bit sore and you want a glass of water? Alastor is getting it for you, no need to get up yourself. You want to clean up? He is already on it, gently wiping off whatever mess he has made of you. may or may not be compelled to push his seed back in
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partnerâs)
Well, obviously â Alastor likes his smile best, it's charming. Granted, it doesn't get him much further than having charmed you into the bedroom already, but his teeth certainly do. He found they are quite useful even when they are not currently tearing the flesh of sinners. He can bite you, too! Sinking his teeth into your delicious flesh and taste your blood on his eager tongue, or tearing through your clothes to get them off of your body.
His hands and claws come in second, for much the same reason.
On you, though? Honestly, Alastor will most enjoy your thighs. There is so much to do with them â grab them tight for bruises to bloom under his fingers, squeeze them even tighter to keep you in line, tease them with his claws, or latch onto with his mouth and suck hickeys into. And bite them, most obviously. Your thighs are his favourite to nibble and bite on and make bleed so he can lap it up again.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
I suppose that depends on his partner's preferences.
Personally, Alastor would prefer to cum inside you as he won't risk impregnating you down in hell â and it leaves less of a mess after he pulls out of you with a hiss, and he does so enjoy watching you squirm when he gathers his spend leaking out of you on his thumb and pushes it back inside your twitching hole. It would be a shame to stain those sheets with your mess, wouldn't it, darling?
But if his partner suggests it, he may also cum on your skin. After all, Alastor is used to much dirtier messes considering his... occupation while alive... and so, he will delight in smearing his carnal sin over your stomach or your arse.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
I suppose this one is less a secret secret and more of an open secret; but Alastor does have a little oral fixation. He genuinely really needs to sink his teeth into your supple flesh at least once per day or he will start tweaking. It doesn't matter how you will let him, it can be anything from a nibble to your cheek, a bite on your lip during a kiss, or chewing on your thighs. As long as you bleed you and he gets to taste the sweet nectar that is your blood â and his life essence, now â he will be happy. Alastor can't make you more his than that.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what theyâre doing?)
He is not. Alastor had no interest in casual hook-ups while he was alive, and even less so when he died. He is quite knowledgeable in theory but not so much in practice. That's something you will have to introduce him to. He will be a bit clumsy in his enthusiasm at first.
Luckily, he is a quick learner â and eager when it comes to pleasuring you. He enjoys when you show him what makes you cry out the most, and he will soon be using that cruelly against you.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Alastor's favourite position is cowgirl. That way, he has access to all parts of your body â your face, your breasts, your ass, your thighs â and the most control. While you may naturally seem to be in charge, being able to control the pace with which you take him and how deep, he can take that control back just as easily. Alastor could bury one hand in your hair and pull back your head to expose your throat to his teeth, and the other one wraps around your waist or thigh to take back the reins of pace and depth.
It's a delicious trap, and that is precisely why he likes it best.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
I'd describe him as rather serious. Like I mentioned before - Alastor doesn't have sex for the pleasure aspect of it, but he wants to have you as close as he can. If he could, he would devour you. He is reverent in his devotion to you.
Of course, that does not mean he won't be teasing you, but more on that later.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they?)
Alastor is very meticulous about his appearance everywhere. He is not shaved, but he certainly keeps it well-trimmed for his own comfort.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Alastor is surprisingly romantic in every aspect of sex. He will whisper sweet nothings in your ear before, during and after, and he will always let a little praise for you slip out of habit to make sure you know you are being appreciated, and not only your body.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He doesn't, not really. He had the urge to, occasionally, before he met you; but Alastor rarely indulged in it and simply... let it pass again. It was bothersome, more than anything else.
With you, he would rather indulge in this desire together when the mood does strike him.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
I don't know how many more times I will get away with saying this man will bite you BECAUSE HE WILL. There simply is no way around it. He may try not to do it as much in the beginning of your relationship, but the urge to sink his teeth into you and make you yelp out in surprise will haunt him until he does.
I also think he may enjoy a bit of a chase with you. I mean, he has a whole bayou in his hotel room, who's to say he is not inclined to chase you through it? He will certainly get a thrill out of it, reminiscent of his golden days in New Orleans, but this time, the reward will be all the sweeter because it's your blood he will be tasting at the end of it.
Blood kink, if that isn't obvious from literally all of the above. Alastor is a cannibal, and I am a firm believer that it's born out of a sadistic pleasure or satisfaction to own his victims. Of course, you are not his victim and he would not dream of ever seriously injuring you â but tasting your blood is the closest thing he has to you becoming a part of his.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom â occasionally his radio tower, if Alastor is feeling particularly frisky. He would never broadcast it, seeing it as something sacred that happens between the two of you, and he'd prefer it stayed like that. But he loves being a radio host, and to have you in that radio tower where he is in his element â allowed the privilege to see you blissed out there once he's done with you â is something he would most certainly love to share with you.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The mood will strike Alastor out of nowhere and build up for several days. He will feel a bit funny around you, at first, until that funny feeling turns into a searing hit when you do as much as breathe in his direction. Still, he will make a slow approach on it and make it seem as if it was your idea all along.
In addition, since I don't know where else to put it, he likes it when you pull his hair. tug it â he loves that. It triggers something in him. What does it trigger, you ask? I don't know, and neither does he! All you know, that you are in his lap, threading your fingers over his buzz while riding him, before you reach up into the strand of his hiar and give it a slight tug â and suddenly you're under him, breathless and gasping, while Alastor literally growls above you as he pounds you to see heaven. It's not that he doesn't like it â he likes it too much, and doesn't know how to deal with it.
N = No (something they wouldnât do, turn offs)
Uh. Anything that would genuinely harm either your dignity or his own. He won't do anything that involves getting dirtier than the usual sweat and cum on your bodies.
Alastor would also be strictly against bringing a third into your bedroom. The closest thing you're getting to that is his shadow watching and messing about, if you're into that, you freaks.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
I wouldn't call Alastor a munch, but he definitely prefers giving over receiving. Like, I see a lot of people headcanon their favourite characters like that, but I think this is especially true for Alastor. He may enjoy being on the receiving end on occasion, when he feels particularly dominating or pent up, and having you servicing him is surely enticing â the act itself is the least pleasureable aspect of it. For him, he doesn't see the point.
However, when it comes to eating you out? Oh, that is something else entirely â first of all, it gives him the easiest access to bite on your thighs, which we have already established multiple times by now, but second, he has complete and utter control of you and your pleasure. Oh, how easily he can pin your hands down. Oh, how nicely he can spread your thighs like that. It's only your pleasure that is the focus here, and he will be sure to leave you well-satisfied â and overstimulated, if you allow, but only if you earned if after denying you your orgasm for the fourth time now.
Alastor may be humping the mattress by the end of it, but his tongue game is off the charts. also, his tongue can reach places, oh boy
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Oh. Oh, that really depends. I think it will always start with a slow pace but deep thrusts that will have his cockhead kiss your cervix from the get-go, and later turn into sloppy, clumsy thrusts the closer Alastor gets to finishing.
But if Alastor needs to work off some frustration? Some lingering argument with you or anyone else? Oh, you better be prepared because he will not be gentle about it. He thrives on control, and if he feels it has been taken from him or that he has been slighted in any way or form, it is easy to feel validated again when he has someone that is eagerly allowing him fold them under him.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Alastor's not... he is not a quickie guy. He wants to take his time with you, and simply dragging you off into a dark corner feels like he is doing your relationship a big, big disservice in what you mean to him.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Alastor is open to experiment a little. If you have any kinks to share with him, he will try them out at least once and only refuse if he is genuinely repulsed by them at the end. As to getting caught... well, I suppose that is taken care of quickly.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Alastor will go for a long round, not many. Once he has reached his peak of it, he'll consider it a done thing. Naturally, he will make sure that you are left satisfied and well-spent, but it's rare for him to be motivated enough for a second round. It does happen, just not a lot.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
No, I don't think so. If you bring out toys such as a vibrator or a dildo, he'll definitely side-eye them. It's not that he is feeling threatened by them or anything, but in his opinion, you may as well do it by yourself then. It defeats the purpose of indulging in the first place. He may be compelled to use them on occasion with the right arguments, but he WILL side-eye them â before and after.
Other toys, such as blindfolds or including ice cubes, are more accepted by him as a method to heighten the sensations.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Oh, Alastor's a tease. You know it, I know it, we all know it. He may be reserved when it comes to being touched, but he certainly is not when it comes to doing the touching. He'll do anything â from making you shiver when running a sharp claw over your spine to dragging his tongue over your clothed cunt until you're begging for him to tear them.
He'll also tell you any praise there is. Genuine? "Look at you. Taking me so well, my darling, I see."
Sarcastic? "Oh, I know, I know â but you sound so pretty when I do that â how am I supposed to resist that temptation?"
Degrading? "My, what a mess you are â and so quickly, too! You really are a dirty girl, aren't you, darling?"
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Alastor will groan, grunt, but he will rarely moan. He mostly talks, anyway, so â
At unexpected touches, however, such as touching his ears or his antlers, you may also coax out a whimper or even a bleat if you're lucky. He will gaslight you after
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Alastor prefers keeping his clothes on, simple as that. He may undress you fully, and you may think it is unfair, but sex is a vulnerable experience in and of itself, and if Alastor doesn't like one thing, it's feeling naked â figuratively and literally. It's not that he doesn't trust you, or want you to see him like that, but it's something he hasn't let go of in a century, and old habits die hard as they say.
X = X-ray (letâs see whatâs going on under those clothes)
Oh, gosh â how do I put this? Alastor is a tall demon, and slender â so, such is reflected down there. His length is certainly above average while his girth is slightly under, but thicker again at the base. He has a slight but noticeable curve upwards.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Ay. It's not high. I wouldn't say every-once-in-a-blue-moon low, but just not on a regular basis.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Alastor doesn't sleep a lot in general, so he will wait for you to fall asleep first. Besides, he does enjoy seeing you in this peaceful state â considering it is the Radio Demon you are sharing a bed with. No matter what sin you have committed that caused you to end up in hell, Alastor will always view himself as the undeserving fool of you.
âââââ the dividers were made by me, please do not use them on your works without my explicit permission // header pictures were found on pinterest // do not repost and DO NOT feed it to any AI
Alastor was not a very affectionate person. You figured that out for certain after the two of you started dating. A pat on the head here and a condescending pinched cheek there. But kisses? Hugs? Holding hands? He would rather not. And of course you werenât about to push him. Especially when you found out he was not fond of touch. Apparently he put up with it because he wanted it to be a secret but he loathed physical contact unless it was on his terms. You intended to fully respect it even if you couldnât help but fantasize about being in his arms. However, even though he didnât show physical affection quite often he made up for that in physical gestures. It seemed that acts of service were truly his love language. So when you got sick he was happy to take care of you. He made you some delicious gumbo and he frequently checked your temperature. He placed a cool damp towel on your forehead to help you with your fever. He sang to you as you fell asleep. You were right as rain pretty quickly.
You got out of bed feeling 100% better after a couple weeks of recovery. You didnât see the dapper deer you loved anywhere. You asked around and apparently no one had seen him. You hadnât checked his room yet so surely he mustâve been there you thought. You knocked and Alastor responded. âGo away!â He growled. âAlastor? Is everything ok?â Hearing your voice he immediately changed his tune. âOh my love! Itâs you! Come in! I need you!â He never said he needed you like that ever. You figured it must be serious. Except when you stepped inside you saw Alastor was a feverish mess. He was coughing up a storm and there were used tissues everywhere. You knew immediately that he had caught your illness. âOh! Alastor! Iâm so sorryâŠâ you apologized. âDonât be darling! Youâre here now. You are so good to me. Come closer I need to see your faceâ he reached out for you while he laid there on the couch. You were confused by his behavior but you did as he asked. You approached him and his ever present grin widened. âAw thereâs my one and only. Iâm so glad youâre hereâ he said. âYou ok Alastor? Iâm flattered by it but youâre acting strangeâ you informed him. âIâm much better now that youâre here. Please. Closerâ he gestured for you to come even closer. You did and as soon as you were within reach he snatched you and pulled you into him. âAlastor! What are you doing?â He locked his arms around you while you struggled against his chest. He nuzzled into your neck. âAlastor?â You stopped struggling and felt a little nervous with his teeth so close to your neck. âPlease donât leave meâ he whispered in your ear. âI wonâtâ you complied. This was the most intimate youâve ever been with Alastor. âAlastor are you just clingy cause youâre sick?â You asked. âNo, I need you! Iâve always needed you! Iâll never let you go!â He tightened his grip on you. You could tell his answer wasnât the truth. He thought he meant it but that was just the sickness talking. He was clingy because of his ailment. You werenât getting out of this but certainly shouldnât get used to this. Alastor wrapped his legs around you. You were like a big stuffed animal now. He was very warm and you felt your coolness being drained. âNice and coolâ he mumbled. Now you were overheating. He was like a sauna. You tried to get out of his arms but he gripped you harder. âNo! Donât leave!â He panicked. âAlastor!â You complained. You were the one who wanted this. You dreamt of being held by him like this for ages. You eventually quit squirming and somehow fell asleep.
You woke up in the morning alone on the couch. You smelled something putrid and when you looked around for the source you found Alastor eating a rotting deer corpse. âAlastor! That reeks!â You told him. âWell it is my room! Iâm free to do what I want in here. By the way, can we keep yesterdayâs events between the two of us?â He asked. You nodded. âI wonât tell anyone, donât worryâ you had respected his wishes thus far and you planned to keep it that way. âThank you! I must apologize for my absolutely inappropriate behavior at the timeâ he said. âWell it wasnât that badâ you smiled. âOh? Is that true?â He asked. âI mean other than you using me as a cooling pack, it was nice. Of course Iâm not going to expect it from youâ you replied. âWell⊠Iâm glad you got enjoyment out of it. I donât fall ill often but next time I do, I trust youâll be hereâ he said between bites of decaying meat. âIâll always be hereâ you told him. âThen perhaps Iâll give you a little kissâ he got up and walked toward you. âReally?!?â You got excited. He got closer and you could smell his breakfast already. The stench was radiating off him. âNevermind! You smell like roadkillâ you declined. âOh really?â He raised an eyebrow. He was on you before you could even think of running as he pulled you into him. âAlastor! Let me go!â You argued. âI thought you said you enjoyed itâ he laughed. âThat was when you smelled like a person! Let me go!â You tried to push yourself off him and you started giggling. âSee? I knew you would enjoy itâ he said and you continued trying to fight back while he smothered you against him. Yes, he smelled bad. But this was the closest thing to playful wrestling youâd ever done with him. You fell backward onto the couch and he climbed on top of you before pinning you down. You felt your cheeks flush red thinking about how he was sitting on you. He leaned in closely. âI bet your depraved mind is thinking ungodly things right nowâ his voice was smooth as silk. You bit your bottom lip. Suddenly he got off you. âWelp! Have fun with that!â He left you there while he went to finish his breakfast. âGod damn it Alastor!â
You and Alastor were married in life and now that both of you are in Hell nothing much else has changed. You stay at the Hazbin Hotel being a body guard of sorts, mainly there for Alastor only, but how would he react to seeing the hotel damaged and you injured?
A/n: Hello! This is one of my first one-shots I've made! I hope you all enjoy! This is an x reader, with the reader being gender neutral. I am also a big fan of the Ace Alastor fan theory so he is going to mainly be Ace in other of my fanfics about him! Alastor is a bit out of character but I tried my best! Also your relationship is kinda like gomez and morticia, so I hope you enjoy!
Trigger warnings: electrocution, blood, and torture.
It is a normal, well as normal as it can be in Hell, day. You woke to your bed empty, which was normal but you still reached out missing the warmth of your lover next to you. Alastor never really sleeps, too busy worrying about the hotel, himself, and you. It would be impossible to get him to try to have a full nights sleep, but as long as he cuddles with you from time to time, you both manage.
You were in the lobby sitting at the bar, Husk minding his own business wiping glasses and putting them away. You two have become close in the couple of months being at the hotel. Knowing about his deal with Alastor makes you a little upset but you know that there was nothing you could do to change it.
"Somethin' botherin' you?" He asks, his voice sounding a bit more hungover than normal. You shake your head no resting it on the palm of your hand looking towards the group of demons in the middle of the room.
Charlie and Vaggie are in the lobby talking about heading into town for some.... business? You don't even truly know. Angel Dust has his arms crossed looking eager to join the ladies into town.
A shiver crawls up your spine as the sudden feeling of radio static fills your mind. You smile knowing exactly who's here.
Alastor walks up besides you, a wide smile on his face showing almost every sharp tooth he had in his mouth, but the smile wasn't malicious quite the opposite in fact. He was thrilled to see you.
"Y/n! How lovely you could join us!" He exclaims, claiming you in his arms. His scent is very woodsy with the tiniest hint of copper. You wrap your arms around his waist allowing him to rest his chin on the top of your head.
"I am heading out with Charlie and the others, will you be a dear and watch over the hotel while I'm gone?" The sweetness in his voice makes you melt every time.
"Of course." You respond with no problem at all.
With his smile somehow growing bigger, Alastor plants a kiss on your cheek. "Why thank you darling! Your service will be appreciated!"
"Oh yeah? And how are you gonna show them that?" Angel Dust buts in with the wiggle of his eyebrows and biting his lip seductively.
A loud spike of sound squeaks out of Alastor but he quickly composes himself. "That is none of your business!" He smiles.
You chuckle softly bringing him down to your level and kissing his cheek. "I'll watch the hotel free of charge." You say, saluting to Charlie as she grabs hold of Vaggies arm pulling her out the door. Angel Dust follows after them winking at you and Alastor before closing the door behind him.
"Best be going!" Alastor says planting a kiss on your lips and giving you a tight hug. Before you can even reciprocate he is out the door with a, "Goodbye darling!" thrown behind him.
The hotel is silent with only the sound of Husk continuing his job. "What do you even see in that guy?" He asks seriously but kinda poking fun.
You laugh at his question, "Oh Husker, you'd understand if you were married to him." You say, sticking out your tongue playfully, while the look of utter disgust washes over his face.
"I would get physically ill if I ever did." He says fake gagging which makes you laugh harder.
You and Husk talk for a bit but when the conversation goes light you travel over to the couch, turning on the outdated tv in hopes to find something interesting to watch. A commercial for a service called I.M.P appears but it doesn't distract you enough, you're still bored.
You glance up at the clock and groan. Only 30 minutes have passed since the group had left you to bore yourself to death. Well more death.
You decide to stop laying around and walk around the hotel. Looking at all the new rooms and common areas for other guests and staff to enjoy.
You make it to the library. It's large but not quite as full, some of the shelves don't have books and if they do there are only just few. You slide your finger down one of the spines of a book that caught your eye. This will do.
You head back to the lobby area Husk has moved on from cleaning glasses to rearranging the bottles of alcohol. Settling down with the book in hand and the tv playing a soft sitcom demon show, it's nice. Almost too nice.
Just as you were a quarter of the way in the book the front door, well door and walls around it explode in. Scaring the shit out of you and poor Husk, whose bottles are now broken all over his clean area.
"Alastor~!" A sharp voice rings out.
You groan and roll your eyes. Of course it's Vox. Ever since Alastor appeared back after his... hiatus, Vox has been dead set on trying to kill him or at least start a fight. When you and Alastor go on dates or long walks away from the hotel, Vox managed to get in the way some how. Whether it was sending goons, which Alastor could handle no problem, or showing up himself, it really got on your nerves.
"What do you want Vox?" You ask, clearly annoyed from your spot on the couch.
Vox pauses for a second, blinks at you then glances around after noticing that it was just you and Husk.
"Where's Alastor?" He asks angrily. Sparks flying around his fingers.
"First of all, why would I tell you that, second of all you could've just opened the front door. It was unlocked." You huff, realizing you're gonna have to explain the damages to Charlie.
Vox lets out a groan of frustration before 3 cables shoot out towards you. With your fast reflexes you dodge as the cables lodge themselves into the tv and wall behind you.
"Dude! You're gonna have you pay for that!" You shout hiding, the couch acting as your shield.
"Y/n!" Husk shouts as he uses his magic cards to distract Vox. Smoke explodes from them and he hurls himself over the couch next to you.
"What's his fuckin' deal!?" Husk shouts. Electrical coughing can be heard from the tv headed man as the smoke clears.
A crash can be heard as Vox practically destroys the place looking for you, and maybe Alastor. You grab hold of Husk by his scruff and pull him towards the gaping hole in the wall.
"Found you!" A shrill is let out as cords wrap around you and Husk. You squirm at the sudden tightness around your body trying to wiggle out or break free, neither seem to be working. Husk is doing the same thing except his wings are being bent at odd angles, painfully. The cords squeeze tighter, and Husk lets out a yell of pain.
"Alright stop!" You shout at the man holding you captive. "Let him go and I'll tell you." Your eyebrows furrow as the tv screen steps closer to your face.
Vox laughs in your face. "You seriously gonna tell me? Or am I gonna have to kill this guy to get a straight answer out of you?" His question his full of venom.
You glance over at Husk, his face contorting in pain but shaking his head no.
"Times up!" Vox laugh maniacally as a sudden shock fills your body.
The pain is blinding and the velocity of the shock shakes your body compulsively. It feels like eternity before the shock finally stops. You hang your head panting heavily, drool dripping from your mouth.
Vox grabs your chin and forces your head up. "Let's try this again. Where's Alastor?" His left eye now warping as he tries to hypnotize you.
Squeezing your eyes shut and you manage to turn your head away but it temporarily disoriented you after your pretty painful shock. Vox doesn't take to kindly to this.
As he sends another wave of electrocution into your body he is distracted by the torture, he doesn't realize his grip of Husk loosened and he managed to get out.
What is Alastor doing? You think as your vision fades to black
Alastor is walking closely behind the group in front of him. Vaggie is carrying some bags for Charlie, while Angel Dust is carrying some of his own. This town trip has been very boring for the Radio Demon. The least Charlie could do was let him kill SOMETHING, but no. Not a good image for the hotel. Fine.
As they head into what seems to be the 5th store they have gone in today, Alastor decides he'll stand outside. Watching the city be hellish. Imp and succubi walking and showing too much skin. A murder happen next to him, he had to side step to make sure no blood got on his clothes, or else he'd have to break Morningstars no killing.
He misses you. All he can think of is when he can get back to his love at the hotel. Charlie steps out with the other two following in step behind her.
"Alastor?" She asks, "Something on your mind?"
Alastors annoyed grin stays, "Yes well, I am simply missing my partner is all."
"They are literally back at the hotel." Angel Dust says in disbelief.
An annoyed groan leaves Alastors throat.
Before he could respond an explosion rattles the street. Everyone covers their heads in order to protect themselves from fly debris, but Alastor doesn't move, his smile unfaltering but simply closing his eyes. When he opens he sees where that explosion came from.
The hotel. Y/n.
"Holy shit!" Angel Dust shouts. "That came from the hotel!"
Charlie, Vaggie and Angel Dust take off into a dead sprint towards the hotel while Alastor slips into the shadows it will be faster to get to you.
Back to you. Well your mostly conscious body you.
Vox was growing tired of the excessive torture. Blood drips down your nose, coating your lips in a tint. At least Husk managed to get away, you think.
"Vox! What in satans name are you doing to my partner?" An almost too happy voice rings in your ears. Alastor.
"There you are old fuck! I came here to kill you!" Vox shouts throwing your body to the side.
Charlie, Vaggie and Angel Dust managed to reach the hotel just as Vox aimed his attacks towards Alastor. Everyone jumps out of the way but Alastor just simply fades out into the shadows.
Where your body landed Husk was cowering in a corner, trying to hid from the tv demon but also not knowing how to go get help. He crawls over to you shaking you. "Y/n! Get up!" He shouts.
Alastor and Vox begin their little fight but Alastor has a bit more malicious intent then all the other times. Vox hurt you, so now he really needs to hurt Vox.
Alastors inky shadow tendrils wrap around Vox's leg before slamming into the ground, creating a crater and then flinging him into the city. He laugh maniacally as he watched Vox's body crash into a building, knowing he had won for now.
"Alastor!" Charlie shouts at the radio demon
She is holding your head in her lap as the blood flowed down both nostrils. Alastor quickly heads over to your body, his smile is still there but it's full of pain and panic. He holds your head in his hands shaking.
"Y/n?" He calls out softly.
You twitch and open your eyes, they are bloodshot. "Al?" You call out.
Alastor lets out a choke noise as he pulls you close, kissing your face and neck.
You let out a soft chuckle at the flutters of kisses. "Is he gone?" You ask.
Everyone nods as Alastor pulls you close resting your head on his shoulder and caging you in his arms.
"He is gone for now but if he dares to lay another finger on you, I will cut all of his off." Alastor makes a promise to you.
Charlie looks around at the damages and scratches her head. Vaggie pulls her along listening to her rant about how to fix the damages. Angel Dust found Husk and looking over him and his wounds while the cat bats away his hands.
Alastor kisses you softly but deep. It's a kiss you don't normally get from the man but you intend to enjoy it every time you do.
"I'll be alright, honey." You say wiping the blood on your face with the back of your hand, smudging it.
"In due time." Alastor says picking you up bridal style and walking towards your shared bedroom.
@feral-fox-crypt I think I'm a psychic because I think you want rough sex with Alastor? Am I right or am I right? I want to dedicate this story to @dewdropdinosaur she has read some of my other rare pair fic during Kinktober/Flufftober and always left a comment that brought a huge smile to my face. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this one! đ
TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, rough sâĄx, reader has sub drop, aftercare, bad BDSM etiquette, rough âĄral sâĄx, p in v, choking, hair pulling, belt whipping, dual POV, alastor is bad with feelings, multiple âĄrgasm (f!receiving), over-stimulation, crude language, degradation, dâĄm/sâĄb, alastor is dâĄm, reader is sâĄb, minor hurt/comfort, alastor catches feelings for reader
âšïž recommended to read câckwarming first for a fulsome experience âšïž
The sound of slick, wet slurping filled the room, obscene and unashamed, like a starved animal devouring a long-awaited meal. Â
Alastor sat back, his glass of bootleg rye balanced in one hand as he stared out the window, eyes fixed on the darkened shed outside. His grip on the glass tightened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes narrowed, fury simmering beneath the calm veneer he struggled to maintain. It was a cold, bitter fire that burned hot in his chest, ignited by his own failure.Â
He had let his prey escape.Â
The papers were a humiliating testament to that. The Bayou Butcher, mocked openly, ridiculed. The survivor had painted a vivid tale of bravery, twisting the truth until Alastor was depicted as a bumbling foolâa pathetic predator whoâd somehow let a prize slip through his fingers. Every word mocked him, taunted him, kindling the rage that boiled just beneath his polished surface.Â
With a low, guttural growl, he seized a fistful of your hair, dragging your mouth off his cock with a loud, wet pop. Your eyes, hazy with lust and adoration, lifted to meet his. Your bruised, swollen lips parted as you gasped for breath, desperate for his approval even now. Your lips had been wrapped around him for the better part of fifteen minutes, greedily sucking him down, each needy pull of your lips drawing the otherwise dormant arousal to life.  His cock twitched at the sight of your expression: you wanted more, no matter how he took you.Â
âS-sir?â you breathed, voice soft and trembling as your bare, supple body quaked under his fierce gaze. He could feel every small tremor against him as your hardened nipples brushed his legs, the friction sending jolts through you with each hitch of your breath, each restless grind of your thighs, trying to soothe the ache that pulsed between them.Â
A smirk tugged at his mouth, dark and almost cruel, as he released his hold on your hair. âCome,â he commanded, low and dangerous, enjoying the thrill that coursed through you at the sound of his voice. You obeyed instantly, crawling toward him on all fours, desperate and shameless, just as heâd taught youâlike the bitch in heat heâd once sneered you were, back when he had taken you in the dark intimacy of his radio station, his cock deep in your throat to muffle your needy moans.Â
You were such a simple creature, so delightfully obedient. Alastor couldnât fathom how any woman would indulge his depravity the way you did, how you could revel in the filthy things he made you do.Â
But there you wereâa rare, eager little pet, his perfect plaything, someone so willing to lay bare her body and soul for him that heâd found himself unwilling to discard you. You were a treasure he had now taken into his home, cherishing you like a prized possession.Â
His cock throbbed at the sight of you, and his eyes tracked the sway of your breasts as you crawled toward him, each movement sending them into a pendulous swing that only fuelled his arousal.Â
Your expression was one of pure, open adoration, your gaze filled with the kind of devoted bliss that soothed the sting of failure in a way nothing else could. His anger ebbed as he watched you, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar possessive warmth that simmered and coiled low in his gut.Â
As you reached him, he knelt down, exposing himself fully, his arousal drooping slightly from lack of stimulation. But you, sweet and eager as always, hastened to rectify that, fingers wrapping firmly around him as you stroked him, forming a tight ring with your delicate hand. You leaned in, the tip of your tongue flicking over the head of his cock, and a shiver ran through him. With just a few teasing licks, you brought his desire roaring back to life, your skilled, needy mouth working magic on him with effortless grace.Â
Alastorâs hand drifted to your head, fingers curling gently in your hair as he began to stroke it, his touch uncharacteristically soft, almost tenderâa rarity that had your cheeks flushing as you stared up at him. Your lips curled into a blissful smile, basking in the affection he so seldom gave, your fingers still wrapped around him as you savoured his touch.Â
You were nothing to him. Â
He reminded himself of that with each pulsing beat of his arousal, each hungry sweep of your tongue over him.Â
You were a diversion, a pastime, a convenient release for those primal urges that not even he could deny. And yet, as he gazed down at you, a small thrill surged within him, intoxicating and delicious.Â
âSuck,â he murmured, his voice a soft, commanding whisper, devoid of emotion yet laced with something he had yet been able to name.Â
You responded instantly, need and devotion glimmering in your eyes as you wrapped your lips around him, forming a tight seal at his tip before taking him deeper, letting him fill your mouth. Your tongue traced over him with soft, teasing strokes, and you began to bob your head, each movement drawing a low groan from his throat as he watched you.Â
You were hopelessly clumsyâalways fumbling, tripping, and blushing every time he so much as looked your way. But he loved the effect he had on you, how that heavy blush painted your cheeks every time he took control, how you quivered with each command. And no matter how rough he was with you, how often he pushed you to your limits, you only came back for more, craving everything he would give. That thought alone made a sharp grin spread across his face.Â
A dark, possessive desire simmered in his gut, and he felt the twisted thrill of knowing just how easily you surrendered to him. You were the perfect woman...pet for himâthe way you willingly, eagerly, gave up control, placing your complete trust in him. The way you looked up at him with reverence, even now, as he twisted his fingers in your hair and tugged sharply. A delicious shudder ran through you as he thrust forward, pressing deeper until he heard that lovely, choked whimper, felt your throat tighten around him. Yet, even then, you didnât pull away; you stayed, devoted and unyielding.Â
Like a loyal dog. Like a bitch in heat.Â
... Like his cherished, obedient... pet.
The sound of his harsh breaths mixed with your muffled moans and wet, sloppy noises filled the room, each messy gulp of yours sending a wave of satisfaction through him. Drool began to slip past your lips, clinging to your chin in a thick, sticky mess. As he looked down, he felt a realization settle in his chestâa rush of certainty that you would stay by his side until death itself claimed you. You would be there, smiling up at him with that same innocent adoration, even if he stood drenched in the blood and gore of his latest kill.Â
You, his perfect, shameless... lover, would fulfill his every dark desire unquestionably, wouldnât you?Â
In one swift motion, he pulled you off his cock, and your breath hitched as you looked up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy with need. The sight of youâso willing, so utterly ravishedâsent a pulse of heat straight to his core, and his cock throbbed, painfully hard at the sight. Since when had you looked so divine? When had he started craving you like this?Â
Why did he want to consume you whole?Â
He took your hair in his hand again, a makeshift leash, and guided you to his bedroom. You stumbled as you tried to match his strides, hands and knees scrambling to keep up, yet you didnât utter a single complaint. Instead, your wide, needy eyes were begging, pleading for him to take you, to give you every piece of himself.
When he crossed the threshold, he paused, feeling a strange sense of anxiety. This would be the first time heâd take anyone, you, in a bed.Â
For the first time, he wanted to ravage you on something softer, something that allowed him to enjoy every moment, every gasp, every twitch of your body. Every other time had been in rough, illicit places: his office, the hidden corners of alleyways, beneath the cover of twisted trees in the bayou, or pressed against the cold, unforgiving floor.Â
He stopped at the edge of the bed, watching as your trembling fingers reached up to trace the outer seam of his pants, awaiting his next command, your eyes so full of devotion it made his chest ache in the strangest of ways.
A thrill of ownership surged through him; you were his in every way, werenât you? His pretty, obedient plaything. His perfect, precious pet.Â
And you, he realized with a dark satisfaction, were entirely his.Â
You were a strange girl. Â
You knew you were. Â
Excitement pulsed in your veins as Alastor, the one man who owned your every thought, invited you to his home. The whole way there, nerves danced beneath your skin, feeling the weight of his silence as he drove you deep into his bayou. This was a firstâheâd never brought you into his home before.Â
Heat flooded your core at the thought of what he might do to you. Alastor was the only man who didnât treat you as fragile. The only one willing to satisfy every dark, unhinged desire you harboured, needs that would make anyone else turn away in disgust. But he never looked at you with revulsion during these acts, save for that lingering smirk when you fumbled over your duties.Â
You were happyâbeyond happy.
Being with Alastor made you feel more alive than youâd ever been.Â
Now, completely bare before him, you knelt, wanting to whine, to beg him to take you in whatever twisted ways he pleased.Â
But...as your eyes traced his expression, you realized that there was something different about him today. His usual rough, unyielding exterior softened, showing a rare glimpse of something tender, something reserved only for you.Â
âGet on the bed,â he ordered, his voice low, demanding, with a hint of cruelty that made your stomach tighten.Â
You scrambled, snapping from your trance. But after kneeling for so long, your legs wobbled beneath you, and you stumbled back to the floor, wide-eyed as you looked up. A cold, dangerous smirk curved his lips.Â
âSo you canât even follow a simple order, can you?â he mocked, voice dripping with condescension. âAnd what did I say Iâd do when you canât follow orders, dear?â he hissed, fingers pulling his belt from its loops with an agonizing slowness, the sharp slide of leather against fabric filling the silence.Â
Your breath caught, the thrill of fear mingling with a rush of wet heat between your thighs. You remembered all too wellâthe time he bent you over a tree for not bringing his dry cleaning on time, each slap echoing through the bayou, burning itself into your memory.Â
âThat youâd punish me, sir,â you whispered, barely audible, your voice trembling.Â
âCorrect. Ten strikes.â He grasped your upper arm, pulling you to your feet, only to toss you onto the bed. You landed face down, the plush fabric against your skin as you arched your ass up for him.Â
A chill swept down your spine as he traced the beltâs cool edge over your heated skin, dragging it slowly along your soaked, sensitive folds. The slick sound of your arousal coating the leather mingled with your ragged breaths, filling the room.Â
And then, without warning, the belt sliced through the air, landing with a sharp, punishing crack on your bare skin.Â
âAhh!â you gasped, your body lurching forward as you pressed your face into the mattress. âO-one,â you whimpered, each heartbeat amplifying the sting as your clit throbbed, the pain melding with pleasure.Â
A fire sparked beneath your skin, flaring with each strike as Alastor whipped the belt against you again and again. You counted each one, voice wavering between cries and sobs, drool trickling down to meet the tears blurring your vision. Your thighs quivered, struggling to keep your ass raised, eager for him. On the seventh strike, when the belt caught your slick, needy folds, you felt a wave of shame as liquid spilled from you, glistening on your skin.Â
A low, desperate moan escaped your lips as your walls clenched, craving something to fill the aching emptiness.Â
Alastorâs sharp, mocking laugh sliced through the haze, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. âComing without permission now, are we?â He didnât give you a chance to answer, raining down the final strikes in swift, merciless succession.Â
Your cries softened, a mixture of raw pain and bliss as you trembled, knowing that the bruises would mark you for days. Each ache would bring you back to this moment, reigniting the desire pooling within you.Â
Then, without warning, he pressed three thick fingers into you, plunging deep. Alastor leaned over your arched back, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. âHow dare you be this wet when Iâm punishing you,â he growled, his fingers relentless as they drove into you, the sound of your slick, desperate flesh echoing in your mind.Â
Your body writhed, pressing back, eager for more, your hips grinding against his hand as he filled you. âPlease, please, sir, I need you,â you finally gasped, voice choked with want, your vision blurred with pain and overwhelming pleasure.Â
The tension snapped in the air as Alastor's voice, pitched with a teasing, dark delight, pierced the haze surrounding you.Â
âDo you now?â he mocked, his fingers glistening with your desire as he slid them from your mouth. Gripping your hips, he yanked you back into position, aligning his thick, throbbing head with your dripping entrance. Before you could even brace yourself, he sank in, burying himself to the hilt in one fierce thrust that ripped a sharp, needy cry from your lips. Before you could release it fully, his slick fingers thrust back into your mouth, muffling your gasps as your body clamped tightly around him.Â
You tasted yourself on his fingers, the heady blend of his dominance and your surrender driving you mad as he stretched you with each brutal plunge. You could do nothing but cling to him, letting him bounce you up and down with each pounding thrust that had you soaring, the friction of him catching at every perfect spot inside you. The delicious ache of being stretched so completely consumed you, your clit throbbing as his cock teased your depths, nudging your cervix and filling you with intoxicating waves of pleasurable pain that left you reeling.Â
Your muffled moans mixed with his guttural groans, the raw sounds of your bodies filling the room as he drove into you. When he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth, he circled them over your swollen, desperate clit, wringing a broken, gasping wail from you as another wave of pleasure shattered through you. His fingers never stopped their relentless teasing even as you came, your body helpless against the mind-melting ecstasy that left you a sobbing, trembling mess.Â
By the time he tossed you onto the bed, you were barely aware, your body limp and pliant. Your leg draped over his shoulder, he resumed, driving himself into your swollen folds.Â
Your shameless moans filled the air, the slick sound of him claiming you echoing as he pounded deeper, harder, unrelenting. Gripping your breast, he squeezed, his thumb rolling over your sensitive nipple, sending sparks through your already sensitized body. Your back arched, surrendering every part of you to him, your tears mixing with the damp sheets as you lay bare, offering yourself to his every whim, every desire.Â
Then his hand was at your throat, his fingers wrapping around, pressing just enough to cut off your breath to reach the edge of oblivion. His cock throbbed deep inside you as he watched you, eyes glinting with manic delight. With each bruising thrust, he tightened his grip just enough for your vision to darken, and with that growing pressure, a new wave of pleasure bloomed inside you, sharper, more intense than before. Just as your world began to blur, he released you, and you gasped, the rush of air into your lungs sending you spiralling as a fierce, desperate climax ripped through you, shaking you to your core.Â
Your soaked body trembled uncontrollably, each pulse of his cock within you driving you deeper into a haze of pleasure. His hold never wavered as he brought you to the edge again and again, until there was nothing left but the raw, aching, consuming pleasure that marked you as his.Â
The heat between you was overwhelming, each breath catching as you rocked on his cock, feeling every thick inch filling you deeply. You could barely process the bliss, but you didnât stop, even as your thighs quivered, and your mind spun, surrendering completely.Â
Alastor threw his head back, his usual control slipping as he gripped your hips, his own movements coming to a halt while he let you take control for the first time, guiding his cock deeper with your rhythmic movements.Â
"That's it, dear," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice husky and rich with praise. His release flooded into you, thick and hot, and he let out a small, breathy moan as you continued to move, clenching around him to draw out every last wave of his pleasure. âTake every single drop,â he muttered, the words leaving his lips with a fervent, almost reverent edge.Â
Finally, he softened and slipped free, his seed mixing with your own arousal as it dripped between your thighs. He let himself fall back, his gaze heavy-lidded but still drawn to you, watching as you slumped, exhausted and trembling. Your legs splayed apart, arms limp, and your face a mess, wet with both tears and the remnants of your desire. Breathing raggedly, you tried to ground yourself, but your mind still floated in that heady haze, every muscle vibrating with the aftershocks of pleasure.Â
You stared up at him, craving more, more of...you weren't sure what you craved. But you wanted to feel him, whatever he was willing to give you. Even as your body barely held itself together, you forced yourself to move.
The thought of, please don't leave, echoing in the dark recesses of your mind.Â
A warm, low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and before you could react, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. Something in you seized up, a flood of warmth welling up behind your eyes as he pressed you against him.Â
Normally, heâd leave by now, always returning to whatever occupied him after these indulgent moments. Your fingers trembled, hovering uncertainly over his back, unsure if this was something you were truly allowed to reciprocate.Â
Alastor had taken you farther than anyone else, yet he also left you feeling more alive and more vulnerable.Â
As the thrill of the moment faded, you often felt a pang of sadness after, not knowing how to tell him that all the intensity seemed to leave a hollow ache in your chest. You bit your lip, not wanting to risk anything that might make him see you as clingy or overly attached.Â
âGo on, dear.â His voice held that playful lilt, but underneath it, there was an unfamiliar warmth. âYou know how to embrace, donât you?âÂ
Hesitantly, you let your arms wrap around his shoulders, feeling the roughness of his suit and the warmth of his skin beneath. Tears spilled over your cheeks as you pressed yourself to him, breathing in his scent, feeling a strange fullness you hadnât experienced beforeâa feeling beyond just your body. He didnât let go, instead rubbing a gentle hand along your back, wordlessly accepting your embrace.Â
âSorry,â you stammered, pressing your face into his shoulder. âIâm not sad; I swear Iâm notâŠâÂ
You wanted to tell him that the happiness you felt when he held you like this was overwhelming.Maybe you were a strange girl with strange feelings, but right now, held tightly in his arms, you felt more complete than you ever had before.Â
For the first time, Alastorâs hand stroked your hair, each touch gentle and unhurried, melting away the last of your reservations. And as the tears continued to fall, he held you there, secure in his grasp, until you finally drifted into sleep, feeling a place of belonging and acceptance in his embrace.Â
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Summary: Alastor Hartfeltâs life was delightfully simple. Host his radio show. Tend to his garden. Commit the occasional murder for funsies. And most importantly avoid people. The arrival of a young widow in the neighboring cottage threatens all four. Oh dear.
Notes: Murder confessions, smut. As always MDNI
Series Masterlist
Laid Bare
Alastor POV
Alastor loved you. Body, mind, and soul. There was no point attempting to deny or run from that fact. Yet alongside that realization sat another, one that pricked at his conscience with increasing persistence.
Never before had he desired for another soul to know him completely. He had spent years cultivating his masks, carefully offering the versions of himself the world wished to see while the darker corners of his life remained his alone. But the deeper his attachment to you grew, the more heavily those hidden pieces settled upon his already sin stained soul. He found himself wondering how you might look at him if you knew the truth. If you knew that the infamous Bayou Butcher was not some faceless monster whispered about in newspaper columns, but the very man who held your fragile heart in his bloody hands.
And then there was the cruel little possibility that refused to leave him in peace. What if he had been the one to kill your husband?
He could not even remember the manâs face. There had been so many over the years, each blending into the next until only fragments remained. It was entirely possible your late husband had crossed his path one unfortunate evening. The uncertainty gnawed at him in ways he had never anticipated. Not because he regretted what he had done (he did not). But because he now feared what that truth might steal from him.
As though the burden of truth was not enough, fate had chosen to mock him even further. He could not even ask for your hand.
Marriage had never once occupied his thoughts before you. The notion had always seemed little more than a pleasant fiction reserved for other people. Yet now he found himself aching with the absurd desire to call you his wife, to have the right to keep you close without whispers from busybodies or judgment from polite society. Instead he was forced to endure the long months of mourning, smiling patiently while every instinct within him screamed that you already belonged beside him.
âWhat are you thinking about?â you whispered.
Your voice gently pulled him from the depths of his thoughts. He looked down to find you smiling up at him where you lay comfortably against his chest, the two of you tucked away within your bedroom with the curtains drawn tightly against the afternoon sun.
How he hated that. How he hated that loving you had to be hidden behind locked doors and drawn curtains, as though it were something shameful.
âEverything and nothing, mon ange,â he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.
You smiled against him, fingertips lazily tracing idle circles over his bare chest.
âThat sounds rather exhausting,â you teased softly. âCare to unburden yourself?â
His arms instinctively tightened around you.
âI was merely thinking of you,â he admitted. âAnd how I wish things were different. You deserve the world, my love, and I have every intention of placing it at your feet one day.â
You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, your expression impossibly gentle.
âI donât need the world, Alastor.â Your thumb brushed affectionately along his sharp jaw. âI just need you. Exactly as you are.â
The words struck him like a blade between the ribs. A quiet chuckle escaped him, though there was little humor behind it. If only you knew who he truly was. If only you knew what those hands now cradling you so tenderly had done. For the first time in his life, the thought of being truly known made him feel ill yet he wanted it all the same.
Guilt truly was a wretched thing. Settling deep within his stomach, heavy and sour, churning until he found himself nauseated by its presence. Alastor had never pretended to be a good man. He was not merely flawed or misguided, he truly was a monster. And somehow, despite all of that, each evening he found himself returning to you, wrapping those same bloodstained hands around your waist as though he had any right to hold something so wonderfully good. It almost felt⊠wrong.
Then there had been the âincidentâ during his latest hunt. He should have taken it as a sign to stop. You had been waiting for him, no doubt wondering why he was late, while he stalked unfamiliar streets, convincing himself there was still time for one more indulgence.
As he forced the lifeless weight into the rear of his automobile, something caught the corner of his eye. Movement. There was someone watching. Half concealed behind a rusted dumpster at the mouth of the alley.
For the briefest instant their eyes met. His blood ran cold.
âFuck⊠fuck⊠FUCK!â
The curse tore from him before he had the presence of mind to swallow it. Slamming the boot shut, he threw himself behind the wheel and tore from the alley, tires protesting against the rain slick pavement as the city blurred past in frantic streaks. Forcing himself to slow down, he prayed he was wrong.
Had the man actually seen him? Could he offer the police anything more than the frightened ramblings of a drunk who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time?
Alastor gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. For years he had hunted with meticulous precision. Tonight, for the first time in a very long while⊠He had made a mistake.
The following morning found the two of you tucked away in the warmth of his kitchen, sunlight spilling through the windows as Jambalaya wove lazy figure eights around his ankles. Alastor moved between the stove and the table, sliding a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto your plate.
âThere we are.â
âThank you, my love,â you smiled, never looking up from the morning paper spread across the table before you. He answered with an affectionate hum, reaching for the coffee pot.
âOh!â you exclaimed suddenly. âLook at this!â
âWhat is it, cher?â
âTheyâve got a description of the Bayou Butcher.â
The glass percolator nearly slipped from his grasp. Fuck.
It was only years of practiced composure that kept his expression from betraying him. Setting the pot down with deliberate care, he wandered over as though mildly curious and rested a hand upon the back of your chair.
âHave they now?â he asked lightly.
You nodded, reading aloud.
ââPolice are searching for a middle aged man of medium complexion believed to be responsible for the recent string of disappearancesâŠââ
Alastor blinked. Middle aged? His eye twitched almost imperceptibly. Middle aged? I am not even forty.
The absurd indignation flared so brightly it managed, for one glorious second, to smother the panic threatening to consume him.
ââŠApproximately average height⊠dark hair⊠last seen wearing a dark overcoatâŠâ
Relief seeped into his tight chest. What they had was wonderfully vague. Half the men in New Orleans could have matched that description on any chilly evening. He allowed himself a slow, measured breath. That had been much too close.
By the time Alastor arrived at the station, the entire building seemed to be buzzing with speculation. Every hallway conversation eventually circled back to the same topic.
âThe police are keeping some things close to the chest,â one of the broadcasters remarked as they gathered around the coffee pot. âThatâs what I heard this morning. Apparently theyâve released only a fraction of what they actually know.â
Another nodded knowingly.
âIâve heard theyâve even got a basic description of the fellowâs automobile. Theyâre just withholding it for now.â
Alastorâs stomach lurched. He offered nothing more than a thoughtful hum before continuing toward his office, careful to keep his stride measured.
Of course they are.
Why would they show their full hand? His pulse hammered painfully against his ribs. For the first time ever, uncertainty had wormed its way beneath his skin. He felt like people were looking at him from every angle. It was absurd, he knew. Paranoia accomplished nothing.
Yet he could not silence it. When the red studio light blinked to life, instinct carried him through the broadcast. His voice remained smooth. To anyone listening across New Orleans, Alastor Hartfelt sounded exactly as he always did. Only he knew the ugly truth.
His collar clung uncomfortably to the back of his neck. Sweat dampened his palms beneath the desk where no audience could see, and his heartbeat refused to settle no matter how brightly he smiled into the microphone.
It was exhausting. Fear, he decided, was a thoroughly unpleasant emotion. He very much preferred being the one who inspired it.
The moment the broadcast concluded, Alastor slipped from his office without so much as lingering for conversation. His measured pace carried him through the station until the parking lot came into view.
A cluster of men stood gathered near the entrance, laughing amongst themselves. His pulse stumbled. Their attention drifted toward the row of automobiles. Were they discussing his? Had the police released the description after all?
He forced a pleasant smile onto his face as he approached.
âGentlemen.â
One of them tipped his hat, another offered a cheerful greeting before the conversation resumed as though nothing were amiss. Alastor returned the gesture with practiced ease, unlocked his automobile, and climbed inside without allowing himself to look hurried.
Only once the engine had turned over and the station had disappeared in his rearview mirror did the nausea finally wash over him in earnest. This could not continue. He had been fortunate for years. Luck, however, truly was a fickle companion.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter as mile after mile of Louisiana countryside rolled past his windows. Then, somewhere along the familiar drive home, the answer settled quietly into place.
Two things had to happen. The first was painfully obvious. He had to tell you the truth. Not because he wished to ease his own conscience, but because he refused to build a future with you upon a foundation of lies. If he asked you to leave everything behind for him, you deserved to know precisely the sort of man making that request. You deserved the opportunity to walk away while you still could.
The second revelation followed almost immediately. You needed to leave Louisiana.
Distance would place miles between the two of you and whatever investigation now threatened to tighten around his neck. It would pull you safely beyond the reach of curious detectives, whispering neighbors, and the endless expectations of New Orleans society.
And, perhaps most beautifully of all⊠It would free you from mourning. No one in some quiet town hundreds of miles away would know you were expected to remain in black for another year and a half. No one would care how recently youâd been widowed or whether propriety dictated patience before another marriage.
You could simply be a woman. He could simply be your husband. The thought should have filled him with hope. Instead, dread settled heavily in his chest.
Because before he could ask you to run away with him⊠He would have to tell you that the Bayou Butcher had been sharing your bed every night for the past several months.
By the time he pulled into his drive, the decision had settled firmly in his mind.
His gaze drifted instinctively toward your cottage only a few yards away, and for one fleeting, shameful moment he nearly abandoned every ounce of resolve he possessed. It would have been so easy to cross the garden as he always did, gather you into his arms, steal a kiss, and pretend none of this existed.
Instead, he remained where he was. Drawing a slow, steadying breath, he rested both hands upon the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
He understood now that the next few hours would determine the course of the rest of his life. By nightfall, you would either condemn him for the monster he truly wasâŠOr you would choose him. There was to be no middle ground. Though deep down he knew a woman such as yourself would never choose the monster. Oddly enough, he had made peace with telling you the truth. You deserved nothing less. If he truly loved you, then he owed you every terrible corner of himself, no matter how grotesque they might appear beneath the light.
Whether you accepted them⊠That was never his decision to make. StillâŠHe was, at his very core, a profoundly selfish man.
He intended to savor every smile you offered him, every gentle touch, every lingering kiss, every whispered my love that fell from your lips before the illusion shattered. If those precious moments were to be his last, then he would commit each one to memory.
âHello, my darling,â you smiled as he ascended the back steps of your cottage just before nightfall.
Before he could utter so much as a greeting, you slipped your arms around him, drawing him close.
His resolve faltered immediately. The thin cotton of your nightgown caught the fading light, skimming the graceful lines of your figure as the evening breeze stirred its hem. You looked impossibly lovely, waiting there for him with that gentle smile that never failed to undo him. God, how perfectly you suited him.
âIâm sorry,â he murmured, his hands instinctively finding your waist. âI simply couldnât wait to see you any longer. IâŠâ
This was itâŠThe words hovered on the tip of his tongue, every sentence rehearsed a dozen times during the drive home. He had come to strip away every carefully constructed facade, to lay bare the man and the monster alike, and allow you to judge them both.
But then your lips found his. As though kissing him was the most natural thing in the world. Your fingers slipped around the nape of his neck, disappearing into the chestnut curls at its base as you drew him nearer still.
The speech dissolved of course. A quiet sigh escaped him into the kiss as his eyes drifted shut, every dreadful thought momentarily swept away by the simple miracle of having you in his arms.
This! This was all he had ever truly wanted, though he had not realized it until you. He would gladly surrender every sin, every dark ritual that had once brought him satisfaction. He vowed to abandon the hunt forever if it meant waking each morning beside you for the rest of his days.
And with that silent vow, Alastor granted himself one final indulgence. Just one fleeting moment beneath the blissful veil of new love, before truth came crashing through it.
He surrendered himself completely to your embrace, gathering you against him with newfound urgency. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he drew you flush to his chest, kissing you with a tenderness edged by quiet desperation, as though he were trying to memorize the very feeling of you.
You smiled against his lips, breathless.
âDid you miss me?â
He rested his forehead against yours, unable to suppress the small, affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
âMost ardently,â he murmured before stealing another lingering kiss.
Walking you away from the open doorway, he didnât care at this moment if anyone were to see the two of you. Nothing mattered anymore. He kissed you through every step as you moved within the house. A passionate dance the two of you had come to learn through one another. Heâd savor every second that this final act would provide him.
When the back of your legs hit your mattress you gasped as you fell back. He took his place between your legs, pushing your nightgown up to expose your beautiful unclothed cunt. He stopped for a moment to admire the sight.
His plan had diverted in that moment at the stairs in a cruel selfish way, but he figured as it was to be the last time heâd know you this way, he may as well enjoy his damnation.
Alastor loved you, yes. But he was still a cruel, selfish monster. The new plan was to make you drunk on his love so as to enjoy you carnally one last time.
Slipping to his knees he completely ignored the way his own arousal strained at the confines of his trousers. Too focused in that moment on savoring your taste.
Using his thumbs to part your slick folds he wrapped his lips around that little bundle of nerves and sucked, eliciting noises from you that made his heart sing and his cock twitch. You were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted and heâd gladly devour you for an eternity if permissed.
You writhed beneath him, he seemed hungrier than normal. Gone was the gentle lover who had stolen countless nights. He was moving like a man who had only hours to live and you were his final meal.
âAh, ah, Alastor,â you gasped as his tongue delved into your needy cunt. âWhat ever has gotten into you?â
He didnât answer. As he was much too taken by the consumption of you. His focus was solely on the two fingers he slid between your folds as he continued his assault on your clit. Curling them ever so slightly up into that one spot made your back arch off the mattress.
The waves of pleasure were intoxicating as he worked his fingers inside of you. Unable to stifle the moans as your orgasm crashed over you all too quickly. Fully subdued in your pleasured haze it wasnât until you heard his belt buckle unfastening that you rose up on your elbows to watch. Youâd begged him more than once to fuck you again. However up until this moment the two of you had only ever truly made love that one time in the greenhouse.
âIâm afraid tonight I know no restraint, mon amour.â Alastor muttered darkly, as he worked his thick length up and down, tearing his eyes away from your core only to catch your curious gaze with his own heavy lidded one. Youâd never seen him like this.
âPlease, Alastorâ was all you managed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to once again feel him nestled deep within you. Lining himself up he rubbed his heavy cock head along your slit gathering the residuals of your orgasm, as he readied you for his intrusion.
The stretch was intense, but nothing like the first time. This time your body welcomed him as if this was the only correct thing in the world. Pulling him in with every moan and gasp that escaped your sweet lips. You were utterly full of him in the loveliest of ways.
âFuck, youâre so tight,â he moaned as he bottomed out, pelvis rubbing along your overly sensitive clit, unable to keep himself still once surrounded by your gummy walls. The squeeze was delicious as he began to rock slowly, testing just how ready you were.
Your own gasps were the only answer you could manage, as you peered down at the union of your bodies. Hoisting your leg up and giving himself a better angle, he pulled out just enough for you to see your own slick glistening on his shaft before plunging back in. He was trying to go slow, truly. To enjoy every second of what was apt to be the last time he was ever to enjoy something as sweet and innocent as you. But the monster inside of him was begging for more. More movement, more passion, more of you.
And so he indulged, fucking you senseless. Groping your chest, pinching your pert nipples and making you moan, he bent down to capture your lips in order to drink up every last gasp. Your hands roamed over his strong shoulders and slid up into his dark curls, tangling themselves in an attempt to anchor yourself to him. Your hips moved to meet his, desperate for everything he had to offer.
Pulling back, he searched your tear brightened eyes. He wanted nothing more than to remember you exactly as you were in this moment. Hair tousled, lips kiss swollen, cheeks damp with pleasured tears, beautiful beyond anything he had ever dared imagine. Were anyone near enough to the cracked window they would have no doubt heard the most salacious noises known to man. Both lost in one another neither of you cared to keep quiet. This kind of love was something not meant to be hidden or kept covered. It was loud, intense, and real. Alastor knew this now.
And when he felt your walls fluttering around his cock he knew you were once again at that peak. Slipping one hand between your sweat slick bodies, he found that spot again and rubbed, as another orgasm washed over you. Fuck. He cursed internally, as your walls grasped what little restraint he had tried to hold over his body away. He hadnât wanted to come before undoing you at least one more time. But the human body is not always one to oblige.
Leaning down into your neck he panted, screwing his eyes shut, willing his own tears away as his hips rutted into you, burying himself somehow impossibly deeper. He came with your name desperate on his lips. Uttering sweet devotions and promises he knew not if he would be able to keep. Silently pleading that he would never lose the woman who had so completely, so irrevocably, become his heart as he painted your walls with thick ropes of hot seed.
When at last peace settled over you both, leaving nothing but tangled limbs, damp skin, and two hearts beating in quiet unison, Alastor gathered what little courage remained. He could not allow you to fall asleep beside a monster without knowing precisely what sort of man held you in his arms.
âCher,â he murmured.
âHm?â you answered softly, already nestled beneath his chin, perfectly content to drift off there against him.
His fingers brushed absentmindedly through your hair, lingering as though it might be the last time he was ever permitted such a privilege.
âWould you still love me,â he asked at last, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, âif you knew the evil things I have done?â
One eye cracked open to peer up at him, heavy with sleep.
âThat depends, Alastor.â
He swallowed.
âWould you still love me if you knew of mine?â
A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him. Impossible. Whatever sins weighed upon your conscience could never rival his own.
âCherâŠâ He hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. âIâve done things I cannot undo. Terrible things. Things I believe would make you despise me.â
You frowned faintly, lifting your head just enough to study his face.
âI know not what you mean, my love.â
He closed his eyes for only a heartbeat before forcing the words free.
âI believeâŠâ He drew a slow breath. âI believe I am responsible for your husbandâs death.â
His confession was greeted with silence. For the first time that evening, genuine surprise crossed your face. Then, to Alastorâs complete bewilderment, the corners of your mouth curled upward.
âNonsense, darling,â you replied with an amused little smile. âThat would be quite impossible.â
His brow furrowed.
âNo, you donât understand. I am not a good man.â
âI never asked you to be.â
âNoâŠâ he insisted quietly. âYou truly donât understand.â
You reached up, cupping his cheek with infuriating tenderness before giving your head a small shake.
âI donât particularly care whether youâre a killer, Alastor nor for any sins you have commited.â
His breath caught.
âBut I do know, beyond all doubt, that you had absolutely nothing to do with my late husbandâs death.â
He stared at you, utterly lost.
ââŠHow could you possibly know that?â
Your smile widened, equal parts sweet and wicked.
âOh, thatâs rather simple.â
You settled comfortably back against his chest, as though remarking upon tomorrowâs weather instead of confessing to murder.
âBecause Iâm the one who killed that bastard.â
A Alastor x wife!reader where reader has been wanting a family and finally by some miracle she discovers she's pregnant
Just a thought đ«
You are not even the third person to ask for this and we're all already delusional here soooooo-
Alastor X Reader Headcanons
â ïžRomantic
âïžPlatonic
TW: Sadness, Reader has baby fever and spreads it to her husband unintentionally, A little angst, Implied baby making đ
Description: đâŹïž
Alastor would do anything for his wife, spare no expense for her happiness and it shows
You two have talked previously about your obvious desire for a family with him
He would be willing to give that to you even though he's admittedly not the biggest fan of the idea
Part of him is scared of being a father but he won't ever admit that
You two both knew that sinners couldn't reproduce, and it crushed you that the opportunity was taken from you
You were still happy to have your husband and your found family at the hotel
You just still had that desire to have a baby, your husband's baby to be exact
Alastor hates seeing you so hurt over this, he wants to fix things for you, but this is out of his control
He couldn't give you a baby no matter how hard he tried, and that makes him feel helpless, which makes him angry
Sometimes the longing for a baby and the despair of knowing you can't have one gets to be too much for you and you unintentionally draw into yourself
Not amount of hugging or soothing words from your husband can console you, no matter how hard you cling to him and seek his comfort
You're just so sad sometimes
Which leads to Alastor being frosty and agitated with the others around the hotel, upset that he can't just fix it
He would give you the biggest family if he could, whatever he could do to make you feel whole
It's not like you two are neglecting each other or growing apart, there's just this heavy feeling hanging between you two
Everyone knows something is up with you two, but nobody is brave enough to ask, except maybe Vaggie, but she's respecting your privacy as a couple
Of course, it's Charlie who tries to get to the bottom of things for the two of you, everyone is just worried you two are fighting
So when you finally relent and tell her the truth, she's relieved that you and Alastor only want to have a baby-
YOU AND ALASTOR WANT TO HAVE A BABY!?
Sinners can't reproduce so you're just riding out your baby fever until it's manageable again
But no sinner has had a friend in the Morningstar family before
Not even a day later Alastor is greeted by Lucifer while you're out with Charlie and the others
"Hey man, heard you wanted me to get your wife pregnant! Lucky for you, I happen to have a thing for married women~"
When you come back home you're surprised to see Lucifer and your husband talking amicably, both turning their heads towards you immediately
"Ah! Would you look at the time? I should really get going, things to do, ducks to make-what?"
Lucifer gives you an unexpected side hug on his way out, hand resting momentarily on your stomach before leaving
You rub where he touched, surprised by the sudden warmth that lingers there
Your husband is looking at you strangely too but kisses you in greeting before you can even question it
Alastor acts rather clingy the rest of the day, following you around, asking you how you're feeling, giving affection more freely
You can't deny that you're loving the attention and soaking up every bit of it, the warmth in your stomach having spread throughout your entire body now
If Alastor's sudden neediness is anything to go by, he's feeling the same as you are
How either of you manage to wait until everyone has gone to bed to indulge in each other is beyond you
The entire night is a blur but when you wake up the entire bed has nearly been torn apart
Feathers are all over the place, the blankets have all been kicked away or shredded, the bed frame is clawed and cracked
You would almost feel embarrassed, but when you look at your handiwork on your husband, you can't help but feel proud
Things mostly go back to normal after that, except Lucifer visits more often and seems to pay special attention to you
You feel like everyone is watching you lately and you don't know why, you're never alone anymore, your husband especially is very hovery
But it ends up working out in your favor because one day you wake up, overwhelmed by the urge to vomit, your husband holding back your hair
And it keeps happening for days on end, and you start gaining weight without explanation, and your cravings are suddenly intense and-
Your husband is looking a little too pleased with himself, rubbing your back soothingly as you poke at your mysteriously changing body in the mirror
"You did this to me somehow, didn't you!"
"Why honey, why would I need to babytrap you when we're already married?"
"Because you-what?"
It takes a few moments to register what he said, all the strange things in the last few months clicking into place
"You got me pregnant..?"
He actually starts to look a little embarrassed, suddenly unsure if he really did the right thing after all-
When did he end up on the bed?
Is definitely sure in his decision later when he exits the bedroom, fixing his hair and clothes while he leaves you sleeping in bed
Luckily, the hotel has a lot of people who are willing to help out with your pregnancy because Alastor is worried he's actually in over his head
Your mood swings are more like mood hurricanes and sometimes he needs help knowing the right things to say
"Y/N, don't worry about not fitting into your own clothes, this is uh...just an opportunity to get new ones!"
"T-Thanks Vaggie..."
The cravings start to get fucking weird, Alastor genuinely repulsed by some of the things you're asking him for
"Darling, I can get you fresh meat as bloody as you want but do you really need to eat it with cake and ice cream?"
"Don't you love me..?"
He'll be back in 10 minutes
The bigger you get, the more sore and tired you are, constantly needing help around the hotel as you waddle around
"Thanks for helping me, Husk...I was getting really tired."
"Charlie, is it alright if I sit in that chair? My back is killing me.."
Alastor is scared with how vulnerable you are like this so he sticks close to you but silently appreciates the help from everyone
Even the other overlords come to see your miracle pregnancy, which doesn't help with Alastor's paranoia over how defenseless you are right now
They just want to see
As if Carmilla or Rosie would let anything happen to you anyways, Rosie loves the crap out of you and Carmilla wouldn't hurt an expecting mother
Rosie is constantly visiting and bringing baby gifts, so many that they're starting to pile up around the hotel
"Oh darling, you're practically glowing! Alastor! Have you told Y/N how radiant she is with her pregnancy?"
She wants to be Aunty Rosie so bad
Alastor genuinely admires the changes in your body, feeling pride in the thought that he did this to you
"With a little help from the big boss of-"
"You haven't left already?"
"I want to talk to my god child~ Can you stop hogging Y/N's belly for five minutes?"
"Your what now?
Alastor rubs your belly a lot, baffled by the idea that his spawn is in there and how happily you carry it
How you're so proud to be having his kid is beyond him, he knows what a wretched man he is and you still love him, take pride in him
The first time he feels the baby kick, he's a little unnerved but then you guide his hand back, smiling at him in a way that makes his heart ache for you
"Our baby wants to say hi to you..."
Okay, now his heart is melting, give your husband a kiss right now
Starts kissing and talking to your belly more after that, talking to the baby about anything and everything as if you're not even there
"Now your mother, you have no idea how lucky she is to have me as her husband~"
Confides in you late one night, about his fear of being a father and failing you and the baby
Not him having tears pinpricking in the corners of his eyes as you kiss him and reassure him
He doesn't particularly care about the gender of his child, just that you and the little spawn are okay
But if the baby is a girl, then he would like her to have his mother's name, that's all he would ask really
If the baby is a boy then he'll let you pick the name out as long as it's something fancy sounding
Does all the work when it comes to the nursery and baby proofing but has no idea what that actually entails, so you'll have to help him out
He's so proud to show you the finished look
The closer it gets to your due date, the more out of sorts and anxious he is but he tries to put on a brave face for you
He makes sure you never have to lift a finger, doing everything he can to make you comfortable and spending all his free time with you
Carmilla and her daughters all volunteer to assist in the labor, Zestial coming for the sake of tagging along
Alastor is in genuine anguish when you actually go into labor, the sound of you in pain and him being helpless to help is torture for him
Refuses to leave your side the entire time, blocking out everything else but you and encouraging you as best he can
Focuses so hard on taking care of you that he hardly notices that you've finished, surprised when Carmilla suddenly puts not one but two babies in your arms
You're visibly exhausted but seem to gain a renewed energy at the sight of your babies, looking at them in wonder before giving Alastor a tearful smile
"A boy and a girl, a miracle on top of already being miracle babies. Congratulations, Alastor."
Carmilla pats him on the shoulder before leaving, pulling Zestial and her daughters along with her
Alastor doesn't even register what she said, still dumbfounded at the sight of you cooing at two squirming infants
TWINS!? Lucifer, you sneaky son of a bi-
"Do you want to hold them, Alastor?"
"I would love nothing more, my dear..."
He definitely doesn't immediately fall in love when his babies cling to him like they'll never let go, holding his fingers in their unbelievably tiny hands
A LITTLE TREAT FOR ALL OF YOU WHO WERE BEGGING FOR THIS
â Summary: Alastor didn't like sharing your charm with the others. Which often led him to get needy. Craving extra special attention from his darling girl, which you happily supplied.
â Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, established relationship, heavy breeding kink, praise kink, soft!alastor, creampies, dirty talk, fingering, light biting, nipple play (reader recieving), begging, making out
â Word Count: 1,564
Your peers swore you had cast a spell upon Alastor. He was wrapped around your little finger, and you lost count of how many times demons who stayed at the hotel would come up to you and ask if you owned his soul.Â
You may not have owned his soul, but you certainly owned his heart.
After the initial shock wore off, your counterparts left it be. Angel would joke often about how Alastor was "pussy whipped". But that was as far as the teasing went. Everyone else knew not to step on The Radio Demon's toes.Â
It wasn't hard for your peers to catch on; to why exactly Alastor loved you so dearly. You were an absolute sweetheart, caring and compassionate in every way. You always offered a hand to any of your counterparts who required assistance, and your actions proved that you were constantly thinking of ways to make everyone feel valued.Â
Alastor rather despised having to share your charm with others. Which often led to long nights of your lover being clingy and needy for you. Much like tonight.Â
You were flat on your back atop the plush duvet. Alastor surrounded you with his frame, slender arms enclosing near your head. Your lover placed soft kisses across your face. Humming one of his favorite tunes in the process. "Absolutely breathtaking, my doe," Alastor whispered, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.Â
A chill ran down your spine at the feeling of your lover's bare body pressing against yours. His cold flesh was a nice contrast to the warmth you emitted. You let out a soft whine as Alastor's erection grazed your lower tummy, making you needier than ever for him. Which was The Radio Demon's goal all along. It was only fair to make you feel just as desperate for him as he was for you.Â
"Do you know how much I cherish you, my dear?" Alastor cooed, nipping at your neck. Leaving pretty marks in his wake. His sharp teeth grazing along your pulse point caused your breath to hitch. Your lover trailed lower, still pressing his body close to yours.Â
"Yes," You sighed, burying your hands into his fluffy tufts of hair as Alastor's lips wrapped around one of your nipples. His hands began to wander. One slipped between your legs, gathering your slick with his deft digits. His other hand trailed to your other breast, tweaking your neglected nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
"Good girl..." Alastor released your nipple with a loud pop before darting his tongue out to circle around your areola. A cry of his name slipped past your parted lips as Alastor's ring finger eased its way into your pussy. Your grip on his hair tightened as you held him closely to your chest, pulling a deep groan from your lover's lips.Â
"Feels so good, Al," You babbled, raising your hips to meet the slow cadence of his finger plunging deep inside you. Alastor's lips shifted to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Only this time, his sharp teeth skimmed along your sensitive nipple. A sultry moan ripped through you from the sensation, urging Alastor on to add a second finger inside your inviting heat.Â
Alastor slowly rutted his hips against the plush duvet, letting out groans against your marked-up flesh. "Please, my love... need you inside," You whined desperately, pulling his face up to have him meet your gaze. A string of saliva connected Alastor's lips to your hardened nipple. His cock twitched at the look of desperation you gave him. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, eyebrows knitted with emphasis; eyes half-lidded.Â
"How could I say no when you ask so graciously, hm? I intend to give my little doe everything she needs." Alastor's smile widened as he pulled his fingers out of your dripping heat. He didn't waste a beat wrapping his slick-coated fingers around the base of his cock. A whine escaped you as your lover ran the head of his flushed length between your folds. Â
"Hmm, you're so wet for me, darling. Do I really work you up that much?" Alastor quipped, allowing the tip of his cock to push past the tight ring of your pussy. You nodded your head in agreement, pushing your hips closer to his; but to no avail. Alastor's hands came to hold your waist, keeping you in place. "Use your words, my dear."
"Y-Yes! Always, Al. Just you... only this needy for you," You were already stupefied by the pleasure your lover granted you, and he barely even began. A deep chuckle escaped Alastor. The radio crackle reverberated through his chest. "I hope you are aware that the feeling is mutual, my precious little doe,"
With that, your lover pushed deeper inside you. Stretching your walls to accommodate his length. "F..Fuck, so tight. You are squeezing me so greatly, darling." Alastor hissed through gritted teeth. Your thighs came up to wrap around his waist, pulling his pelvis flush against yours.Â
A gasp fled you as you felt your lover twitch from deep inside you. His full balls kissed the underside of your pussy, making your head spin. "Al, you're so big, feels s-so good..." Your hands enveloped the back of his neck, drawing his face close to yours. Alastor's lips ghosted your own as he delivered his first thrust deep inside your fluttering heat.Â
"You take me so well, my darling. Your tight little hole was made for me- and me alone." Alastor whispered against your lips, finding a slow but steady rhythm. Desperate whines escaped you, and your lover drank up each and every single one. Alastor was infatuated. His crimson orbs held so much adoration for you.Â
You kept your gaze fixated on him as he fucked into you sweetly. Your legs narrowed around his waist as Alastor began plunging into you with more vigor. "I'm going to breed you, my sweet little doe," Alastor huffed. One of his large palms wrapped around your hand before he dragged it down to your tummy. A sharp gasp fled you as you touched the prominent bulge your lover was causing. "Feel that, my dear? I'm in so deep. Surely you'll get pregnant when I spill my seed inside you."Â
You clenched harshly around him from his crude words. The thought of Alastor knocking up caused the coil within you to unravel. "P-Please, breed me! Fill me up, make me yours for good!" You cried out, thighs trembling around your lover's waist. Your words diminished the last of Alastor's resolve. Before you knew it, his large hands hooked under the back of your thighs. Pushing them tightly to your chest.
A sharp gasp escaped you from the change of position. Alastor's cock reached even deeper from this angle, intensifying the heat in your lower tummy. "Such a good girl you are! You're so pilant, so willing... so eager for me to fuck a baby into you." His words caused your walls to flutter wildly around his length. You were on the edge of cumming all over his cock. The pleasure Alastor provided you was becoming too invigorating to bear.Â
"Al, ah... I'm close! K-Kiss me, please!" You begged as his hips pistoned harshly into yours. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against the underside of your drooling pussy sent a pleasurable chill down your spine. Alastor wasted no time capturing your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, tongues intertwining with one another as the coil within you finally snapped. Your lover drank up all of your whines as your pussy pulsed and gushed around his cock.Â
Alastor wasn't far behind you. His release was triggered by yours. The feeling of your hot, wet walls trying to milk him for all he was worth made him feel lightheaded. His thrusts became sloppy before his hips ultimately stilled against yours. Alastor groaned into the kiss as his cock twitched from deep within you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as the first ropes of his cum spilled into your pussy.Â
There was so much, and the feeling of being bred by your lover was heavenly; ironically so. Alastor slowly broke away from the kiss as he attempted to catch his breath. His cock was still nestled deep inside you as he stared down at you lovingly. You couldn't help but smile widely at your lover, allowing your palms to capture his cheeks. Rubbing Alastor's face gently with the pads of your thumbs.Â
"Alastor, that was... wow," You giggled as your lover slowly released his tight grip on your thighs, allowing your legs to lie flat against the bed. "You are truly perfect, my dear. I simply cannot get enough of you!" Alastor's praise caused your heart to flutter in your chest. He was so gentle with you and you alone. Pride surged through your soul at the notion that Alastor only had a soft spot for you.
Your train of thought was cut off by the sensation of your lover's cock hardening from deep inside you once more. A smirk crossed Alastor's features as he reveled in your look of shock. "What's with the look of awe, my darling? I told you I was going to breed you. I don't intend to leave this room until I am positive you have been thoroughly bred."
may i request something where reader watches alastor undress. him slowly taking off his coat⊠sliding off the straps of his suspenders⊠rolling his sleeves up to his elbowsâŠ
Talking Body
⥠Pairing: Human!Alastor x Afab!Reader
⥠summary: Alastor has been neglecting you lately, so he decides to give you a show.
⥠warnings: 18+, MDNI, stripping, needy reader, neglected reader, masturbation, voyeurism, bodily fluids, Alastor is a tease, pet names. I think that is everything.
⥠an: Thank you so much for the request. I hope you enjoy! Not proofread, possible spelling errors
The day was long and boring. Being a stay at home wife you tend to run out of things to do by the end of the week. All the chores were finished and dinner was in the oven.
You were glad it was finally time for your husband to get home. You've missed him dearly. He has been working late hours at the radio station the past several weeks. Not returning home till late in the night, long after you have finally gone to sleep. This morning however Alastor had promised you he would be home on time. Telling you he had a surprise for you.
Since your husband has been working late he has started to neglect you intimately. Alastor was never one for physical contact but he always made sure you were taken care of.
You checked the clock and saw you still had about an hour before he should return Home and another twenty minutes for the food to cook. You decided it was a perfect time to take care of the ache between your legs.
You spread out on the couch, hiked your dress up over your hips and pulled the top down to expose your tits. Your hand trailed down your body till you found your Clothed cunt. You push your panties to the side and rub your finger up and down before finding your bundle of nerves. After a few minutes you slip a finger inside and start pumping.
You whine because it's not as good as Alastors cock, doesn't stretch you the same way. You speed up fingers trying to find release when the door slams Open.
Alastor is standing in the doorway with flowers and a shocked look on his face when his eyes land on you. You gasp and stop moving.
âMy my my, what is my lovely wife doing?â He says smirking in a teasing tone.
Your mouth hangs open not knowing how to respond. âCouldn't wait for your dear old husband to come home? Tsk tsk tskâ He shakes his head back and forth. âJust what am I going to do with you darlin'?â
He shuts the door with his foot as he walks into the living room, playing the flowers on the coffee table. He grabs your hand and takes you to your shared bedroom.
He pushes you down gently to sit on the bed as he grabs a chair and places it in front of you in the middle of the room. He sits down and spreads his legs wide.
âI suppose I have been neglectful these past few weeks, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to touch yourself.â
You whine in embarrassment
âNow you're going to be a good girl and sit there and behave yourself. Bad girls don't get rewarded.â
You nod your head as you bite your lip
âYou're going to keep those pretty eyes on me and you aren't going to move a muscle. Understand love?
You nod again and he whispers good girl.
You watch as Alastor takes off his jacket and hat, sitting them beside you on the bed, then you watch as he loosens his bowtie, pulling the fabric and twisting his head back and forth. Next he unbuttons the sleeve of his shirt and slowly starts to roll the right sleeve, exporting his toned, tanned arms, next me moves to the left side rolling even slower.
His eyes stay on you the whole time, a slight smirk on his face when you fidget on the bed and play with your fingers.
He spreads his legs further apart as he trails his hand slowly down his body stopping at his belt, he tilts his head to the side when your breath hitches. Laughing he slowly undoes the buckles and makes a shower of pulling the leather out of his lands. He folds it up and sits it beside you.
He runs his hand back up his chest and stops at his bowtie. He removes it, throwing it towards you. He fists his suspenders before slowly sliding them off his shoulders and removing them completely. His hand then lands on the first button of his shirt. He slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time.
Your legs are rubbing together at this point and you're fisting the sheets on the bed. Alastor is smirking at you as he continues to agonizingly Slow undoing his shirt. When He finishes he lets it hang open and you have to hold back a groan from how delicious he looks.
He slowly lets the fabric fall down his shoulders then His arms, letting it hit the floor. He leans back in the chair and stretches. You watch as his Muscles Flex as he moves. He raises an eyebrow at you as you rub your legs together harder.
His hands run back down his chest and stop at his pants. He lifts his hips up slowly then sits back down. He unbuttons them and slowly slides the zipper down. His eyes are trained on you as he pushes them down his hips then down his legs. He folds them and sits them on the bed then he removes his socks next.
He's left in nothing but his boxers and you moan at the sight. He chuckles as your flushed face. You've hiked your dress back up because of your fisting the fabric. You can see the outline Of his cock and a wet spot forming on his boxers. He lifts his hips and slowly slides them down,leaving them forgotten on the floor.
You suck in a breath at his naked figure. His cock stands tall, leaking. He notices you biting your lip and decides to tease you some more. He wants to see how long you can control yourself.
He fists his cock, giving it a squeeze before lazily stroking it.
âAlastorâ you say breathlessly and be chuckles
âWhat darlin'? I said good girls get rewarded and you've been a bad girl. Touching yourself While I'm Goneâ
You whine
You can see the tip glisten from how much he is leaking. it's spilling over onto his fist acting as lubrication. He speeds up his first and moans your name as he throws his head back. While he isn't looking you lean back and spread your legs, pulling your panties down.
When Alastor looks back at you he is met with your cunt on full display and his breath hitches. You suck a finger into your mouth before it finds your bundle of nerves And you start rubbing. You throw your head back and moan, back arching.
He says your Name more stern this time and you moan out his name âOh Alastor, fasterâ
He groans and his fist Matches the speed of your finger. Your other hand comes down and you slip a finger in then two. He cups his balls as he watches you matching your pace.
You're both moaning and growing, trying to outlast the other.
âfuckâ He curses. Something he hardly ever does. âLook at you. All spread out and giving me a show. So pretty baby, prettiest I've ever seen ya.â
âAlastor! Yes, just like thatâ you scream as you add a third finger and speed up your pumping.
Alastor grits his teeth feeling his release coming. Your back arches as you feel yours.
âSqueezing me so well baby, pussy was made for meâ
You moan feeling that familiar heat flood your senses. You scream his name as you cum all over your fingers.
Alastor moans your name, his eyes rolling back as he shoots his load all over his first. The sight of you pushing him over the edge.
You both sit there for a moment catching your breath. Alastor gets up out of the chair and crawls on top of you.
âThat Was a good show darlinâ but how âbout I give you the real thing?â
Reader dances in the kitchen, reminiscing on fond (yet painful) memories of a certain Overlord.
Listen to: Let you Break my Heart Again - Laufey
Warnings: Angst? Yearning. Fluff? | Words: 1364
A/N: taking a break from Sweet as Candy to bring you this short oneshot. i loooove Laufey so expect more oneshots with her music, especially since her new album is coming out soon!! i really need to stop writing angst lol. i hope you like it. my asks are open to requests! (i need the practice lol)
âčâËâ§ïž”âżâàšá°à§ââżïž”â§Ëââč
'Feeling kind of sick tonight All I've had is coffee and leftover pie It's no wonder why'
You signed as you stirred the now cold coffee in front of you. You had been at the hotel for about a year now, and you've honestly had the most fun you've had since landing in Hell. The only problem is that you seem to have found yourself infatuated with a certain red, radio man. He was a sick, twisted man with an appetite for humans (and not in a good sense), but something about his courteous, gentlemanly demeanor made your heart flutter. He was never disrespectful, never impatient, never rude. You thought maybe he could possibly feel the same, but he seemed to treat everyone the same way.
Sometimes, however, he was a bit infuriating. The way he would brush major issues off made you upset. He would become disinterested and distant, leaving the hotel staff and the guests to fend for themselves. It wasn't often, but boy did it grind your gears.
And yet, there you were, sitting at the dining table alone at night, lost in thought.
'Ooh, still you take up all my mind I don't even think that you care like I do I should stop, heaven knows I've tried'
The schedule allowed for free time that afternoon with no redemption activities planned. You had gone out to explore a bit more of the city but quickly became overwhelmed before you hurriedly made your way back to the hotel. You made yourself a cup of coffee and set up a speaker to play relaxing music. Or so you thought, the song currently playing pulled you into a state of limerance.
You stood, pouring the coffee down the drain. You stood by the table, lifting your arms as if you had a partner to dance with, and began to sway along with the music. Your eyes slowly closed as the music continued as you began to recall the first time you realized your feelings for him.
One day, I will stop falling in love with you Some day, someone will like me like I like you Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie Pretend that we are more than friends Then, of course, I'll let you break my heart again
"Be careful there, my dear; we wouldn't want you falling and getting hurt." You recall Alastor wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you from the edge of the hill, saving you from accidentally tripping over the edge. The redemption activity called for an outside exercise.
Your face was bright red as you stumbled back , "Oh! Uh! Thank you." You managed to get out.
"Don't want to lose our newest guest just yet!" He winked before walking back to the group.
Your heart is beating wildly out of control. This can't be happening.
'I'm just tryna understand what I am to you More than songs, we've exchanged Midnight calls, sunset views'
You continued to spin around the kitchen as your mind recollected a different recent memory.
You leaned over the balcony and watched as the city began to come alive as night fell. It had been a long, crazy day with Charlie and the crew. Trying new and 'improved' exercises that resulted in nothing but bruises and scratches. You had to admit, despite feeling pain, you had rather enjoyed yourself, especially being with good company.
You jumped as you felt something being draped over your shoulders, "Here," He said as he leaned next to you, "You'll catch a cold!"
His coat smelled like him, woody... and a slight hint of iron. You didn't mind it. "Thank you. How thoughtful." You offered him a slight smile before looking back out at the horizon.
He simply hummed, but you could feel that he continued to stare at you. You tried not to pay attention to him, feeling like maybe your eyes could betray your thoughts and feelings.
"I hope you are not thinking of jumping over the edge." He said after a while.
You laughed, "Darn! My plans are foiled."
"Well then, I'm glad I was the one to foil them. I believe it would be dreadfully boring without you here!" You know he meant it as a joke, and you made sure to laugh along with him, but deep down, you knew he didn't mean it... At least you didn't think so.
'Promise I don't mean to cry But I get overwhelmed and confusedIf only you knew what I felt like'
You felt tears slide down your face, this damn song making you emotional. You knew you needed to let this go. It wasn't healthy for you or the people around you. You loved being around him, and the thought of losing him if he found out how you felt hurt more than what you were going through now. You knew that Charlie and Vaggie were becoming more and more worried as you neared the end of your internal emotional battle. You began to become more distant and quiet. It wasn't like you, and you hated it.
You decided to leave for a while; thinking that maybe distance could help you really sort yourself out. You had actually already packed your bag and written a notice to Charlie. You'd go back into the city, to your apartment, and continue to make a living the way you used to before arriving at the hotel. Knowing that everyone would be out tonight made for the perfect day to plan to leave. You really didn't want to have to face anyone. You knew you feared confrontation, and yeah maybe you could get better help by opening up to them, but fear overpowered you.
'One day, I will stop falling in love with you Someday, someone will like me like I like you Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie Pretend that we are more than friends Then, of course, I'll let you break my heart again'
"You're leaving, aren't you?" a soft whisper pulled you out of your daydream, stopping mid-spin as he caught you in his arms.
"Alastor!" You gasped, as he continued to sway with you. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd also be out."
"I did pay a visit to my friend in Cannibal Town, but it was only for a short while. I sensed you were here, so I went to look for you in your room... I found your letter."
You looked away, almost feeling ashamed. You stayed silent for a bit, trying to figure out an excuse.
"Who hurt you?" He asked as he wiped a leftover tear from your cheek.
You quickly pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself, "No one. Don't worry about it. I'll be fine... I just have things I need to take care of back home."
"You're lying to me," He angrily retorted before taking a deep breath, "You can tell me anything, As the host, it is my duty to ensure you are enjoying your time here."
There it was. The rejection you were waiting to hear. That's all he would ever be to you. The host. Maybe you were jumping to conclusions, but you knew you were one excuse from really jumping off the edge. "I... I can't. I'm sorry." You moved to walk out of the kitchen but stopped as you felt him grab your wrist.
"Please don't," His voice softened again, pulling you into an embrace. You stood there, unmoving, stunned that he had finally made a move. You could feel his breath on your forehead as he continued to speak: "I believe I have started to... grow quite fond of you... The mere thought of not having you around... seems to be unbearable... Please. Stay."
'Some day, one day, I will stop falling in love with you
Until I do, I'll be thinking of you
Let you break my heart again'
The silence as the song ended was deafening. Your mind trying to process what just happened. Everything you hoped for. Everything you dreamed of. How could you say no? Was it selfish for you to feel this way? Would it hurt you more in the long run? You didn't care.
"Okay." You whispered back and returned the embrace.
Summary- Alastor and her shared a childhood bond, growing up together under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Despite unspoken feelings, life pulled them apart when she was forced to marry another man. Heartbroken, Alastor watched from afar as her life crumbled. Years later, she finds him in Hell, desperately pleading for his trust.
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Tags- Childhood friends, but never to lovers/fingering/possessive sex/ petty Alastor/ doggy style/ Grabbing the chain while hitting it from behind/ soul trading/ she gives Alastor her soul/ shameless smut/ squirting/ degregation?/ Alastor being very possessive/ Sweet little ending
The air always smelled faintly of magnolia and rain when she first met him. His mother worked in the small, whitewashed church at the edge of town â the one that always seemed to hum with hymns even when no one was inside. Her own mother often came to visit, helping tidy up, bringing extra bread or preserves for the poor.
Thatâs where she met him â the odd little boy with a sharp smile and freckles like tiny constellations scattered across his cheeks. Alastor, his mother called him.
He was a year older, taller by a head, and always seemed a little too sure of himself for someone so young. Sheâd been quiet that first afternoon, clutching her motherâs skirt until she was nudged forward. Their mothers had laughed softly, saying, âGo on, play outside now. Donât keep all that sunshine waiting.â
Heâd hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket and offered her a small cookie â slightly crumbled, but still sweet.
âHere,â he said, eyes darting away, pretending not to care if she refused it. âMama made extra.â
She took it without a word. Nibbled it. Smiled. And that was enough.
From that day on, they were inseparable.
They ran through the fields behind the church until their shoes were caked in mud and their lungs burned from laughter. Heâd drag her to the woods to âhunt ghostsâ or tell stories about mischievous spirits that supposedly lingered by the river. Sheâd bring sandwiches wrapped in cloth and heâd bring sweets his mother baked, claiming heâd helped â though he usually just licked the spoon.
When it rained, they didnât hide from it. They played barefoot in puddles, splashing until their mothers scolded them and wrapped them in towels by the fire. And sometimes, when the world grew quiet, theyâd lie side by side on the grass, staring up at the drifting clouds. Sheâd point out shapes â âthat one looks like a catâ â and heâd insist it looked like a radio instead.
He made her laugh until her ribs hurt.
He made her feel like the world was bigger than her tiny town.
And even as they grew older, their friendship didnât fade. It only grew quieter, deeper â full of things neither of them dared say.
Years passed, and the laughter mellowed into something heavier. They were adults now â she, twenty-one, he, twenty-two â but when she looked at him, she still saw the same boy with the crooked grin and sharp mind. Only now, the way he looked at her made her chest ache.
Alastor had spent weeks saving up his wages, walking to and from work under the punishing southern sun, just so he could buy the ingredients for one special gift. A small box, tied with ribbon, filled with her favorite cookies â the ones sheâd once said reminded her of childhood.
He rehearsed what heâd say a hundred times over. Something polite, something charming. Maybe heâd take her hand, finally say what heâd swallowed down for years. He could already see her smile, hear her laugh â
âbut when he rounded the corner to her familyâs porch, all those rehearsed words withered on his tongue.
She was sitting on the porch swing, the same one theyâd shared as children. But she wasnât smiling. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap, shoulders hunched, eyes distant.
âWhy the long face, cher?â Alastor called softly, forcing a grin that felt too tight on his face.
She looked up, startled at first â then she tried to smile for him. Tried and failed.
âMy motherâŠâ Her voice was quiet, frayed. âSheâs made an arrangement. With the Rousseau family. Their son is⊠very wealthy. And I am to marry him before the yearâs end.â
The world seemed to still. Even the cicadas stopped their song.
Alastorâs grin didnât falter. Not yet. He simply adjusted his posture, tilting his head like he was thinking it over. âAh. A fine match, then.â
âFine,â she echoed, bitterly. Her fingers dug into the wood of the swing. âI donât want it. But she says it will secure our future. That itâs whatâs best for us.â
He should have said something â donât go, donât marry him, stay with me. The words burned behind his teeth, heavy and suffocating. But instead, he laughed softly, a hollow, practiced sound.
âWell,â he said, eyes dropping to the box in his hand, âthen I suppose congratulations are in order.â
He placed it gently beside her. The ribbon caught the wind.
âWhatâs this?â she asked, touching it.
âJust something sweet,â he said. âA little reminder of the simpler days, perhaps.â
Her throat tightened. âYou always were too kind to me, Alastor.â
He tipped his head, masking the shake in his voice with another grin. âNonsense. Iâm sure your husband will be far kinder.â
------------
Rain threatened the edge of the sky that morning, dark clouds pressing low over the church where her funeral was held. The same church where they had met all those years ago â small, whitewashed, the paint chipping in the corners and the air thick with the scent of lilies.
Alastor stood near the front, just to the right of her closed casket. His hat was held tight in both hands, fingers white at the knuckles. He hadnât looked away from the polished wood once.
The priestâs voice droned softly over the room. Prayers. Scripture. Words that were supposed to bring comfort, though they felt empty, like brittle paper against the weight of her absence.
Around him, the sound of quiet sobs filled the space. Her motherâs shoulders trembled where she clung to her husbandâs arm. Friends sniffled into handkerchiefs. The air reeked of grief and perfume.
And beside the family pew â standing tall, somber, and dry-eyed â was him.
Her husband.
The man she had married, the man whose name sheâd been forced to take, the man now accepting condolences like he was the one who had suffered most. His arm was draped protectively around her motherâs back as if he had every right to touch her, to comfort her. His jaw was set, expression carved in polite sorrow.
Alastor wanted to drive his fist through that face until it cracked.
He forced his eyes back to the casket. His chest ached, but he didnât cry. He never did.
Theyâd been married only two years, and in that time, heâd seen her maybe five times. Once at the market, a letter clutched in her gloved hands. Once on the church steps, leaving before he could say a word. The other times â glimpses. A carriage passing by. Her silhouette behind lace curtains.
Sometimes, sheâd send letters. Short ones, as though she were sneaking them between breaths. Always careful, always distant.
âItâs been terribly hot this summer. I hope youâre well.â
âMamaâs garden bloomed again this spring.â
âI saw a heron by the river today. It reminded me of those long afternoons.â
Nothing more. Nothing real.
But he read every word until the ink began to fade.
Then came the rumors.
People whispered that her husband had a temper â that he drank too much, shouted too loud. A neighbor claimed to have heard a crash one night, a scream. Another said sheâd seen bruises on her wrists. But the husband was wealthy. His word held weight. Hers, apparently, had not.
And in the last months of her life, she disappeared. No one saw her walking to town anymore. The market woman hadnât sold her fruit in weeks. The mailman said letters stopped coming entirely.
Until one morning, news spread like smoke.
She was dead.
Fell down the stairs, they said. A terrible accident. Head struck the bannister. She was gone before the doctor arrived.
But Alastor knew better.
She was never clumsy. Never careless. Sheâd been pushed â he knew it in the hollow of his bones. But what could a Black man in Louisiana do? His voice was worth less than the mud under that manâs boots. He could shout until his throat tore, but the law would never side with him.
So he said nothing.
And now, he stood here, his silence the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
The priestâs final âamenâ echoed through the chapel. People began to move, to stand, to murmur condolences. Her husband stepped forward first, accepting folded bills and soft words with that same hollow charm.
âSuch a tragedy,â someone whispered. âShe was such a gentle soul.â
He nodded. He thanked them. He even smiled.
Alastorâs hands trembled. His nails bit crescents into his palms.
He could see it so vividly â his hands around the manâs throat, squeezing until that fake sympathy turned into panic. Until the smug calm broke into tears and apologies and pleas for air.
But he didnât move. He stood perfectly still, like marble.
Only his eyes betrayed him â dark, sharp, wet with fury he would never voice.
When the mourners began to leave, Alastor stayed. Long after the candles were snuffed and the pews emptied, he remained beside her casket. The wood gleamed under the low light, smooth and cold, sealing her away from him forever.
He wanted to speak. To say I should have come sooner.
To beg forgiveness. To curse the man who took her.
But all that came out was a quiet breath.
âGoodbye, ma chĂšre.â
He placed his hat back on his head, straightened his coat, and left the church without another sound.
And as he stepped into the rain, something inside him â something warm, something human â cracked and went quiet.
-----------
Hell greeted him not with fire, but with applause.
One year. That was all it took for him to rise.
The name Alastor became a whisper of terror across the underworld â The Radio Demon. A man with a grin too wide and a voice that poured out of every speaker, every crackling transmission, every shadowed corner of Hell. He didnât kill quietly. He broadcasted it. The screams of his victims turned into entertainment. The static of their last breaths became his music.
He built his kingdom on blood and fear and found, to his disgust, that it suited him perfectly.
He didnât look for her. He didnât look for anyone.
Why would he? She was gone â in Heaven, he assumed, smiling somewhere above clouds heâd never touch. Sheâd been pure. Gentle. A soul too kind for a place like this.
And he⊠well. Heâd earned his place below.
It was over tea that everything began to crack.
The air in Rosieâs sitting room was always thick with sweetness â sugar, lilac, and a touch of something citrus that made his nose twitch. The gramophone in the corner played a soft jazz tune as she poured.
They spoke idly about trade, the newest sinners, the usual chatter between friends who knew each other too well. He smiled, laughed where he should, even cracked a few jokes that made Rosie roll her eyes fondly.
It was just another afternoon until she said it.
âOh! Alastor, youâll find this amusing,â Rosie chimed, stirring her tea. âA darling girl came looking for you the other day.â
The cup paused at his lips. âOh?â
âYes, yes â said sheâs been searching for you everywhere!â Rosie waved a hand, grinning at the memory. âSweet thing. Looked a little lost, though. Said she knew you when you were alive. Childhood friends, I believe? My memoryâs a touch fuzzy.â
The tea was suddenly bitter on his tongue. His smile stayed fixed, but his pulse thundered in his ears.
âShe said she knew me,â he repeated slowly.
âMhm. Been asking around for weeks! Poor dear was near tears when she finally found me. Said youâd⊠mean something to her.â
He laughed â too loud, too sharp. âHa! My, my, what a sentimental notion! Surely youâve been mistaken, Rosie.â
Rosie tilted her head, unconvinced. âI donât think so, dear. I remember her name quite clearly. She had the loveliest manners.â
He wanted to tell her to stop. His voice wouldnât come.
âOh, and she left this.â Rosie reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. âSaid if you were curious â and I know you never are â this is where sheâs staying.â
She slid the note across the table.
Alastor stared at it. His grin didnât waver, but his hand trembled when he reached for it. The paper was warm from her pocket, soft around the edges. A simple address, written in familiar handwriting.
He hadnât seen her writing in decades.
âCuriosity is such a terrible habit,â he murmured, folding the paper carefully, tucking it into his coat pocket. âBut⊠I suppose I could indulge, just this once.â
Rosie smiled knowingly, sipping her tea. âDo let me know how it goes, dear.â
He stood, bowing slightly, hat tipping forward to shadow his eyes. âOf course, my friend. I always do.â
The door shut softly behind him.
And as he stepped out into the streets of Hell â the city alive with static and song â his grin began to tremble at the edges.
She was here.
Not in Heaven. Not above.
Here.
And for the first time since heâd died, the Radio Demonâs heart made a sound that wasnât laughter.
It beat.
---------------
Alastor stood before the chipped wooden door, his gloved hands clasped neatly behind his back as though he were about to be admitted to a business meeting, not a ghost from his own past. The address had burned itself into his mind the moment he saw it, yet now that he was here⊠he felt absurd. Pathetic, even. He wasnât sure what had compelled him to comeâcuriosity, nostalgia, masochismâbut whatever it was, it made him feel like a fool.
The faint hum of his static filled the hall as he exhaled sharply through his teeth. What was he expecting? A warm welcome? A tearful reunion? Ridiculous. He gave a clipped, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he turned to leave.
The doorknob creaked.
He froze.
A soft gasp followed, sharp and tremblingâthe kind of sound that made his entire body jolt. He knew that breath. He could recognize it in a crowd, in a dream, in the afterlife itself.
â...Alastor?â
His name left her lips like a prayer she wasnât sure she should say.
He went rigid. The air around him buzzed faintly, the scent of ozone curling through the corridor. He didnât turn. He didnât move. He couldnât.
âOhâoh god, Alastor!â
There were footsteps, quick and frantic, and thenâimpact.
A small body collided with his chest, arms wrapping around him tightly. For the first time in years, someone touched him. Really touched him. The static that had always hummed beneath his skin roared to life, hissing through the hallway like a broken radio signal.
He didnât shove her away.
He should have. He always did. But instead, his arms hovered uselessly in the air before falling limply at his sides. Her face pressed against his chest, and through the trembling warmth of her, he could hear the wet, uneven breaths.
She looked up at him, eyes glistening and rimmed with tears. Hell had changed herâpale, faintly tinted skin, a faint unnatural shimmer to her irisesâbut it didnât matter. Those were her eyes. His darlingâs eyes. His cher. The love he buried with his own hands.
âI thoughtâ I thought I was going crazy,â she babbled, words spilling out faster than her lungs could manage. âI heard the broadcasts, the laughterâit sounded like you, but it couldnât be, it couldnât! Youâd neverâ you werenâtâ you wouldnât hurt people like that!â
Her words cracked halfway through, and she pressed a shaking hand over her mouth. âYou used toâ you used to help everyone. I didnât believe it, I couldnât. Iâ I missed you so much, Alastor. Every day. I missedââ
He finally moved.
He raised a single hand, not to touch her, but to gently, carefully place two gloved fingers beneath her chin and guide her face away from his chest. He smiled. Too wide. Too sharp.
âNow, now, ma chĂšre, letâs not get all sentimental, hmm?â he said, his voice lilting with that familiar sing-song cadence, though the edges of it trembled like a radio station fighting for signal. âItâs all very touching, truly! A real heartwarmer! But Iâm afraid youâve made a terrible mistake.â
Her brows knitted together, confusion breaking through her tears. âAlastorââ
He stepped back, laughingâa sound that rang hollow, too loud, too bright. âYou must have me confused with someone else, my dear! I can assure you, Iâm quite the killer these days. Ask anyone!â His grin split wider, the static behind it growing harsher. âWhy, you wouldnât believe the things Iâve done for the sake of good entertainment!â
âStop it.â Her voice was small but sharp. âDonâtâ donât joke about that. Youâre notââ
He adjusted his tie, his motions brisk and precise, his entire body wound tight enough to snap. âOh, but I am!â he interrupted cheerfully. âThat old man you loved is long gone. Buried, forgotten, and quite possibly rotting! Youâre clinging to a ghost, darling!â
The last word came out strained, almost as if he choked on it.
She stared at himâreally staredâand the silence that followed was worse than any scream.
He held his smile.
He always did.
But as he turned on his heel, coat tails swishing, his reflection in the cracked hallway mirror showed the truth: a flicker of static across his face, the grin twitching at the corners, and eyes too bright with something dangerously close to grief.
He left her in the doorway, trembling and speechless.
---------
She always found him. No matter how far he ran, no matter how deep he buried himself in the laughter and chaos of Hell, she always found him.
The first time, it had been in Cannibal Townâhis playground, his sanctuary, his den. Sheâd appeared there in the middle of the square, trembling but determined, her voice soft yet firm as she said his name like it meant something holy. Heâd been mid-conversation, discussing something dreadfully boring with another overlord, when heâd heard her voice. He froze mid-sentence.
âAlastor.â
Static flared behind his teeth.
She was standing there, smiling at him like the sun cutting through fog. The smile faltered when she saw the glint in his eyesâthe carefully sharpened cruelty, the mask heâd carved from his own pain.
âMa chĂšre,â he greeted, bowing slightly, voice smooth as ever. âWhat a surprise! I wasnât expecting a visit from you in such⊠unsavory quarters!â
She stepped forward, clutching something in her handsânervous, desperate. âI need to talk to you.â
âDo you, now?â He tilted his head, grin widening. âI was under the impression that talking was something weâd both rather left behind us.â
âPlease, Alastor,â she whispered, voice trembling. âI just want to understand. You donât have to keep pushing me away.â
âAh! But thatâs where youâre wrong, my dear,â he said brightly. âItâs rather what I do best!â
He touched her handâjust for a secondâand her breath hitched. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. It felt like a sin to feel that warmth again.
Then he vanished in a wisp of red smoke.
âââ
The second time, she found him sitting beneath the glowing sign of an abandoned diner, humming an old tune into the static night. Her footsteps crunched softly against the cracked asphalt.
âAlastor.â
âPersistent little ghost, arenât you?â His voice came lightly, with the usual playful rhythm, but his fingers tightened around the handle of his microphone. âYou really must learn to let sleeping dogs lie.â
âThen stop acting like one,â she snapped, startling him. âYou think hiding behind jokes makes it hurt less? That it makes you untouchable?â
His grin flickered, just for an instant.
She reached for him, fingers brushing the hem of his sleeve. âI donât care what youâve done. I justâ I just want you to trust me.â
âTrust,â he repeated, tasting the word like poison. He chuckled lowly, shaking his head. âMy dear, I think youâre far too kind to be wandering Hell asking monsters to trust you.â
âThen why do you keep running?â
That made him stop. His eyes cut to hers, red light glinting faintly.
âIârun?â He smiled, brittle and small. âOh, darling, that implies thereâs something left to run to!â
He tipped his hat, and before she could say another word, he vanished againâleaving behind only the faint hum of his laughter and the sharp sting of ozone.
âââ
By the fourth time, she was crying.
They were standing in a dead forest at the edge of Cannibal Town, the fog curling around their feet like smoke. Alastorâs back was turned to her, shoulders stiff, voice calm as he said, âYouâre making quite the habit of this, you know. I might begin to think youâre fond of me.â
âIÂ am,â she said, voice cracking.
He falteredâjust slightly. His hands tightened behind his back, and the static in the air pulsed once, faintly.
She stepped closer. âWhy wonât you listen to me?â
âThereâs nothing to listen to,â he said, his tone clipped now, too rehearsed. âWhatever it is you think youâre looking for, my dear, it died a long time ago.â
âIt didnât!â She grabbed his sleeve, tugging him toward her. âYouâre still you! You still smile the same, you still hum when youâre thinking, you stillââ
He jerked his arm away. âYou donât know me anymore.â
âI want to.â
Her voice cracked open on those words, and he closed his eyes, the laughter dying in his throat.
âPlease, Alastor⊠just trust me.â
He said nothing.
The silence stretched so long it hurt.
And thenâ
âHave my soul.â
He froze. The words cut through him like a blade, sharp and final.
ââŠWhat?â His voice was soft now. Too soft.
She stepped closer, trembling but firm. âIf thatâs what it takes. If giving you my soul means youâll finally listen to me, then take it.â
âNow, thatâs quite enough ofââ
âI mean it!â she cried. âYou can have it! All of it! Justâ just trust me again, pleaseââ
He spun around, grabbing her shoulders so fast she gasped. His grip was shaking.
âDonât you dare say that again.â His grin was gone, voice low and breaking like glass. âYou think Iâd take that from you? You think Iâd damn whatâs left of you for a little peace of mind?â
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. âIâd give it willingly.â
He stared at her. For a moment, there was no static. No hum. Just the deafening thud of something he refused to name inside his chest.
ââŠYouâre a fool,â he whispered, the words trembling despite the smile trying to crawl back onto his face. âA beautiful, hopeless fool.â
She gave a watery smile. âTakes one to know one.â
He laughedâquietly, brokenlyâand let her go.
âAlastor, please,â she whispered, voice raw. âJust⊠just take it. Take my soul. Please.â
He didnât move. Couldnât move. Not at first. The hum of static behind his teeth had grown to a hiss, sharp and restless, but he forced it down.
Her hands shook as she reached for him, small fingers brushing his sleeve, tugging, desperate. âYouâll never believe me otherwise. You wonât listen!â
He clenched his fists behind his back. âEnough of this, ma chĂšre. Youâre making me ill with your dramatics.â
But she wasnât done. Not by a long shot. She grabbed his wrist, soft but unyielding, and pressed her tiny, trembling hand into his clawed one, the same way he would take a hand to seal a deal. The kind of contact reserved for ownership, for binding. Her tears dripped onto his glove, warm and salty, and the sound of her sniffing made him grind his teeth.
âThis is the only way, Alastor! You have to take it!â she sobbed. âYou have to believe me!â
He snarled under his breath, irritation sharpening every word. âYou insane little fool, you could have gone free, could have wandered Heaven if it pleased youââ
Her gaze never faltered. She blinked through her tears, lips quivering, and whispered again, more insistently, âTake it! Take my soul! Please!â
Before he could react further, he grabbed her handâforceful, sharp, just as he always did when he meant to exert control. The static flared violently. A flash of green shot between them, lightning in his claws and hers.
And in an instant⊠she yanked away.
The chain flared, small and shimmering, connecting him to her as if it had been there all along. The feeling hit him in a waveâhorrible, dizzying, disgustingly intimate. Her soul, hers, flowing into him. He felt it, and the sensation made his stomach twist.
âHmph.â He snarled through his grin, stepping back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. âHappy now? You could have roamed free, ma chĂšre, until the very end, and what do you do? Chase me.â
Her chest heaved. Eyes wide, wet with tears.
âI⊠I had to,â she whispered, voice trembling but sharp, the anger starting to simmer beneath the hurt. âI came to you because⊠because youâre the only one I everââ
He barked a laugh, sharp, cutting. âThe only one, eh? And why not go to that husband of yours? That unsavory little man, the one who forced your hand? No, of course not! Better to chase down the Radio Demon, the scourge of Hell itself, yes?â
Her lips parted, and he could see the flush of blood through her skin, the green chain glinting faintly between them.
âYou⊠you stupid girl,â he spat, irritation laced with something deeper, sharper, something he refused to name.
âIâm not stupid!â she snapped, stepping forward, anger sharpening the tremor in her voice. âI gave you my soul! I chased you down! Iââ
âStop,â he hissed, snapping, voice rising into static-laced fury. âYou think this changes anything? That giving me your soul absolves you? If you lie to me, I willââ
He summoned the green chain fully then, yanking it taut so she was pulled inches from him. She gasped, wide-eyed, caught by the shimmer of its power, her tears catching the light. He leaned forward slightly, the grin stretched impossibly wide, static crackling at his shoulders.
âYou lie to me again, ma chĂšre,â he snarled, voice low and dangerous, âand IÂ willâIÂ willââ
But before he could finish, she closed the gap.
Her lips pressed against hisâsoft, trembling, and impossibly sweet.
The world shifted. Static surged violently, green lightning crackling along the chain between them, and for the first time in decades, Alastor felt⊠disarmed. Helpless. Alive.
The snarl froze on his lips. The threat caught in his throat.
Her soul pulsed faintly through the chain. Her heartbeatâhersâradiated into him, warm and insistent, and all the walls heâd built, the rage heâd honed, the pride heâd clung to⊠all of it began to crumble.
He stared at her, eyes wide, chest heaving beneath the gloves, and the grin on his face falteredâjust slightly, just enough to betray what heâd been trying so desperately to hide.
â...Whatââ he whispered through the hum of static, voice cracking on the edge of disbelief.
She blinked, eyes wet, heart hammering. ââŠI love you,â she whispered softly, voice trembling but clear. âI always have. I needed you to see that.â
Alastorâs hands clenched the chain, claws brushing hers. For the first time, he didnât know what to do.
The air around them buzzed with tension, green electricity, and unspoken truths. He wanted to pull away, to vanish, to reclaim his controlâbut every instinct betrayed him. Every moment he had spent running, hiding, punishing himself for her death, had led him here.
To her.
And the kiss lingered. Soft. Gentle.
And for the first time in ages, the Radio Demon felt⊠utterly, irreparably human.
Her lips pressed against his again, soft, insistent, and impossibly warm. He froze for the briefest second, just long enough to feel the words spill from her trembling lips.
âI love you, Alastor,â she whispered, voice breaking. âAlways have. I never wanted to marry himâŠâ
That was it. That was the spark.
He cut her off without warning, mouth crashing against hers with a force that stole her breath. Teeth clashed, tongues tangled, and the static in the room flared violently, buzzing along his skin as he buried decades of restraint into that kiss. His claws cradled her face, tender and firm all at once, while the other hand slid down to her waist, gripping, anchoring, pulling her impossibly close.
She gasped, trembling against him, and he felt her pulse through the chain connecting their souls, felt it racing in tandem with his own.
âAh⊠ma chĂšreâŠâ he rasped into her mouth, voice ragged and rough, laden with years of silence, restraint, and longing. The green static hummed along his fingers as he tugged at her, and the pull of her soul beneath his claws only made him more desperate, more frantic.
Then, suddenly, he released her.
She stumbled backward, panic flashing in her eyes as she flailed, expecting the hard, unforgiving floor beneath her. But insteadâsoft. Bouncy. Warm. A bed. Sheets rustled beneath her as she landed, confusion flooding her features. She barely had time to process the plush comfort around her before Alastor was on her again.
He was everywhere at once. His lips found hers, urgent and demanding, teeth nipping, tongue seeking, a perfect storm of passion he had buried for decades. One hand tangled in her hair, tugging gently, the other brushing along her sides, his claws tracing the small of her back.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hands gripping his coat and bowtie as he loosened it with one swift tug, dragging the knot free while never breaking their kiss. Soft squeaks and hums escaped her lips, muffled against his mouth, as she clung to him.
Every movement, every brush of skin, every pulse of energy between them screamed with the years of longing heâd tried to deny. His heart raced, static flaring around them like electricity in the air. The Radio Demon, feared across Hell, was utterly undoneâhelpless, consumed, finally letting himself feel everything heâd hidden away.
She pressed against him, soft and pliant, and he couldnât stop the low, urgent growl that tore from his chest. Every restraint, every façade, every laugh and showmanship he had carefully maintained dissolved in the heat of her touch, her kiss, the soul-bound connection that screamed across the green chain now glowing faintly between them.
He pulled back for a breath, forehead resting against hers, but the hum in his ears and the warmth in his chest didnât let him stay still. He pressed to her again, lips brushing hers, teeth nipping, tongues dancing in a passionate chaos they had both denied for far too long.
âAh⊠ma chĂšreâŠâ he whispered again, voice rough, breath hot against her skin. âYou⊠you have no idea what⊠what youâve done to me.â
And still, still, he kissed her, wild and tender all at once, letting every buried feeling, every lonely, aching year, pour into her.
She was here.
Finally.
And he wasnât letting go.
Alastorâs control cracked like glass under pressure. Every inch of him trembled with fury and want, two violent hungers twisting together until he could barely tell one from the other. His grin stayed wide, manic, but his voiceâoh, his voice was a low, guttural growl against her neck, words spilling out between rough breaths and sharp teeth.
âMine,â he hissed against her skin, biting until she arched beneath him, a beautiful, broken sound catching in her throat. âYouâre mine. Do you understand?â His voice rose, cracking into something almost unhinged as his claws dragged down her cheek, forcing her gaze up to him. âSay itâsay who you belong to.â
Her lips parted, trembling, but no words cameâonly a breathy whimper. He didnât wait. His mouth found her throat again, biting, marking, punishing her soft skin with his teeth until it bloomed red and purple under his touch. His other hand was rough, tugging at her clothes with no patience, no care for seams or fabricâhe just needed them gone. Needed her bare.
He wanted to see every inch of her and ruin it all over again.
The thought of her with someone else made something vicious coil in his chest. Decadesâdecades of waiting, of wanting, of pretending he didnât careâand some other man had dared to touch what was his? His smile twitched. His claws dug into her jaw. âYou think Iâll let that memory stay?â he rasped, voice slipping into a laugh that was half snarl. âIâll make your body forget him. Youâll only remember me. Every mark, every ache, every soundâmine.â
Her breath came in little gasps now, trembling under him, her pulse hammering against his lips as he bit down once more. He shrugged off his coat, the movement sharp, impatient. His shirt clung to him, sleeves rolled just enough to show the muscles in his forearms tightening as his claws trailed down to her lips.
He slipped two fingersâhis index and middleâpast them.
She didnât hesitate.
Her mouth closed around them, sucking, her tongue tracing the sharp edges of his claws like she wasnât afraid at all. Like she wanted to be cut open by him, claimed by him. His breath caught, a noise deep and feral rumbling from his chest. Her tongue moved slow, deliberate, dragging over the base of his fingers, and his grin faltered into something that almost looked like pain.
âGood girl,â he murmured, voice barely holding steady. âThatâs it⊠ah, youââ his words broke into a low growl, his hips pressing forward instinctively, ââyou know exactly what youâre doing, donât you?â
Her eyes met his, glassy and wild, her mouth still working around his fingers.
He laughed. Low. Rough. Hungry.
âDecades,â he said again, softer this time, almost reverent as he withdrew his claws, slick with her spit, and rested them against her cheek. âIâve waited decades for this moment. And now that I have youââ his smile spread, sharp and gleaming, ââIâm never letting you forget who owns you.â
Alastorâs grin was a razor-thin line of restraint that shattered the moment he heard her whimper. The sound snapped something in him, pulling a snarl from deep in his chest. He grabbed the hem of her skirt with shaking hands, yanking it up roughly to her hips. The motion was desperateâpossessive. His claws trembled as they caught the edge of her tights and ripped. The fabric tore like paper beneath his strength, splitting with a sound that made her gasp, the air trembling between them.
Her modest panties stood as the last barrier between him and everything heâd wanted for decadesâand he tore through them too. The sound of the fabric tearing was followed by her startled yelp, but he didnât stop. He couldnât. His breath came in ragged pants as he leaned over her, his grin shadowed by hunger, by wrath, by need that had been buried for far too long.
âYouâll neverââ he hissed between his teeth, his voice vibrating against her throat as he pressed her down, âânever let another man touch you again. Do you understand me?â His words were a growl, rough and breathless, the edges of his voice trembling from the sheer effort of holding himself back from devouring her whole. âNo one touches whatâs mine. Not this pretty little body, not thisââ his voice cracked into a low, dangerous laugh, ââsweet, perfect cunt. You belong to me, doll.â
Her breath hitched, trembling under him, her thighs quivering as he yanked his fingers from her mouth. A string of saliva glistened between them, catching in the low light. His claws were slick, wet from her tongue, and he stared at them for just a heartbeatâsomething primal flickering in his crimson eyesâbefore he brought them down, pressing between her legs.
The moment his claws brushed her folds, her breath caught in a sigh that trembled into a moan.
Alastorâs grin widened. âOhh⊠look at you,â he drawled lowly, voice dripping like honey and venom all at once. âSo ready for me already. You really are shameless, arenât you?â
He pressed inâjust his first clawed finger at firstâand even that made her gasp. She was impossibly tight, her walls fluttering around him as if trying to pull him deeper. His grin faltered for a moment as he felt her pulse around him, and his breath left him in a rough exhale. He was panting, eyes half-lidded, watching the way his finger disappeared into her.
Her body arched toward him involuntarily, soft cries spilling from her throat. He added another finger, spreading her gently, almost reverentlyâbut the sound that tore from his chest was pure feral hunger. âThatâs it,â he breathed, voice dark, rich, and shaking with intensity. âTake me in, sweetheart. Let me ruin every trace he left.â
He thrust his fingers slowly at first, then faster, watching her hips tremble and her breath stutter. His grin was gone nowâreplaced with something raw, something hungry. His panting filled the room, every sound of her slickness around his claws pushing him further toward madness.
âListen to that,â he growled, his words falling apart into a ragged chuckle as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin. âThat sound is mine now. You are mine now.â
When she whimpered his name, he nearly lost it. He bent down, his tongue darting out before he even realized what he was doing. He caught her clit between his lips and sucked, harsh and unrelenting.
Her entire body jerked. A strangled, high-pitched cry tore from her throat, her hands clutching at his shoulders, at his hairâanything to ground herself.
Alastor groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her as he devoured her, his claws curling inside her in perfect rhythm with his mouth. His grin ghosted against her skin between rough kisses and panting praise. âThatâs it, darling⊠youâre doing so well for me. You sound divine. Such a perfect, desperate little thing. Every noise you make belongs to me.â
Her thighs trembled against his cheeks, her voice breaking as she called his name again and again.
Alastorâs claws flexed as he pulled his fingers from her cunt, the slick sound following them like a whispered promise. His breathing was harsh, uneven, lips parted, nostrils flaring. Impatience gnawed at him, sharp and raw. He yanked at his belt with a single motion, the metallic click echoing in the private room. She whimpered, small and needy, reaching down to cup him through the fabric. The sensation hit him like a shock, making his head snap back with a hiss, teeth grazing his bottom lip.
âAhâŠÂ you filthy little thing,â he growled, voice low and vibrating with barely-contained hunger. âDaring to touch me like that? Youâre insatiable, arenât you, ma chĂšre?â
Her voice trembled as she whispered, âAlastor⊠I need you⊠pleaseâŠâ
The words were a dagger to his restraint. His chest heaved as he grabbed his cock, tugging it free from his pants, groaning low and dark, watching her with feral delight as she trembled beneath him. He pumped himself a few times, eyes raking her body, the slick shine between her thighs glistening in the dim light.
âYouâve been a good little girl for me,â he muttered, voice rough, dripping with power and possessiveness. âAll this waiting⊠all this need⊠itâs yours to waste on me, hm? Such a greedy, desperate little thing.â
With a sudden movement, he pressed his claws into her hips, flipping her onto her stomach. She yelped, breath hitching in protest, and he pushed her onto her knees, dragging her ass back with a sharp grip. His claws traced the swell of her cheeks, kneading, gripping, claiming.
He pressed his cock to her folds, sliding up and down over her soaked slit. She whimpered, the sound a delicious torture to him. He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.
âYou taste like sin, ma chĂšre. So tight, so wet⊠and all for me. You think anyone else would do? No⊠theyâd never survive it. Only I get to have you like this.â
He tugged at the chain around her neck, yanking her head up sharply. A sharp squeal tore from her throat, her hands clenching at the bedspread as her head jolted back. His claws dug into her hips again, holding her steady as he thrust into her, steady and hard.
âLook at you,â he growled, voice low and rough, every syllable a claim. âMoaning, writhing⊠my little toy. Every sound belongs to me. Every shiver, every cry, every gaspâŠâ He leaned close to her ear, teeth brushing the shell, whispering, âYouâll learn what it means to be mine, ma chĂšre. Mine, mine, mine.â
She squirmed, nails scraping along the bed, hips lifting to meet him, and he snapped his eyes to her slick folds, pushing himself deeper with each thrust, hands gripping her ass, her chain, anything he could to keep control.
âYou like that, donât you?â he hissed, voice ragged with need and fury. âYou little greedy slut. All this time, holding out, hiding that filthy little cunt for me⊠and now, look at you. Mine. Only mine.â
Her soft cries and squeals, the arch of her back -all of it fed the fire inside him. Every pulse, every shudder of her hips, every slick stroke against his cock drove him higher, harder, hungrier.
And as he snapped her head up again, gripping the chain tight from behind, he growled into her hair, lips grazing her ear, âYouâre going to remember this, ma chĂšre⊠every inch of it⊠every touch⊠every sound. Mine. And mine alone. Say it.â
She whimpered, half in shame, half in pleasure.
âY-Yes⊠yours, AlastorâŠâ
He chuckled darkly, tugging harder on the chain, slamming into her again, hips snapping with sharp, precise power, voice dripping with obsession.
âThatâs right, little oneâŠÂ mine. Only mine. And donât you dare forget it.â
The way she whimperedâsoft, ragged, like a string vibrating tautâwas the last thing he needed. It set something alight behind his ribs and once it flared, nothing would douse it. He shoved her roughly, not cruelly but with a force born of long, stupid hunger, and she fell back with a breathy yelp. For a heartbeat he watched her, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with need and trust, and then he was on her.
He mounted her with a single, savage motion, hips slamming down until there was no space left between them. The room rocked with the sound of him: his boots scuffing, the snap of his coat falling free, the steady, brutal cadence of his thrusts. He fucked her with a pace that was almost obscene in its insistenceâhard, hard, harderâeach entry a claim, each withdrawal a promise carved into flesh.
Heat made his normally impeccable hair curl at the temples; sweat wet the crisp edge of his sideburns and slicked the collar of his shirt. His grin had gone manic, stretched too wide as though the radio inside him had been turned up to a feedback howl. He stared down at her spread, beautiful body, ribs rising and falling, breasts spilling out of the ruined blouse, nipples dark and puffy under his stare. Memory crawled through him thenâsunlight on grass, sticky cookies, the sound of her laughâand for one push he nearly lost himself to it. He buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder, breathing her in because the sight of her made him tremble with something that was not only want but aching, terrible love.
âMine,â he growled, voice thick with static and need, teeth grazing the pulse at her throat as he marked herâagain and again and again. âAlways was, always will be. Say it.â
She arched, thighs clamping around him in answer, a sound tearing from her that was part surrender, part plea. âAlastor,â she whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders, âyâyes, yoursââ
He didnât give her time to finish. His handsâclawed, possessiveâfound her hips with greedy familiarity and dragged her forward, harder, deeper. The green chain at her throat shuddered under the tension; he gripped it with one hand, keeping her anchored to him as he rode her like a fury. The leash was jewelry of ownership now, glittering against the flash of his claws and the dark of his under-shirt. Each yank made her brow lift, each pull made her whine, and every sound she made fed the small, savage thing inside him that had been starving for decades.
âYou feel so good,â he snarled, the words more breath than sentence. âSo tight, so hotâlike you were waiting just for me.â His praise was filthy, edged with contempt and devotion all at once. âAll those other fools who thought they could touch youâfools."
She sobbed around his name, answer, and entreaty braided together. Her hands went frantic, scrabbling for purchase on his back, then wrapping around his neck to pull him down. She wanted him as much as he wanted her; the desperation in her touch told him so more plainly than any vow ever could.
He moved like a man possessed. Each thrust was an exclamation, rimed with that rough, animal rhythm of someone determined to rewrite memory in muscle and moan. He watched the way she clenched around himâtight, involuntaryâfelt it like a confession against his palm, and the sight sent him further over the edge. He hissed as he drove into her, low and hungry, praising and degrading in the same breath. âSuch a greedy little thing, arenât you? Making all these filthy noises for me. You think he ever made you cry out like that? No. Only I know how to take you apart and put you right back together.â
Her breasts heaved beneath his hands; he cupped them briefly, thumbs teasing the nipples, then returned to the rhythm, lost to the sound of her voice calling his. The noises she madeâsqueals, meek cries, the soft, pleading repetition of his nameâcollected in him like static filling a room, and he drank them.
Suddenly, mid-ride, the jolt of feeling pressed at the base of his skull: vulnerability, jagged and raw. He buried his face again, muffling a whisper he did not want her to see: I always wanted to court you properly. I never wantedâ The admission nearly broke him; he shoved it down with another shove of his hips. Violence and reverence braided until he could no longer tell which hand was which.
When he saw her tremble, when her eyelids fluttered between want and bliss, he leaned in close, teeth whispering over her ear as he drove harder. âYou remember this,â he breathed, one brutal, possessive promise. âYou remember every inch of me. You remember who owns you.â Then softer, almost impossibly quiet, âGods help me, I love you.â
She arched back into him, nails scoring his shoulder with a soft hiss, and the sightâher surrender and that whispered confessionâsent a sound like a laugh or a sob from his chest. He snapped forward with a hard, single thrust that splintered everything into white stars, and for a dizzy second the world narrowed to the two of them: her heat around him, her name on his tongue, the chain a constant, glittering backbone between them.
Her cry â a high, keening sound that shredded through the room like a broken record â hit him like a wire to the chest. It was the exact note heâd been starving for. He felt it in the static beneath his skin, in the little radio hum that always thrummed just behind his teeth. She said she was going to come, voice thin and urgent, and that single admission pulled something feral out of him.
A ragged laugh escaped him. âDo it then,â he breathed, teeth grazing the hollow of her throat, voice rough as cracked vinyl. His hand, slick with her, dove without ceremony to her clit; the clawed pad rubbed, circled, and pressed with a rhythm born of equal parts calculation and animal instinct. He felt her shudder under him, all the tiny muscles in her arcing and clenching, and the sound she made tore straight through him.
She sobbed, a sound split from pleasure and shame and release, and then â warm and sudden and wild â she let go. Her body spasmed, hips jerking, and a hot, wet gush painted his shaft. He laughed then, a short, incredulous bark that felt almost like delight.
âI didnât know you were a squirter,â he muttered, half-teasing, half-awed. The words were absurd, ridiculous, but they were true; the sight of her filling around him, the sheen tracing his length, made his stomach flip with a childish, vicious glee.
Embarrassment flared across her face. She pressed her hands to hide it, breath ragged, cheeks burning with a blush that made something ache behind his ribs he never admitted existed. He didnât give her time to hide. With one sharp motion, he yanked her wrists free, pinned them above her head with one gloved hand, fingers splayed and heavy, the other hand bracing at her hip to keep her anchored. The chain at her neck glittered, tugging taut, a green strand of ownership that hummed under his grip.
âDonât you dare hide that gorgeous face from me,â he growled, inches from her, the words a command and a plea in the same press of breath. His voice broke, just a fraction, on the last syllable.
She whimpered his name â low, pleading, the single syllable that pulled everything taut â and that was all the permission he needed. His hips slammed forward, hard and unrelenting, chasing the release that had been building like a pressure in the base of his skull. He moved with a brutal, precise hunger: not slow and romantic, but fierce and claiming, each thrust a punctuation of ownership.
He felt himself teetering on the edge. Everything narrowed to the burn of her around him, the liquid slickness that clung to his shaft, the way her muscles tightened and released in desperate, exquisite punctuation. He grabbed the chain at the back of her neck with one hand, hauling her face back to him so he could see every little flinch, every ragged blink, every shine-damp eyelid. Her mouth opened around a cry he could feel more than hear.
The sensation of coming was volcanic. He threw his head back, a sound ripping from his chest as he spilled himself into her with a violence that left him trembling. The first pulse of heat filled her, warm and sticky, and then he drove again, forcing more of himself in like punctuation. He felt his eyes roll in his head, the world brightening to a static white behind his lids. When he slid out, his body slick and trembling, he didnât stop; he stroked himself a few hard, impatient strokes until his second release painted her lower belly, thick and hot.
For a long breath they lay like thatâchests heaving, sweat cooling, the faint crackle of residual static around his shoulders. He expected to feel triumphant, satiated, but the truth was other, softer and rawer: a hollow that only her warmth could fill.
She startled up, arms flinging around him before he could do anything but let his face be buried into the hollow of her neck. Her lips pressed a frantic, joyful kiss to the crown of his head and she whispered, breath wobbling, âYou love me.â
Something small and human â ridiculous and obscene in its vulnerability â wagged inside him like a tail. He didnât have the vocabulary for it, at least not the kind he used for the rest of Hell, so he nodded instead, slow and certain. âI always have,â he admitted, voice a gravelly whisper that did not suit the monstrous façade he wore to the world.
She stroked his hair with trembling fingers, lips swollen and eyes bright. âYou did?â she breathed, incredulous and delighted and a little awed. It was the question heâd kept from himself for years, the one that had sat heavy in his chest like a stone.
He swallowed, chest still working. The truth was small and blunt and real when it came out. âYes,â he said, each syllable a surrender. âYouâve always been mine, ma chĂšre. Even when I was a coward.â
She hummed, content and light, like a bell struck in a quiet room. Her hands kneaded the nape of his neck, careful, worshipful. He felt exposed and unutterably safe all at once â a contradiction only she could make him feel.
He let himself stay there, tangled in sheets and chain and the stink of sweat and sex and the faint after-scent of ozone, the whole world reduced to this mattress, this beat of her heart pressed against his chest. For once, the Radio Demon did not broadcast. He listened instead â to her breath, to her small, satisfied noises, to the little rustle as she settled beside him â and let himself believe, finally, that maybe this could be something other than a reclamation. Maybe it could be a beginning.
---------------------
When the room finally went quiet, her breathing soft and even again, Alastor lay there in the faint flicker of the dying lamplightâeyes wide open, grin softened to something almost human. His hair was still mussed, clinging to his forehead with the sheen of sweat, and the mark of her teeth still sat bright on his neck. He stared at her sleeping face for what felt like hoursâwatching her chest rise and fall, the tiny noises she made in her sleep, the curve of her lips. His heartâcold, strange thing that it wasâthrobbed in a rhythm he didnât quite know how to name.
Heâd told her he loved her. And meant it. Every word.
That thought alone terrified him more than anything else in this godforsaken pit ever could.
So he slipped out of her arms. Quiet as a ghost. The air was still heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and sugar, the bedsheets tangled and damp. He didnât dare wake her. Instead, he dressed quicklyâstill buttoning his shirt as he vanished in a flash of static, appearing in the middle of the cityâs cracked streets.
Hell wasnât exactly known for its fresh ingredients. But damn it all, he was determined.
Three in the morning, and Alastor, the Radio Demon, was standing in front of a decrepit little stall trying to haggle with a sleep-deprived imp over what mightâve been flour. âDo I look like the sort to pay that much?â he barked, grin stretched wide and sharp. The imp stammered out an apology and dropped the price immediately.
By four, his arms were full of nonsenseâquestionable flour, something vaguely resembling sugar, a cracked egg that mightâve belonged to a serpent, and wilted flowers heâd plucked off a thorny vine near the Infernal Gardens. He returned home with his spoils, looking⊠strangely pleased.
And then began his greatest trial yet.
Baking.
The kitchen, by the time he started, looked like a murder scene. Smoke. Scorch marks. A trail of batter splattered up the wall. His first attempt burned so black it fused to the pan. The second batch somehow explodedâhe wasnât entirely sure how. By the third, he had batter in his hair, on his twitching ears, across his vest, and a look of sheer, deranged concentration on his face. His handsâusually so steady and preciseâwere trembling with frustration as he muttered to himself.
âShe always liked the jam in the middle⊠oh dear, perhaps more sugar next time? Or⊠perhaps less sulfurâŠâ
By five-thirty, he was muttering in static, his grin twitching at the edges as he yanked another tray from the oven and slammed it on the counter. These ones didnât look right eitherâlopsided, flat, with jam leaking out the sides. He stared at them. Growled. Then tried again.
And by six a.m., finallyâfinallyâthere was a small plate of cookies that almost resembled the ones from their childhood. Little tarts with messy red centers, cracked but charming. The smell wasâŠÂ close enough.
He stood there, hands on his hips, chest heaving as if heâd just survived a war. His apron was ruined, his shirt half-untucked, a smear of jam on his cheek. But there was a quiet gleam of pride in his eyes.
He plucked one cookie off the tray, bit into itâthen froze. His grin faltered.
It tasted awful.
But he just⊠laughed. Quietly at first, then full-bodied, delighted laughter that filled the kitchen and echoed off the walls. Because somehow, even through the burnt sugar and hellish spice, it still reminded him of her. Of the two of them sitting under that tree when they were young, eating sweets his mother had made.
He arranged the cookies on a plate anyway, placed the flowersâhalf-wilted though they wereâin a chipped vase, and set everything on the small table.
And then he just stood there for a moment, looking at it.
A tiny, clumsy, messy thingâbut it was love, wasnât it? His strange, fumbling way of saying you mean everything to me.
He didnât know if sheâd even like them. He didnât know if heâd ever be good at this sort of thing. But for once, it didnât matter.
Because when she came downstairs, bleary-eyed and soft, heâd be there. Flour in his hair, jam on his hands, tail wagging, trying so damn hard to be gentle for the girl heâd wanted his whole life.
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summary: your spouse shot a man in the woods, mistaking him for a deer. the guilt slowly eats you alive until you canât take it anymore.
when you end up in hell, you find the man you murdered. heâs more than you bargained for.
pairing: human!alastor x reader, sinner!alastor x reader
content: gender-neutral reader, graphic depictions of death and corpses, alastorâs death, religious themes, suicidal ideation, delusions, graphic suicide, romanticization of violence, alastor being alastor.
word count: 4.4k
a/n: well. this oneâs a bit of a doozy. please read the content description! i haven't been nearly fucked up enough on this account yet. fixing this promptly.
âHoney, do you really think thereâll be any deer this time of year?â you asked your spouse tentatively. Mud caked your boots and stained the tips of your bottoms. The Louisiana humidity had your hair clinging to your forehead, your only saving grace the fact that it was dark out, and the sun wasnât there to scorch your skin. âYou know what the paperâs been saying, there arenât any deer left to hunt.â
âIf you wanna be eating the shit the butcher deems sell-worthy these days, be my guest,â your spouse replied, spitting a wad of dip into the dirt and stamping it with the toe of their boot. âJust because there ainât much deer, doesnât mean thereâs none.â
You sighed, swatting bugs from your face. Youâd insisted on coming along in a vain attempt to convince your spouse not to decimate the already dying deer population, and really, to stop wasting their time and their ammo on the venture. Ammo was getting so expensive these days that shilling out a pretty penny for beef was worth it, more than spending your savings on shells. Your spouse never listened, though, and pursued this venture despite your pleadings and warnings.
Your spouseâs arm stopped you in your tracks. They hushed you, pulling their arm back to ready the rifle.
âLook, thereâs one,â they whispered.
You looked up at the deer ahead of you. It lookedâŠbig. Too big, and the glowing eyes glinting towards the both of you were framed by glass, brown fur too smooth to be anything but skin.
âHoney, waitâ!â
The gunshot reverberated throughout the bayou.
âOh my God!â You ran forward, skidding to a stop in the mud. The swamp water, dirt, and now, blood, mixed into a sickening copper soup. âThatâs a person! You shot someone. Oh my God. What are we going to tell the authorities? We have to tell his family.â
Red and brown caked your knees as you sank in front of the rapidly cooling corpse. His matted brown hair, dark skin, bloodied clothes. After the initial shock wore off, that was when you noticed the second body.
The man you shotâŠhad been carrying a corpse of his own.
âLove, what are we going toâ?â
You turned around, searching for your spouse amongst the muggy greenery. But you were alone. Save for the two men at your knees, painting the bayou behind your country home red. The air smelled of heat and metal.
Tears pricked your eyes. Not only did your spouse, after your protests, shoot a human person, but they left you alone with the damage. You wiped your wet cheeks, soft sobs singing with the crickets chirping in the trees.
The trek back home was hard without your spouse guiding you. You hadnât really paid attention to the journey, distracted by trying to change their mind, and it took what felt like hours for you to find your way home. You didnât enter your home, though, instead entering the shed in your backyard. You grabbed a shovel.
You headed back out.
The sun was rising by the time you found an appropriately dry enough spot to bury the bodies. After your initial burst of emotions upon seeing the dead man at your feet, youâd felt surprisingly numb once you took on your missionâto make him, and his victim, a proper grave.
Youâd spun the possibilities of why this man had killed someone in your head a hundred times by now, but you couldnât come up with one that was satisfying enough. Maybe this man was that ubiquitous âBayou Butcherâ you couldnât stop hearing about. Maybe his victim had wronged him in some way, and he was carrying out the law of the land. Did it matter?
He was still human. It was still your fault that he died.
Your clothes were stained red, black, and brown by now. The sun blistered through the trees, prickling your scalp. Sweat drained with the dried tears, dripping down your face.
You dug two holes. You wondered if maybe you should dig a third, judging by how much your chest, arms, and legs burned. Your arms tingled uncomfortably. Your thighs groaned in protest. Your heart slammed incessantly, trying to get you to listen.
You spit into the grass. It tasted like metal.
Tossing the shovel onto the ground, you then made the trek (getting slower and slower now, as you grow more and more tired) back to the bodies. You took the victim, the one that wasnât your fault, first, and dumped him into the hole. You came back for the man your spouse shot, and took a moment to observe him.
His glasses winked in the morning light. The gunshot wound in his forehead was black. Dried, now, but the ground was coated in the wet mass of blood and brain matter. It was a sickening grey, like a green raincloud. You dry-heaved into the bushes, but you didnât have anything to throw up.
You dragged the man to his grave, depositing him inside of it. You finally sat down afterwards. Your limbs burned more without something to motivate them, and you curled into the dirt, letting fatigue settle into your bones.
The stench was what woke you.
As the bodies decayed and the sun boiled them, the smell of hot, dying flesh permeated through the hole, to your nose, and had you dry-heaving as you lurched awake. Tears spilled hot and unbidden from your trembling lashes. You peeked into the grave at the man your husband had mistook for a deer. He was stiff and ashen-looking. You imagined what his face may have looked like, bright and full of life. You wondered what his voice sounded like, if he had the twang of the country, a transatlantic accent? Maybe he was French, like a handful of people were around the city. You would never know, and it made your skin prickle.
You sniffled, standing back up, lifting the shovel in your trembling fingers. As the dirt piled up over both bodies, you packed it in, said two prayers, and hurled the shovel over your shoulder. Youâd be back later.
In you and your spouseâs shared home, every shadow felt like a brush with death. Your spouse was out at work and hadnât so much as left a note asking if you were alright.Â
You stuffed your soiled clothes into the garbage. You washed your hands in the bathroom sink before you touched much else. You started with hot water, until it scalded your hands. Dirt and blood swirled into the drain; you scrubbed frantically, adding more soap, more soap, turning the water cold when it hurt so bad your eyes started pricking, you scrubbed beneath your fingernails, but the blood wouldnât come out, and when you closed your eyes you saw the man with a hole in his head, and when you opened your eyes you saw yourself in the mirror with a hole in your head, and when you rinsed the dirt off of your face you felt like you were sinking into a sticky pool of bloodâyou turned the water off.
The shower wasnât any easier. You showered until the hot water ran out, sitting at the bottom of the tub. The water had long since began running clean but you could still feel the grime crawling beneath your skin, and you couldnât imagine any way to get it out.
Dressing yourself was more like dressing an open wound. As you stepped into the afternoon sun, you presumed that everyone must see it on you. The rot. Your soul was rotting from the inside, and every person you greeted on the street, you felt the compulsive urge to confess to them about the bodies in the bayou and the one that was your fault.
You stopped at a flower stall and purchased two bouquets; when the tender commented on how lucky whoever would receive them would be. You almost vomited on her shoes, but you still hadnât eaten anything, so it wouldnât have mattered.
You ventured back into the greenery with your flowers in hand. You had to honor the dead, especially when one of them was your direct fault. You wouldâve considered yourself a good person a few days ago. But you couldnât stop your spouse from making a grave mistake, and the rotten blood on your hands had sunk into skin and mixed with the life thrumming through you. You were becoming a corpse from the inside out.
You arranged the flowers atop both of the graves and sat next to the one containing the man your spouse killed.
âIâm so sorry,â you whispered. Your lips were dry and cracked, and speaking felt like spitting ash. âYou looked to be about my age. Did you have a wife? A family? Are they looking for you?â
You wrung your hands into your shirt, the fabric straining beneath your fingers.
âI want to tell the authorities, but I donât want to go to jail. Iâm afraid. I donât want my love to go to jail, either. We werenât even supposed to be hunting. I-I donât know how they didnât notice you were a human. Iâm worried they did, but they shot you anyway. Why else would they run away so quickly afterward?âÂ
You pressed your face into your knees.
âIs this enough? Will it ever be enough? I can bring you flowers every day for the rest of my life but your life will neverâŠyou wonât everâŠGod, I donât even know who you are. I donât even know your name, but I was the last person to see you aliveâŠso Iâm the only one who canâŠâ
Your eyes drifted over to the other grave.
â...I just wonder why you killed that man. Was itâŠ?â
You heard your name being called.
âI have to go. Iâll be back, okay?â
You stood up, and hurried toward the sound of your name being called, your spouse finally wondering where you were.
âWhat the hell were you doing in the fucking bayou again?â your spouse asked. âLook at your hands! Youâre filthy. Sweetheart, please donât tell me youâre obsessing over what happenedâŠâ They took your hands in their own. You tugged them away.
âWe killed that man! Someone had to take care of it. You left me there all alone,â you shouted, taking several steps back.
âI thought he was a deer!â
âThere are barely any deer in New Orleans, you prick!â You shoved past your spouse, entering your shared home.
âYou saw that body he was dragginâ, didnât you? He had it coming. Divine reckoning guided my rifle, there,â your spouse insisted, following you inside.
âI canât even bear to look at you right now,â you whispered, clasping your arms around your chest. âI canât stop thinking about the hole you put into his head.â
Your spouseâs arms wrapped around you from behind. You tried to shy away, but their grasp was strong. âSweetheart. It was an accident. Weâll pray for him come Sunday, and pray for our souls. But please donât tear yourself up about it. Look, Iâm sorry. But you just need to keep quiet about things. The Lord will know our hearts.â
âWill He?â you wondered aloud, but the Lord didnât answer.
You had to wait a few days before you returned to the graves. Your spouse was still suspicious. You had begun sleeping on the couch instead of your shared bed, had refused to eat most meals besides tea and, at times, a bit of toast. You listened to the radio, still, but your favorite broadcasterâs show hadnât been on in awhile, and some less charismatic, less interesting man had taken his place. His name had been Alastor. You wouldâve liked to hear his comforting voice.
You wandered back into the bayou and sat by the manâs grave. The words came tumbling out before you had time to think about them.
âI donât think I love my spouse anymore,â you confessed. âAfter what they did, all I can see when I look at them is your faceâŠwith the gunshotâŠthey still keep that gun displayed in the case in the living room. It makes me want to take it and use it on myself. I know thatâs a sin, but itâs a sin to take anotherâs life, too! A life for a lifeâŠwouldnât that even the scales?â
The flowers on his grave were dying. You caressed the petals with the tips of your finger.
âI shouldnât be thinking about this. You would know, though, wouldnât you? You took at least one life. You knew what that had to meanâŠthat you would go to Hell. But Iâd like to think you had a good, God-fearing reason.â
You shifted, laying atop the dirt you had packed only a few days ago. You imagined hearing the manâs heartbeat, what it may have felt like to lay your head on his chest.
âPlease forgive me,â you whispered.
You began to spend less and less time at the house.
You werenât worried about wild animals attacking you, in fact, you welcomed it. The bugs had already picked incessantly at your flesh, and you had itched every bite until it grew demanding and red.
You spent most days lying atop the grave. You heard a heartbeat more often than not, and you could no longer tell if it was yours, or beating from beneath the dirt.
Your dreams grew odd. Sometimes you were the man, looking up at yourself and your spouse as the gunshot rang in your ears. Sometimes you were a deer running from a wolf, but in the end, the wolf would always catch you. Sometimes you were the one holding the rifle. Sometimes you were digging up the grave and lying with the man, miraculously alive and intact, who would cradle you in his arms and make this rotting feeling go away.
Warm, and alive, and belonging to something that you had hurt, but forgave you.
Your spouse found the graves. They were angry with you, spitting and screaming. They dragged you off of the dirt and spat on the manâs grave.
âDonât hurt him!â you screamed.
âWhat?â your spouse snapped. âWhat are you talking about? Heâs a dead man! Dead! And youâre going crazy thinking about it! Youâre coming home, now, and Iâm not letting you go back here again.â
âNo!â you yelled, trying to twist out of their grip. âLet go of me! Let go, let go!â You screamed, your spouseâs hands around your arms burning through your flesh and tenderizing you like meat. They could see it, you were sure, the rot seeping through you. They clamped a hand over your mouth and dragged you kicking back to the house.
You were back in what was once your bedroom. Your hands were knotted at the wrists, tied to your bedpost. You had been forcibly undressed and reclothed, the dirt and bugs washed off of your skin. You smelled like a person again, but you knew what was hiding underneath.
You knew your spouse still loved you, in their own way, but your heart belonged to someone else. Somewhere else. And you tired of them trying to separate you from your fate. You were already dead, and any life left in you was just the dregs rolling down the drain.
You tugged on your bonds. The bedframe squeaked. You tugged harder. Harder. You yelled out, but kept tugging. Everything felt easy, temporary, when you knew what was coming. You had known for days now.
Your bones cracked, and it sounded like lightning breaking open a tree. Your wrists, limp and useless like the rest of your body, ripped out of the rope and left you sprawled on the floor. You stood on your uneven feet, crying out when you stumble and catch yourself on your dislocated wrists.
Left alone in the house, your spouse having gone to work, you had free reign after breaking out of your bonds. As soon as you stepped into the living room, you knew what you had to do. Your fingers fiddled with the lock on the display case that held your spouseâs rifle. You still remembered the code, your birthday.
You whined in pain as your wrists struggled to function properly. The lock clicked open, falling to the ground. You huffed, using your teeth to pry the case open, the cabinet creaking as you honed in on the prizeâthe conduit with which you would reach the place you were meant to be.
You used your forearms to pry the rifle from the case.
You saw flashes of the dirt, of grime, of blood running down the drain, of the deer running from the wolf, but the wolf always caught up. The wolf always caught up.
You couldnât see this ending other way. You just wished you couldâve died the way you wanted to, rotting atop the grave of the life you had taken, your corpse melting into this dirt. Mixed together, it would complete the cycle, a life for a life, and maybe then it would absolve you, or at the very least, he mightâve forgiven you.
This time, when the gunshot went off, you didnât hear it echo.
You were falling in and out of yourself.
Brief flashesâa red sky, a cacophony of screaming, the living room floor, metal betwixt your teeth, cement barreling towards you, blood on the wood floorâcompeted for attention in your vision.
And then you hit the ground. Hard.
You wanted to scream, but what came out instead was a choked yelp as your back made contact with cement. The air escaped your lungs in a broken excuse for a gasp, and you lied there, motionless, trying to figure out what had happened.
The sinking pit in your stomach knew the answer before your brain did. How could you forget the cold steel rifling around your mouth? How it felt to be blissful and permanently gone, if only for those brief minutes it took for your brain, heart, and body to all stop cooperating? Here you were now, in the depths of the earth where you belonged.
You couldnât hear his heartbeat anymore. You clasped your hands over your ears, drowning out the incessant hustle and bustle of fresh Hell that echoed around you. You were waiting for his heartbeat, for something to urge you forward, because ultimately, you had done this for him, and fate would lead you two together.
Right?
Hands accosted you, forcing you upright. You bristled and squirmed away. A stranger, not even a human, looked at you, panicked. âYouâve got to get out of here!â
âWhat?â
âThe Radio Demon, heâs started taking over this territory, and he doesnât spare anyone. Get up, get upâmove!â
You rose and clutched a street lamp for support, but you didnât run like the strange demon urged you to. Radio Demon? Territory? What sort of strange, illustrious politics reigned in Hell? You took cover under a shop, or more accurately, a rubble with a fringed sign that read the name of a shop. Perhaps you should run, but you hadnât found your bearings yet, and if this Radio Demon was in a hurry, perhaps he wouldnât see you.
So you sat under the awning, watching the red sky crackle and pierce with a static energy. The world smelled almost like lightning and rain, but something moreâŠartificial. Like a bulb that had just gone out.
You heard screaming. Yelling, shouting. Several thousand other synonyms for raised voices, panicky and fearful. Your heart had become so numb to terror these past fewâŠdays, or weeks, however long it had been. You lived with as much as you lived with air. With a heart that no longer beat for you, but for the man whom you had condemned, whose soul was tied to yours for eternity now. Victim, executioner.Â
As you pondered, though, you finally heard it again.
The heartbeat.
Elation surged you, the most emotion youâd felt in forever, perhaps your entire past lifetime. You peeked your head out and searched for the man, the man whose ashen face haunted your dreams, whose dark hair you found tucked in your pillow instead of feathers, whose cold, rotten blood had replaced your own. You didnât see him, but saw something beautifulâa giant, red creature, equipped with black tendrils. It destroyed everything in its path, including the street you were currently in. It had a face, maybe a face that was once human. It had hands, and feet, andâŠ
And antlers.
You felt more than knew that it was him. The heartbeat grew louder; you became more and more alive as the seconds ticked by.
You would find him again. Not now, during his rampage. You had a name to put to him, now, something tangible to grasp: the Radio Demon.
Tracking the Radio Demon was easy. He was causing such a big stir, uprooting the apparent politics of this hellscape that you couldnât care less about. You had felt dead for so long that Hell wasnât so different, and though you grew up faithful to Christ, the complicit murder of a man had made you escape your fate. Though you couldnât help but feel out of place amongst the othersâŠthe murder-happy, trigger-fingered, and depraved sorts which lurked around every shadowy corner. But they had useful information.
The Radio Demon didnât frequent places; he was unpredictable and murderous. Was it the rage your spouseâs bullet had instilled in him? Or the leftover rage that compelled the murder you had witnessed the aftermath of?
The streetâdecimated and burningâcreated a runway for you to walk tentatively down, your hands clutched to your chest. The giant, shadow-cloaked figure waited at the end of the street. Street lamps flickered, then burnt out. Darkness seized your arms and legs, the red sky illuminating your approach. That, and the silver Heaven twinkling above.
âRadio Demon,â you called. You dropped to your knees, prostrating yourself. âIâve come to askâŠfor your forgiveness. Your death.â
You clenched your fingers into prayer; your hands dug into the rubble on the street, and your forehead pressed upon them.
âYour death was at my hands. Mine and my spouseâsâŠthey shot you, and Iâmââ
Claws wrapped around your body, scooping you into his palm. They were large, sharp, and shallow cuts bled red over the black fingers as the Radio Demon lifted you into the air. His black eyes, sharp with radio dials, bore into you. You shrunk under his gaze.
âYouâre sorry, hm?â His booming voice shattered your ears and rewrote the definition of sound, to shape what he was making for you. âWhat a quaint reason to approach me.â
You had never imagined his voice. It was higher-pitched than perhaps youâd expected, then again, it also sounded painfully familiar, but at the time, you didnât recognize it.
âI have to admit, your braveryâŠhow fascinating it is to me.â
Your eyes were traveling his face, taking in every enlarged detail. A grotesque smile, complete with sharp teeth. His hair was unlike how it was in life, more in the style of a flapperâs bob than the curls youâd sunk into the dirt. His earsâŠtall, fluffy. If he wasnât looking at you like he could devour you in one bite, it would be cute.
Instead, he was completely, utterly beautiful.
âMy guilt is honest,â you whispered, your voice trembling. âI dug your grave. I said the prayers. I didnât know your name or your family, I could have gone to the police, but I was scared!â
The creature tilted his head.
You continued, your voice gaining volume and strength. âI couldnât atone for my sins, so I died with them. But nowâŠyouâre here, and I will do whatever it takes. Your early demise is my fault. Do what you must to properly blame me for it.â You exhaled, deflating in his grasp. Everything you had mustered had been for this moment, and now you were a puppet with your strings cut.
âYour soul,â the demon rasped.
âWhat?â you mumbled, raising your head to his. He leaned closer, and your heart screamed inside your chest, your instincts screaming danger as your emotions swelled like the New Orleans tide.
âFor the price of forgiveness, all I ask for is your immortal soul.â A claw from his other hand prodded at your chest, and out of modesty you shirked away, but he had complete control. The claw tugged at something deep inside you, coaxing your shaking soul out of your chest.
It glittered a gentle golden pink, like sparkling champagne that you hadnât properly enjoyed since the temperance laws. Your spirit whined in protest at the separation, and your hands pressed through the shimmering material. It was warm. Surprisingly, it wasnât rotting.
You swallowed. âIâŠI accept.â
The Radio Demonâs smile sharpened at the edges, the air growing more sinister, oppressive. He relinquished your soul back into your body, and the implications of what you agreed to made your lungs compress.
âLetâs make a deal,â he said.
All of the sudden, you were shrinking. No, he was. You both were then on solid ground, his claws resting on the small of your back. He wrinkled his nose, but didnât stop smiling, and released you. Then, he held out his hand.
Green magic surged through the air. You didnât hesitate this timeâyou reached out, and shook his hand.
Chains surged from his fingers, wrapping tightly around your torso and pinning your arms to your sides. You yelped. The Radio Demon started laughing, and without his increase in size, and the radio-effect on his laughter, the recognition trilled through you.
âYouâre Alastor,â you said through the hysterical laughter, and with a blip of static he ceased to find your agreement funny anymore.
âPardon?â
âThe radio show host. YouâŠI canât believeâŠâ
Alastor laughed again. âWhy, one of my fans! This certainly became far more interesting.â His voice darkened as he said âinteresting.â The chains tightened around your body. You exhaled as they stole air from your chest.
âHow does it feel?â Alastor asked you, âTo be the executioner of an entertainment you once indulged in?â
 âAwful,â you said honestly, compulsively. âIt ate me alive.â
Alastorâs claws wrapped around your throat. Your soul trembled in anticipation.
âRemember this feeling,â he said lowly, âI may have granted you my forgiveness, but I wonât be granting you mercy.â
You nodded. You were still guilty, and you still felt like you were dying through every moment, but just thenâwith Alastorâs fingers crushing your windpipe, his chains keeping you upright when all you wanted to do was fall, and the bittersweet promise of your eternal debt to himâyou felt, for a moment, a delicious twinge of relief.
Synopsis: After falling to Hell, Alastor got rewarded with power, while his wife got rewarded by losing her mind
TW: Brief mentions of murder, r*pe, cannibalism, and ab*se, restrains, Alastor's wife is straight up feral
A/N: I feel like there's some nsfw/kinky undertones, but that wasn't my intentions lol.
Masterlist
Hell was the perfect playground for someone who did wrong in life. Murderers, rapists, cannibals, abusersâanyone who used their life to make other peoples worse, or even took a life, were rewarded here.
Alastor had long known that he was destined for Hell. There was no way heâd be able to be within the vicinity of Heavenâs gates with his (quite literal) body count and all the human meat he ingested. So, he struck a deal with a demon. Although he was leashed and treated like a pet, he was the most powerful sinner in Hell.
He was rewarded.
Rewarded for the murders he committed.
Rewarded for the bodies he ate and buried.
Rewarded for lying to his wife who had ultimately broke in the end.
Alastor loved his wife, but in the same way a cat loves their ownerâfrom afar. He was a caring husband, a protector of sorts. He provided for them, made sure they had plenty to eat and had enough money to survive off of. Heâd kiss his wife on the cheek whenever it was convenient for him. But it wasnât like his wife ever asked for more, and if she did, then it was silently.
So, when he arrived in Hell to find his wife by his side, utterly and completely brokenâhe laughed.
Alastor wasnât sure if it was out of pity or amusement. But he knew that deep in his soul, he was reason she was she was like this today.
He knew she was the reason she was restrained like some wild animal in the corner of his room.
âMy dear, you really must stop acting like this.â Alastor said as he crouched down in front of his wifeâs body, his head tilted ever so slightly. âIf youâd stop trying to harm me, then I could release you from your confides.â
Alastor knew it was inhumane to keep his wife chained and locked up in his room like some sort of secret. And if anything, he could easily let her roam free and kill whoever she pleased in Hell. But he got some sick and twisted enjoyment out of it.
She glared at him, tugging on the restraints that held her down. They had been produced by his own magic, and while Husk would argue this was some type of 'ownership' thing. Alastor saw it as him helping, even if it was inhumane.
"My dear, I could set you loose on Hell, and I would not bat an eye." He stated, "but for your safety, I have to do this. You are my responsibility now that I have broken your mind."
An animalistic snarl escaped from his wife's throat as she tried to lunge at him. Alastor didn't flinch. He just smiled as usual.
"Be good and I will let you wander the room." He said, "it's not much, but I cannot offer you much in this state. Not too much freedom. If you were to eat one of the guests here, Charlie would be most upset."
His wife strained against the restraints again, muscles quivering beneath skin that no longer seemed to fit quite right. She snarled, lips peeled back to reveal too many teeth coated with saliva stringing between each one as her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.
The cruelest part was the fact there was intelligence behind her eyes. Behind the feral haze and instinctive behaviorâshe understood him and his words. The situation.
"Ah, ah, ah." Alastor lightly hummed as she strained too hard against the chains causing his magic to tighten in response. "You'll only make it worse for yourself."
His wife screamed.
"Yes, I know." He agreed, rising to his feet. "Betrayal does tend to sting."
Alastor turned away, unbothered, straightening out his suit jacket as if he hadn't just acknowledged the fact he had broken his wife's mind. He crossed his room and adjusted one of the radio's that sat on a nearby table.
"You see, you were never meant for Hell." Alastor continued, "I don't believe so anyway. You lacked cruelty." He glanced over his shoulder at her for a brief moment, still smiling. "While I thrived."
As jazz music filled the room, his wife whimpered. He noticed it, one of his ears twitched in time. "Oh, don't tell me the noise bothers you. You used to adore listening to music while I talked about my day." He spun around to face her, still smiling. "You were always such a good listener."
In response, his wife threw her weight forward, chains clanking as she snapped her teeth at the empty air, joined by a noise that sounded like a mix of a sob and a growl.
"You never did wonder why the meat looked different," he suddenly said. "You always took my words at face value. Never once questioning 'why.'"
His wife thrashed again, harder this time, body arching as if she could rip herself free from sheer force alone. The magic holding her flared and she collapsed back onto the floor with a strangled sound.
Alastor sighed with a shrug. "I suppose it doesn't matter now."
He made his way back over to her, shoes clicking against the floor as she carefully watched him. "You see, my dear, Hell rewards honesty. It rewards those who have done wrong, and it punishes those who have denied themselves."
She stared up at him, eyes glassy with something close to grief (or perhaps rage). Her breathing hitched, shoulders trembling as her fingers curled into claws against the floor.
"While I am responsible for your health, it is ultimately my fault you are like this today." Alastor stated, "you found out the truth and couldn't live with it. You're precious mind couldnât wrap around the idea you lived with, married and secretly indulged in my behavior. You benefitted from it."
A low, broken sound escaped his wife's throat.
Alastor reached out, allowing his hand to hover near her face, close enough that she could smell himâsomething familiar. But within seconds, she snapped at his hand and he swiftly pulled away.
"You're still so reactive. It's rather endearing."
He snapped his fingers as the restraints fell from her wrists. She stared at him, almost like she was confused before lunging for him like a wild animal. He chuckled as she drew close, only to fall to his feet as a chain manifested around her neck like a leash.
"You hesitated." He mused as she looked up at him, "that's good progress. Perhaps by next year you wonât attack me."
Alastor reached his hand out again. His wife didn't move, her eyes just followed his hand like some sort of spell. He allowed his hand to hover near her face again, and slowly, she leaned her cheek into it.
"Hell didn't break you for no reason." He softly said, "it broke you so that you could be honest. So you could stop pretending that you are above all of this."
He rubbed his thumb over her cheek as she continued to stare up at him like some lost puppy.
"You are not my victim, my dear." He stated. "You are my consequence."
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