WOOOOHHH finally, FINALLY this took fucking forever to finish.
I'm SICK of drawing cute stuff i WANNA DRAW ANGST AND ALASTOR SUFFERING IN DIFFERENT WAYS
umm anyway, this time ive got some bonus materials for you, under cut. First sketch iof the last page and version without text... i fucking can't. What the fuck am i doing. Me in the first part: "this is the closest thing to a hug you'll get", also me 9 parts later: full on hug and Vox holding Alastor bride style. How the turns have tabled...
Okay, now i really should get to drawing Rise of the Radio Demon though.
If ur reading from a reblog, check the original post, it may have a link to the next part. or not.
Tag list under cut, if you want to be added or removed lmk in the comments. You need to allow others to tag you for it to work
âIf you ever say that again... I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other DISRESPECTFUL WRETCH who DARES to question me.â ~Alastor S1 Ep5
summary: Almost two hours and four orgasms in, Alastor promises to let her rest if she follows one simple request: to say his name as he ends her rousing climb to the peak of euphoria and pushes her over the climactic precipice.
Itâs just a pity that he canât seem to keep his mouth off of hersâŚ
wc: 2.2k
Kissing her through the peak was a double-edged sword.
On the one hand, he was eternally dismayed to continuously realize that it served to muffle her high-pitched keens, to stifle every blissful word spoken through heated murmurs and hapless pleas.
But on the other, and like a magnet to a precious metal, he found that he couldnât help himself. His mouth was drawn to hers every time her eyes fluttered to find his, every time she tried to breathe his name into the warm air between them. His lips slotted over her parted ones, swallowing every climactic gasp between serrated teeth and with a hungry vigor.
She groaned against him as she came, fingers curling into his scarlet locks as her hole clenched impossibly tight around the clawed digits curling deep within her soaking heat. Her other hand grabbed at his shirt, fisting the material between her paling knuckles and instinctively pulling him into her with a wordless need to ground herself. Frustration simmered between them as she bit at his bottom lip in retaliation against his stifling of her peaking proclamation of his name.
He could feel his mouth wobble against hers, ever present grin broadening from a purposeful pout into a shameless smirk.
He was being mean. He could see it in the hazy and half-hearted glare she threw up at him when he allowed his lips to depart from hers. He could only grin at the scowl that tried to stitch a pattern across her blissed-out visage when he pulled away, clawed fingertips circling her clit in slow, deliberate motions as he slowed the pistoning of his fingers inside of her to a resolute stop to watch as she came down in a quivering mess of muscle spasms and overstimulation.
He was being mean. But sheâd insisted that she could handle it. And heâd agreed to stop only when she did as he requested.
âCome on, darling,â he crooned lowly against her mouth with a sly grin, warm breaths puffing against him as the sweat-soaked fluff of her chest heaved against his clothed one. His fingers retreated from her glistening core, the pointed tip of his claw tracing careful and delicate circles along the edge of her center. His gaze drifted from where his slick-coated fingers danced along the apex of her thighs to her face with a lustrous stare, leaning over her with a bumptious lilt to his tone. âYou know what I want.â
Her brow pinched above narrowed eye, the porcelain half mask concealing a third of her upper face clinging in the soft cast of fire glow, mouth twisting into an annoyed grimace as she attempted to airily growl out his name, exasperation lacing her tone. âAl-â
Her attempt was thwarted by her husband dragging his unoccupied hand upward, along the length of her torso and raking through the plume of fluff sitting on her sternum until he could rest his finger against her lips with a gentle hush.
âNot yet, dear,â he admonished slowly, tongue clicking behind his teeth in a short succession of tuts. His cheekbone caressed her own as he wordlessly dipped his fingertips back into her heat, suppressing a short noise of amorous satisfaction when she clamped down on his digits immediately, the gummy muscle of her walls spasming with overstimulation as he began to pump his fingers slowly. And with a purposeful sweep of his face against hers, instinct puppeteering his movements, he dragged his face along his wifeâs until his mouth neared the flickering fluff of her ears. âWhen do I need you to say my name?â
It was almost pornographic and most certainly sinful. The way her throat bobbed under his roaming mouth, the sharpened edges of his teeth scraping thin lines through the silky fur of her neck and shoulders. The broken bleat that rumbled in her throat, the vibrations humming against his lips when he began to press open-mouthed kisses to her pulse point.
âWhen I-â She tried to respond, voice broken and breathless, pitching in places and almost silent in others. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders when she interrupted her own answer with high pitched keen, nails sinking into his shirt and drawing sensual lines across his shoulder blades. Alastor pressed his thumb against the sensitive pearl sitting pretty at the apex of her womanhood. And he relished in the sharp arch of her spine, the unadulterated gasp that parted her lips as her thighs clamped tight around his unrelenting hand. âAh!â
With a wordless command, icy tendrils of shadow and darkness looped around her upper thighs and wrenched them away from one another. She let out a pathetic little mewl at the rough handling, eyes fluttering open as her husband shifted on the uneven terrain of their mattress to slot himself between her legs, fingers unrelenting in their practiced exploration of her heated core. The shadows retreated, and in their place, Alastorâs clothed thighs pressed against her own, holding them open as he leaned down over her.
Eyes aligned, smug grin hovering over parted lips, he held himself up by pillaring one arm next to her head, fingers sinking into the plush fabric of their duvet and tangling with the sweat-soaked strands of hair haloing her head.
It was within reach, close enough that she could reach up to clasp his wrist and offer a warning squeeze if she so pleased. If she wanted him to stop, she only had to give the wordless signal theyâd agreed upon decades prior. Three purposeful squeezes of her smaller hand on any part of him, and heâd pull away without a word of teasing or disappointment.
Her lidded gaze found his, and, despite the glittering line of tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eye, her mouth only parted to groan into his needily.
He felt a smirk tempt the sharpened corner of his mouth, pistoning fingers speeding up as his thumb rubbed careful circles over the sensitive nub between her legs. He pressed his forehead to hers, brushing his nose against the bridge of her own while maintaining eye contact as he prompted her lowly; âWhen youâŚ?â
She made a short noise, halfway between an annoyed groan and a needy gasp for air when he curled his fingers inside of her, hips lifting from the mattress as her hooves planted themselves by his knees.
âCum!â She cried, eyes squeezing shut as her hands roamed across the cottony fabric cushioning her arching form. And as the line of glittering tears brought forth by overwhelm broke away from the crease of her eye and streamed along her temple until it disappeared into her hairline, the sides of her fingers found his wrist and instinctively curled around it.
The grip should have been bone-shattering, nails digging deep into his skin. Instead, it served only to stall his rousing ministrations momentarily.
He moved his head to catch her hazy stare, though his eyes had never truly departed from the blissful expression adorning her hellish features. He tilted his head with a wordless question when her eyes, barely open with her dilated pupils haloed by a smoky glaze of illustrious color, twitched to his face.
She shook her head quickly, denying his inquiry with a lusty quirk of her lips, and tightened her hold on his forearm. And instead of relinquishing her hold only so that she could clamp her fingers around his wrist in a long-standing and learned signal to conclude, she tugged restlessly at his hair. âPlease, Allie.â
Alastor let out a satisfied hum at her breathy pleas, wrangling his wrist from her steely hold so that he could brush a stray hair from where it clung to her sweat-soaked brow. His head cocked to the side, and the softened look adorning his expression sharpened into something slightly mean and certainly arrogant.
âDing, ding, ding!â He carrolled, the distant sound of a vintage game show sound effect signaling her arrival to the correct answer emanating from where his staff stood propped against his wifeâs dressing table across the room. His brows jumped playfully at the halfhearted glare she threw up at him, the hand between her legs slowly revitalizing its previous ministrations.
âSo you do understand,â he mused boisterously, dotting biting kisses along the exposed column of her throat. Her thighs jerked when the pad of his thumb found home on the swollen peak of her clitoris. He drew his mouth away from her neck to perch his cheek in his fist, elbow braced by her head as his other hand toyed with the clenching muscles of her core. âYou just canât seem to follow orders.â
âIâm trying,â she whined, hips undulating against his hand in short, desperate movements. âYouâre the- oh!â
Her verbal retaliations were drowned out by the needy moan that parted her lips and sent her eyes rolling uselessly when his fingertips scoured her heat and located the warmest part of her. The place along her inner wall that trembled under his touch, oversensitive and overused from almost an hour and a half of carefully orchestrated caresses of his practiced fingers that made her see white when his claw brushed against it.
âIâm not doing anything aside from pleasuring you, dear,â he crooned with a subtle arch of his brow. He cocked his head in the direction of her spread legs, grin broadening knowingly at the patch of damp soaking into the duvet beneath her.
âYou can stop me at any point,â he argued, letting the pillar of his arm fall so that his hand landed across hers, intertwining their fingers as he sat up just slightly. Just enough that his face hovered over hers. âJust say the word.â
He went quiet for only a handful of seconds, a short hum vibrating behind his close-lipped smile.
âUnless, of course, you donât want me to stop.â
âGod,â she groaned with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, her head falling back against the mattress, exposing her neck to his waiting teeth. âI can see why you were sent to the pride ring- Mmh!â
He took the sudden exposure in stride, letting his lips graze over her jawline, nosing at the angular cut of her jaw as he murmured against her skin. âAnd Iâm starting to think your sin is greed, sweetheart.â
As if to prove his point, the telltale clenching of her fluttering walls around his thrusting fingers signaled his wifeâs imminent climb to the precipice of pleasure that he was more than happy to push her over for the fifth time that night. Her breath caught in her throat, a short, choked, enticing noise that drew his lips to her larynx, and he settled his teeth against the curve of her neck.
And as every word dissolved into incessant babbles when he circled her clit with assiduous earnestness, Alastor watched with rapt anticipation for the ever-encroaching climactic twitch of her eyelids. For the boneless collapse of her body, or the sudden flattening of her ears to her skull. For the broken keen of pleasure that preceded the required declaration of his name.
âAlas- mmh!â
She almost had it. Had almost managed to evade his insatiable mouth with a sharp turn of her head and blurt out his name at the exact moment he had so playfully suggested less than two hours prior. But Alastor knew her too well to let her steal that small victory, cupping her cheek before it could meet the duvet and angling her face towards his.
And the second that sheâd uttered the first syllable of her husband's name, heâd smashed his mouth against hers, teeth clashing and lips melting into a familiar synchrony. It interrupted her triumph, morphing the word into a muffled moan. And, for a few elongated seconds of mutual affection, she met every languid caress of his lips against hers with the same enthusiasm.
Then, as the haze of peaking arousal clouding her orgasm-addled brain dissipated and faded away to allow for coherent thought to break through, she pulled away. The short string of saliva connecting their lips broke as she tilted her chin downward to glare up at him through her lashes.
A self-satisfied hum ruminated in the back of his throat as he watched her sternum stutter and heave in the aftermath. And he reveled in the sharp scowl she was shooting him, undeterred by her admonishing stare.
Her lips parted uselessly, words failing her as her tongue weighed heavily and her legs twitched where they bracketed his slimmer ones.
âOh! You almost had it!â His commiseration was as sardonic as it was showmanly. The amused murmur of a promise echoed between them as he trailed across her chin. âGuess weâll have to try again.â
âAl.â She groaned as she collapsed against the mattress bonelessly, trembling arms rising to loop around his shoulders by sheer willpower alone, pointedly ignoring the arm pillared by her head in an open invitation to conclude the colliding intimacy of their interaction.
And though she complained and decried the familiar unfairness of his teasing, the stifled upward tilt of her kiss-swollen lips wordlessly narrated her own heated gratification.
Almost regretful, Alastor forced himself to part from the emanating warmth of her naked body, making sure to nuzzle his cheekbone against her face and throat before his lidded gaze found hers once more.
âFifth timeâs the charm, yes?â
comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, always
Alastor can feel his mating season approaching, creeping over his limbs like an unwelcome, burning frost. And itâs all the fault of the immovable object to his unstoppable force.
His estranged wife. His better half. The only other deer demon that seemed to both illicit and satiate the sudden spike of hormones and arousal of his annual rut.
Unfortunately for him, sheâs as stubborn as he is, and is still pissed at him for disappearing without a word for the past seven years.
And for the first time in a long time, Alastor has to rely on his ability to woo her to convince her to spend the duration of his rut with him.
TLDR: actions speak louder than words, and Alastor attempts to seduce his estranged wife over the course of a week leading up to his impending rut.
I may or may not write this as a fully fledged fic , Iâll wait and see what public reception says lol
update; if youâd like to be notified when i upload this fic, simply like or reply to my comment on this post
đđ: P in V, Oral (M! Receiving), Oral (F! Receiving), Clit stimulation, Cum swallowing, Threesome, Drunk sex, Vincent has no shame, Alastor cares for you, This takes place during the 1930s even though itâs not stated, Allusions to murder and cheating, Alastor speaks French (I used a translator)
đđ˛đ§đ¨đŠđŹđ˘đŹ: Itâs February the 14th, Valentineâs Day, and your two best friends, Alastor and Vincent, decide to swing by your apartment to treat you to some drinks. And though youâre grateful to not spend the most romantic day of the year alone after you found out about your loverâs unfaithfulness, you still feel awful. Vincent knows that, but he comes onto you anyway, offering you revenge sex. Alastor accidentally gets himself involved.
Ah, February the 14th, the day youâd come to dread the most since a friend of yours visited you at work to hit you with a gut-wrenching revelation â that sheâd seen your boyfriend having dinner with a woman at a restaurant in the outskirts of town, when he was supposed to be miles away in Baton Rouge on a 5-day business trip.
You had thanked her for letting you know, even though you had been overcome with anger, grief, the timing being nothing short of unfortunate.
The bastard had cheated on you a week before Valentineâs Day. A damned week.
âI donât get it. I gave him everything I had. I was⌠I was a good girlfriend,â You ranted, waving your hands around. âUnless thereâs something wrong with meâŚ? Maybe Iâm⌠God, no. I canât believe this. The asshole has me belittling myself!â
Luckily, your two best friends had swung by your apartment, spontaneous and unannounced.
They had linked their arms with yours and dragged you to their favorite bar to catch up over some drinks on the most romantic day of the year.
And though you were grateful to not spend Valentineâs Day alone, to not spend it with that cheating son-of-a-bitch, you still felt pretty awful. It didnât help that your boyfriend had yet to return home from his business trip, exacerbating your anger, your grief. He was supposed to be gone for 5 days, not 7. Not an entire week.
âTo make matters worse, he hasnât come back home,â You continued, absentmindedly tracing the rim of your empty glass with a singular finger. âAnd Iâve been waiting for him like a goddamn dog ââ
âWait, wait, wait,â Vincent sputtered, confused. âAre you planning on hashing things out with him? Because youâd told us on the day of ââ
You vigorously shook your head.
âChrist, no! In fact, I donât want to see him and his stupid face again,â You told him. âI really donât, but⌠the curiosity is gnawing at me, you know?â
A hum sounded from beside you.
âWell, get used to it, my dear,â Alastor chimed in. âI have a feeling heâs not coming back. Men like him typically do not, at least.â
âBut he has to come back. His clothes, his belongings, he needs them. I mean, sure, he packed a bunch of his suits before he left⌠but thatâs because he needs to change hisâŚâ
Your words trailed off to a whisper, realization settling in your gut, where your heart already sat. The business trip wasnât real. It was a dirty lie, a pretense. Your boyfriend had packed a hefty suitcase of his best clothes to run off with this new gal to God-knows-where. They had probably just grabbed themselves a bite to eat on the way out.
âI need another drink.â
âWhy, of course! Iâll head over to the bar and ââ
âNo, Al. I need a drink, like, now.â
You turned away from Alastor and plucked the glass of whiskey Vincent was nursing, plush lips latching onto the rim, mismatched eyes narrowing in displeasure. You didnât care, though, not in the slightest. In fact, you locked eyes with him as you tipped your head back, the thick, amber liquid steadily trickling down your throat.
âOh yeah, go ahead! Help yourself to my drink! Itâs not like I was trying to finish it or whatever.â
It was hot and bitter on your tongue, the edges of your vision growing blurry with tears, but you forcefully swallowed each and every drop Vincent had left in his glass. The astringent burn felt infinitely better than the ache of being cheated on, of being abandoned by someone you had invested 3 years on by a long stretch.
âMy, my! Look at you, pounding whisky like a sailor,â Alastor chuckled, downing whatever was left of his own drink. âAnd here I thought you were the one who had served in the Navy, Whittman.â
âHa-Ha, very funny,â Vincent drawled, clearly unamused. âIn fact, how about you go and enlist in the circus right now? Iâm sure theyâd love you!â
âSays the one who aspires to embarrass himself on some noisy picture box,â Alastor waved him off as he pushed his chair back. âAnywho, Iâll be back with another round of drinks for us, too-da-loo!â
You dropped your head and gently lowered the empty glass, placing it in front of you on the table, where only you and Vincent sat now. The table was situated in the furthest corner of the bar, right next to one of the exits, which nobody used because it led straight to a dark, inconspicuous alleyway instead of the brightly-lit main street.
âAsshole,â Vincent muttered under his breath.
âHeâs getting us a round of drinks on his own dime,â You shrugged as you turned to look at him. âI donât think that constitutes asshole behavior.â
âOh, Iâm sure youâd know.â
You narrowed your eyes in a glare, liquid courage churning in your belly, making you bolder.
âFuck you.â
He planted his elbows on the table, leaning in, voice lowering to something low and gravely.
âIs that a threat or a promise?â
You slowly blinked, lips curling upwards in a smile that was a mix of amusement and mild disbelief.
The audacity he had to hit on you.
If the whiskey wasnât so strong, you probably would have told him an unsavory thing or two.
âNeither. Keep dreaming, Whittman.â
He leaned in further, mismatched eyes fleetingly darting down to your lips.
âI donât need to,â Vincent admitted under a sultry whisper, as if the bar wasnât bustling with music and chatter. âNot anymore.â
âIâm sorry, what?â
Ever since Alastor introduced you to Vincent, almost each and every exchange between you two had a suggestive undertone to it. At first, you thought it was a similarity he and Alastor held, that their unbridled charisma came off as flirtatious. But with time, you realized that Vincentâs words were purposefully insinuating, not accidentally flirty.
You always brushed off his not-so-subtle advances, and when your boyfriend came into the picture, you just ignored them altogether.
However, you couldnât do that now.
The man had you all to his own, something that rarely transpired in your friend group. The three of you always hung out together, never one on one.
And, to make matters worse, Vincent was handsome. You would be as big of a liar as your boyfriend if you said that he wasnât. He had streaks of silver in his hair, sharp brows, green-blue eyes, a roman nose, a cleft chin, a jaw that could cut into stone, and you were certain that the rest of him wouldnât disappoint you. Still, he was your friend.
Youâd known him and Alastor for years. You couldnât risk ruining your friendship for a romp in the hay, even if it happened to be a one and done kind of thing. God knows what the repercussions of allowing Vincent to get in between your knees would be, especially on Alastor, who was particularly fond of your strange dynamic as a trio.
âHey, one night wouldnât hurt,â Vincent shrugged, moving back and relaxing in his seat. âIâd make it worth your while, doll.â
âYouâre kidding me,â You shook your head. âItâs been one week. One. Fucking. Week. Why would you try to make a move on me now?â
âIâve known you long enough to know that it takes you a while to get over things,â Vincent drawled. âWaiting would have hardly made a difference.â
âYouâre⌠God, youâre such a dog⌠you have no shame,â You snorted in disbelief. âSeriously, you need to keep that ego in check, Whittman.â
âLook, I donât hear you saying no. And besides, if that asshole does show up â which I doubt â Iâm sure itâd feel great knowing you stuck it to him.â
You had every intention of breaking up with your boyfriend if he wound up returning to your shared apartment, of course. Thereâs nothing more you wanted to do than confront him, to find out why heâd decided to betray you after 3 years worth of what you once thought to be a happy relationship. Closure would help you heal much quicker.
Revenge sex with your best friend, on the other hand, would certainly not.
However, as Alastor announced himself with a whistle, you sat back and found yourself mulling his words over. Perhaps it was the whiskey thinking for you. Straight liquor always clouded your better judgement, and it didnât help that you had another drink placed in front of you⌠that or you were simply searching to stave off the ache in your heart.
Whatever it was, Alastor noticed it.
Rich brown eyes carefully regarded you, taking notice of the contemplative creases etched into your features, the sad air around you all but gone.
Taking notice of the tension in your muscles, shoulders squared instead of slumped in grief, piquing his curiosity.
Vincent also wasnât trying to be discreet.
He was already awful at concealing his true sentiments in the face of excitement. Last night was a testament of that. Alastor swore the corners of Vincentâs lips had touched his ears while he helped him hack your unfaithful lover into pieces, mirroring the same maniacal grin heâd greeted him with on the day he was hired at the new TV station.
Since his dismembered body and the evidence of his murder was properly disposed of, this was the first time you had been single in 3 years.
Like an impatient hawk, Vincent swooped in and asked you for a chance.
A chance at what? Alastor didnât know.
He just knew that Vincent had always held a soft spot for you, he was no oblivious fool.
Tonight was the first time heâd seen you entertain him, and he was eager to find out why because, between you two, you mattered to him the most.
So, once you all had a fair share of liquor churning in your belly, and you decided you wanted to head back home, Alastor refused to let Vincent take you. Not alone. He saw how you immediately went to link your arm with his, skin flushed, pupils blown to giant saucers. It wasnât just the dazed look of an alcohol-induced haze. It couldnât be.
The two of you had clearly discussed something in the small time frame heâd left the table to grab another round of drinks, but what?
As the door that led to the alleyway shut behind him, he reached for your other arm.
âWhat are you doing?â Vincent whispered under his breath, brows furrowing and mismatched eyes narrowing, brimming with obvious displeasure.
âI could ask you the same thing, pal,â Alastor whispered back with a sarcastic bite.
They jostled you around as they spoke in hushed tones, your back meeting Alastorâs chest.
Even through his vest, even through your blouse, the warmth of his body penetrated your skin, a shiver wracking your spine.
Still, you craned your neck and looked up at them, tipsy, curious, and confused.
âIâm taking her home, thatâs what Iâm doing, pal,â Vincent told him. âSo, why donât you ââ
âOh, is that so?â Alastor interrupted him, leaning in, sharp nose grazing his hooked one, making him bristle. âWell, how about I accompany you two?â
You opened your mouth to say something, however, Vincent was faster than you.
âThat wonât be necessary.â
He tried to pry you away from Alastorâs grip, but because he refused to let go, you wound up being caught between their bodies instead.
Your breath hitched, your chest pushing up against Vincentâs stomach.
The ache in your heart was suddenly replaced with something else, something debauched and forbidden but excitable all the same.
âBâtard sordide, profiter d'elle.â
âYou know I donât understand a lick of French, you tacky piece of shit,â Vincent hissed, tone rising, pale skin flushing in frustration and annoyance.
âSleazy bastard, taking advantage of her,â Alastor translated for him with a snarl. âYouâve no shame.â
They started to bicker with each other, both of them still holding onto one of your arms.
And yet, the only thing you could focus on was the hard press of their bodies against yours, arousal rippling through your skin.
The alcohol in your belly, the betrayal of your lover, it made everything infinitely worse.
âLet. Go,â Vincent demanded, placing his other hand on top of Alastorâs bicep, warning him.
âHa! Over my dead body,â Alastor flashed him his canines in defiance, hardly flinching at the harsh grip the other man had on him.
Your best friends were the most insufferable people you knew, in their own respective ways, of course.
And though it was irritating, you didnât put it to a halt because of their arguing. You put it to a halt because you decided to cast your friendship aside.
You didnât want Vincent to take you, not alone. You wanted both Vincent and Alastor to take you, to unashamedly have their way with you, the arm in Alastorâs grip moving back to grasp at the top of his thigh. The one in Vincent's grip moved forward, the tips of your fingers grazing his crotch through his slacks, immediately catching their attention.
You felt their bodies stiffen against you.
The dark alleyway was ensnared by a deafening bout of silence. Alastor, from shock, and Vincent, from obvious gratification.
âPlease,â You merely said, chest heaving, voice high-pitched and indisputably needy.
Mismatched eyes stared into rich brown ones with an âI told you soâ look.
âYou heard that, Alastor?â Vincent grinned, dropping his hand from his bicep.âStill think Iâm taking advantage of her?â
Despite your grip on his thigh, he steeled himself, nostrils flaring in irritation.
âSheâs inebriated and heartbroken, what do you think, Vincent?â Alastor bit back.
A curse seeped past Vincentâs lips as you tossed your head back against Alastorâs shoulders to gaze up at him with a silent plea.
His eyes flitted down, heart lurching in his chest.
Blown pupils stared up at him through thick lashes, shooting him a look only his admirers who tuned into his radio broadcasts had ever expressed â desire. And though it slightly intimidated him, your friendship being something he held dearly to his cold, wicked heart, he couldnât bear the thought of leaving you alone with Vincent.
The man was the epitome of what he constantly praised and admired, a predator. A shark.
Vincent wanted to have his fill of you, and you surprisingly became his willing prey.
He looked up to meet mismatched eyes, the corners of his lips twisting to form a scowl.
The bastard had the audacity to toss him a shit-eating grin, but the only reason why Alastor found himself nodding his head in determination in lieu of resignation was because he noticed traces of displeasure on Vincentâs features. He probably wasnât overtly fond of the idea of sharing you. However, he had no say in the matter.
And he wasnât idiotic enough to open his mouth and start protesting, not after years of pining.
âVery well, then,â Alastor hummed. âLetâs take her home, shall we, Vincent?â
He hissed a âYesâ through gritted teeth, swallowing the urge to argue.
And Vincent continued to do so long after you had made it to your apartment, shooting occasional daggers at the other man as you writhed against them, bare skin highlighted by the moonlight filtering through the gap between your curtains, your labored breaths and bodies colliding together resonating throughout your bedroom.
âFuck, Vinny, please! That feels so good.â
Two pairs of hands glided across your bare skin, feeling, squeezing everywhere they traversed, one more eager than the other.
âYeah? You like that? You like when I do that?â
You found yourself on all fours on the bed, your eyes screwed shut and cheek plastered against Alastorâs slacks as Vincent plowed into you from behind, his cockhead relentlessly abusing that sweet spot nestled deep within your walls. He also had two fingers rubbing your clit in quick circles, a familiar pressure already coiling in your belly.
You couldnât remember the last time you had been screwed this good, one of your hands scrambling to clutch at Alastorâs thigh as Vincent pushed into your cunt with a particularly harsh thrust, your nose squashing into a clothed erection.
Vincent had been plowing into you from behind for a few minutes already, yet Alastor patiently stood in front you, mostly clothed. He had his vest folded neatly on your dresser, his shirt completely unbuttoned, and his suspenders hung at his sides, his slacks still fully done. Even though this was your first time with him, you werenât surprised.
Unlike Vincent, Alastor was patient, long, slender fingers threading into your hair to caress your scalp, gently coaxing you to the tent in his slacks.
Your eyes fluttered open, the hand on his thigh sliding up, fingers finding the button on his slacks.
It was hard, trying to pull his erection out with Vincentâs cock sliding in and out of your slick cunt, but you eventually managed to do it.
Your eyes flitted up, thin rings of rich brown staring down at you as you wrapped your fingers around the base of his length, thumb and middle finger barely meeting from how girthy he was. With your other hand, you reached out to steel yourself on his thigh, body lurching forward from how often Vincentâs hips rudely collided with your ass.
âSlow down, you damned animal,â Alastor hissed, skin flushed in a mixture of arousal and irritation.
As your tongue laved across the side of his length, tracing the vein leading to his cockhead, you felt Vincentâs pace slightly stutter.
âFuck you, donât you tell me what to do.â
The fingers scratching your scalp suddenly gripped your hair, tugging. It stung a bit, chest vibrating with a small mewl, but you didnât stop.
âWhy do you have to be so insufferable?â
Despite his words, Vincent slowed down, allowing you to move your head back and guide Alastorâs length to your mouth.
âOnly because Iâm getting close,â Vincent muttered, the fingers on your clit moving away.
As you wrapped your lips around Alastorâs cock, your hand slowly pumping the base in a corkscrew motion, you tried not to protest. The pressure in your belly slowly subsided, clit throbbing in longing, but upon hearing the man above you emit a shaky breath, you remembered that giving pleasure was just as delicious as receiving it.
Your eyes fell shut, cheeks hollowing, slick sounds filling the room as you reverently sucked what you could of his length.
âMerde,â Alastor huffed, the muscles in his abdomen flexing, the grip on your hair loosening.
You felt Vincent throb inside of you, and it made you wonder if he was watching. Your eyes fluttered open, Alastorâs cock falling out of your mouth, tongue trailing down his length as you stole a peek.
âOh, fuckâŚâ Vincent muttered under his breath, pale skin flushing red. âWhy am I watching?â
How curious. That was something you also wanted to know the answer to, but he was just as clueless as you were, apparently.
Either way, you took Alastorâs cock back in your mouth, wiggling your hips before pushing them back, fucking yourself on Vincentâs length. Despite how riveting it was to pull grunts and groans from such a usually composed man with only your mouth, you still wanted to be screwed, and Vincent had promised to make it worth your while.
âWell, what are you waiting for?â
Ultimately, it was Alastor who snapped him back to reality.
âAre you going to make yourself useful?â
A hiss sounded from behind you.
âUseful? Listen here, you tacky piece of shit. Iâm always useful, remember last night? I did most ââ
Alastor quickly interjected.
âLast night, what? Last night, nothing. Now, either you fuck her properly or I will.â
The bastard almost let it slip.
âShit, sorry â I mean yeah, sure, whatever.â
He almost let the true fate of your unfaithful lover tumble from his lips in a petty fit.
âChrist, Vincent. Just do it.â
You tried to pick up your head to say something, to inquire about their exchange, especially because Vincent wasnât one to apologize, even when he was clearly in the wrong. But they were both quick to dive back into your debauched affair, Alastor suddenly forcing his cock down your throat, Vincentâs hips colliding with your ass once more.
And soon, your bedroom resonated with the filthy sound of two men grunting and groaning in tandem, including your muffled cries and whines.
The pressure in your belly eventually returned, too, their exchange growing distant with each thrust that drove you closer and closer to tipping over the brink of ecstasy, your mouth slowing down.
Alastor noticed it. The muscles in your body had tensed up. So, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, replacing your hand with his own.
With his other hand, which was still buried in your hair, he pulled your head back and instructed you to open your mouth. Despite how harsh, how unforgiving Vincent was as he rammed his cock into that sweet spot in your walls, you complied, parting your lips to allow Alastor to pump himself to completion on your tongue.
âAtta girl,â Alastor praised you, his breath stuttering, length stiffening and cockhead pulsing.
Thick ropes of his spend painted your tongue, the inside of your mouth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at the bitter taste.
Still, you sealed your lips shut and swallowed, earning yourself another praise from Alastor, including an affectionate pat on the cheek.
âF-Fuck⌠thatâs it,â Vincent huffed, following closely behind, his thrusts growing sloppy.
You were close, so, so close, but it seemed as if the man behind you was far closer than you to coming undone, yet another thing Alastor noticed. So, after he tucked himself away, he clambered onto the bed and promptly encouraged Vincent to take you on your back instead of all fours, leaving you both equal parts confused.
âWhy do you want me to ââ
âJesus H. Christ, Whittman! Why is it such a challenge for you to do anything?â
âFuck, I was so close, but fine!â
Vincent complied, cock sliding out of you and hands seizing your waist, a gasp tearing from your throat as you were flipped onto your back. Alastor wasted no time, not even a millisecond, leaning down and resting his cheek against your mound, hot breath ghosting over your clit. It was then that Vincent understood what his intentions were.
And so did you, your legs falling wide open, a hand flying down to pet at the mess of curls on top of Alastorâs head.
The tip of his tongue grazed your clit, the muscles in your belly flexing with a moan.
âOh, okay, Iâll just try to pretend as if this isnât weird,â Vincent shakily said, grabbing the base of his length and tentatively guiding himself to your entrance. âAs if youâre not close toâŚâ
As his cockhead parted your folds, sinking back into your walls, Alastor hissed at him to shut up.
And, for once in his life, Vincent kept his mouth sealed in a fine line, his hands closing around the back of your knees, casting his gaze to the ceiling.
He resumed his previous pace, but with each slick drag of his cock, he swore he felt Alastorâs tongue graze his flesh as he simultaneously lapped at your swollen clit. It felt⌠wrong, but Vincent couldnât muster a single protest, driving his hips into yours and focusing on the delicious sound of your labored breaths instead of the warm muscle.
Thankfully, the coil in your belly quickly snapped with the combined efforts of Vincentâs cock and Alastorâs tongue, your head tipping back against the mattress with a long, obscene whine.
âOh, oh my⌠fuckkk! Vinny, Al, please,â You chanted, your pleasured noises coaxing the man inside of you over the edge. âFuck, fuck, fuck.â
Alastor lifted his head from your pulsing clit at the same time Vincent pulled out of your fluttering walls, a strangled moan leaving his lips, thick, hot ropes of his spend coating the inside of your thighs.
The hands gripping the back of your knees let go, your legs falling limp with the rest of your body. You felt the mattress dip beside you. It was Alastor, splaying himself out, his chest heaving with a tired sigh. Vincent, on the other hand, stumbled back into the wall, muttering something about getting a towel for you in a second.
âShit, Iâm sorry, doll. Iâll clean that up in a bit, I promise, just let me⌠doll?â
However, you didnât respond.
Apparently, you had knocked out, an amused hum seeping past Alastorâs lips.
Vincent blinked.
âI thought your performance was⌠subpar, but I guess she felt otherwise.â
âShut the fuck up.â
âTake your own advice, Whittman. You were this close to slipping up. This. Close. And under no pressure, too. How pathetic.â
âIt was the liquor, it loosened my tongue.â
âIf she ever finds out what you did, what we did, this will never happen again.â
âGood. Fine! I donât want to share her with you.â
âThatâs not what I meant, you buffoon! The next time you slip up, rest assured, this will never happen again. I wonât have any liabilities.â
âAre you fucking threatening me?â
âYes, so clean up the mess you made and show me that I can trust you to be alone with her.â
Why did he listen?
Why did he leave the room to get a towel from your bathroom to clean you up?
He scowled at Alastor.
âWhy do I have to prove myself to you? I mean, what? Who the fuck do you think you are?â
Whatever it was that Alastor was trying to do, Vincent loathed it. All three of you were friends, and though he recognized that his move had been poorly-timed and a tad bit sleazy, his intentions with you were pure. He wanted you. He had wanted you for the longest time, and now that your boyfriend was⌠gone, he needed you.
The way he had vigorously stabbed your unfaithful lover last night testified to his impatience.
And impatience made people sloppy.
Sloppiness would lead to them losing everything they had worked for, which Alastor dreaded.
âShe cannot find out what we did,â Alastor reminded him later, but in a way that would not inspire offense. âYou will lose her, and after all these years, well⌠I doubt thatâs what you want.â
Your cheek rested against Vincentâs chest, arms wound around his waist, sleeping.
They had rummaged through your dresser for a fresh pair of clothes, making you decent enough for bed before tucking you in.
Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, arm behind him, fingers playing with the strands of your hair.
âI know, I know, Al,â Vincent huffed, mismatched eyes trained on the ceiling, his own fingers absentmindedly running up and down your sides. âTrust me, pal, she wonât.â
N/A: Veeeeery short, I know. I took advantage of the fact that it's that time of the month to write this mini drabble because it's been a while since I've written much, and I always find it hard to get back into the swing of things. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :>. I'm thinking about improving the presentation of the fics, apart from just putting a gif. Maybe I'll come up with something for the next one and create banners.
Warnings: smut, cock warming, Alastor's tentacles are a warning in themselves for me (brief appearance, but the next one-shot I do will be about them), a little bit of bad language (just for the sake of it, haha), PiV
Alastor's cock fills you in such an incredible way and is a delicious torture at the same time...
You shift uncomfortably in his lap, frustrated by the fact that you can't move your hips any more than his grip allows, which, at this moment, is minimal. You feel his member rubbing against your inner walls as you search for a better position because your legs feel numb, and a small whimper escapes your lips as you grab his jacket tightly.
âWhat's wrong, my dear? Everything okay?â he says casually with a satisfied smile because he knows exactly what he's doing to you. And believe me, he's enjoying it to the fullest.
You can't deny that part of why you're going through this suffering is your own fault. Yes, your fault. Well, maybe Sinstagram is also to blame for showing you that post about cock warming that made you want to try it with Alastor. At first, it was just curiosity and excitement at the prospect of doing something you'd never heard of before. But let's be honest, after thinking about it carefully, the idea of having Alastor's cock buried in your pussy for hours had made you very horny.
You thought it wouldn't be difficult to convince him, at least because technically it wasn't having sex. However, it's true that the look of confusion and shock on his face when you mentioned it to him is worth framing. Too bad you didn't take a picture to tease him with later.
For the radio demon, this whole situation seemed highly entertaining. At first, when you came to propose it, he wasn't convinced at all. What was this strange idea of warming up his cock? Had you gone crazy? There was no way he was going to try that.
Your pouting and the word âpleaseâ repeated ad nauseam prompted him to agree, as long as you shut up and stopped bothering him. After all, he was just going to have his dick buried deep inside his favorite thing (which was you) for hours. It didnât sound too bad.
It didn't sound too bad until it seemed like one of the best ideas you could have had in terms of sex. He was casually reading a book and taking notes for his next radio broadcast while you, his sweet little thing, with your soaking wet pussy wrapped around his sword, couldn't move. Your heavy breathing every time the slightest movement made you clench your fists and bite your lower lip to stifle a broken moan was music to his ears, and although he would never admit it, it turned him on.
He could tease you for hours, watching you break down and beg him.
Oh, beg him, plead with him to leave that fucking notebook alone and let your screams be the stars of the next broadcast he's pretending to plan while prolonging your suffering indefinitely, and I assure you he won't be able to control himself and will fuck you so hard that not only Hell will know you're his. Perhaps the psychopathic deer hides exhibitionist tendencies deep down when it comes to showing everyone who you belong to?
âFuck you,â you whisper as you tighten your inner walls, squeezing his member, unable to make any other movement. âYou're a bastard, Alastor.â
He growls and his writing stops momentarily. The last word he wrote is not finished when the pen draws a slow, sinuous line towards the bottom of the page.
âI wasn't the one who suggested this, my dear. It's your fault you're in this situation.â
âLook who's talking. Don't tell me you don't enjoy making me suffer,â you say as you watch Alastor throw his notes across the sofa with a mocking smile and grab your hips firmly to lift your body up and drop it forcefully onto his cock. The scream that escapes your throat is silenced by one of the tentacles inserted into your mouth, preventing the sound from echoing through the hotel lobby.
âCareful, beautiful. You don't want everyone to hear you and come down to see what you're doing down here. Who would have thought you had such perverted tendencies inside that little head of yours?â He admires the sight of your mouth being abused by his tentacle as drool begins to slide down your chin. You look so beautiful with your teary eyes and flushed cheeks...
Your arms wrap around his neck as he lifts you both up, still buried deep inside you. He begins to climb the stairs to his room calmly, a sinister smile adorning his face and a penetrating gaze that you don't dare identify as desire.
âShut up and fuck me already,â you ask, to which he lets out a low chuckle that makes the hairs on your skin stand on end and gives you goosebumps.
âDon't worry, darling,â his claws grab the doorknob, turning it decisively before entering and locking the door from the inside. âThat's what I plan to do all night long.â
His voice deepens as static fills the air to the point of unbearability, his red eyes fixated on you, and you can see the horns on his head growing and growing with no end.
âAfter all, you promised me you'd be the star of my next radio broadcast".
Your shirt is gone in less than five seconds with a simple swipe of his claws.
I'm torn between liking Alastor not being the type to use his body for manipulation and stuff, and also Alastor not at all being above using sex as a form of easy manipulation and deal-making.
Text below in case handwriting is hard to read:
Vox: "Y'know... you're right Val..."
Vox: "I CAN FUCK ALASTOR AND TAKE HIS VIRGIN ASS! AND HE CAN'T DO SHIT ABOUT IT! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Alastor: "I'm not a virgin."
Vox: "B-but only with women, right?"
Alastor: "No."
Vox: "But you haven't bottomed, right?"
Alastor: "Mmm..."
Vox: "Oral? Doggy style? 69? YOU HAVEN'T 69ED, RIGHT?????"
Alastor: "The body is surprisingly quite versatile for deals and manipulation."
You know, I wonder if Rosie thought Alastor was asking for her soul at first. Similar to how Charlie and VaggiÉ (since the name change, sheâs getting the Biltzø treatment from now on) assumed the same thing when making deals with him.
âWhatâs in it for me? I donât work for free. You want help? Well, you know the fee!â
âI will not reward a snake like you!â
âYouâll watch them die unless you do!â
âLiar! You wouldnât dare!â
âQuid Pro Quo, itâs only fair.â
âYou really are a demon, pet.â
The whole scene, she was incredibly reluctant to give Alastor what he wanted in return for his assistance. Which is why I think she was acting on the assumption he was using HER idea of a fee.
He needed her help to raise the ranks of Hell, and he paid the highest price possible for it. And now she needs his help for whatever secret reason that may be. So it stands to reason the same would be required of her now the agreement was flipped on its head.
But thenâ
âYou knew my game the day we met.â
JUST LIKE THAT, with a show of his broken cane and a reference to their old song, Rosieâs smiling. And not even reluctantly. Sheâs hook, line, and sinker.
He isnât asking for her soul, he just wants his powers without the added strings of indentured servitude. In fact, heâs implicitly offering to keep doing the exact same thing as before, albeit with less leverage on her side.
Whatever her master plan is, heâs all in. The cards may be out her hands, but he doesnât mind letter her peak at his.
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
