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I Heard You, Dear (Hazbin Hotel AlastorxAFABReader Smutfic) Chapter Three: Abhorred and Adored

VERY heavily animalistic instinct-based smutfic with a shit-ton of 'self-care' and voyeurism. You have been warned.

Trigger warnings: Explicit smut, masturbation, accidental voyeurism, animal (deer) instincts, rutting, breeding kink, scent kink, The Pillow(TM), mild angst, teasing, coping with lust poorly, jealousy, possessive behaviour, PinV sex

******use of very frequent changing point of views*****

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/You/

The thick musk hung in the air as though a fog. You’d caught small hints of it downstairs, wondered if you had imagined it. But now, in the isolation of your room with nobody else to disturb the familiar scents, it was all you could smell.

You found the pillow haphazardly laid across the floor, wondering how it had landed there and gone unnoticed this morning. Thinking out loud, you began to ask ‘what the Hell’, before losing the words in a daze of thick heady smog. You could practically taste desire in the air, as if it were calling out to you, demanding you. You picked up the pillow, curiously bringing it to your nose. Yup. That was it. Underneath the perfumed tones of washing powder and marshy woodland was the most powerful aphrodisiac scent you’d ever come across.

Throwing the pillow back on the bed, you tried to take slow, deep breaths to clear your mind. Getting off was NOT the answer to everything, goddamn it. Just because you were going through the worst of your season, does not mean you have to mount your fingers every five fucking minutes.

Although, it wasn’t just your digits that were available. You wandered over to the dresser, standing with a long pause while you considered the toy concealed under a few layers of underwear.

Shaking your head, you thought about how incredibly messy and flushed you’d look if you came back downstairs after using that. You’d already offered to help cook; there was no way you’d have time.

Leaning your forearms on the dresser, you tried to fight off the powerful scent making you ache for relief. You couldn’t even think straight while it filled your mind, entirely unbothered by HOW the pheromones filled your room, and only focused on surviving them.

You swayed your hips side to side, trying to breathe through the urges as if you weren’t slowly losing to them.

“Ugh... fuck it. I can’t do this.”

You relented to your body’s cravings, pulling out the toy and flopping back onto the bed, causing another wave of thick fog to assault your senses as you hit the pillow.

You pulled your jeans to your mid-thigh, pulling your underwear to the side to allow the toy to sink into your eagerly soaked folds. With a sharp grunt, you penetrated yourself and allowed the toy to stretch you gradually, wincing against the slight cold when all you wanted was the heat of flesh.

You grinded the toy into you, curling your fingers into your clit with one hand and controlling the toy’s thrusts with the other. The musk seemed to only get stronger, heightening your need as you whimpered and rocked hard enough to creak the mattress.

You imagined him leaning over you, scalding into your thighs with tight grips and bared claws, taking your body for his pleasure only.

“Fuck, please Alastor, God... ah, yes... mmmmmnnnhAH!”

You felt the pace of your body’s rocking almost becoming a bounce as you fucked the toy into you, angling it a little more forward to glide against that sweet spot, compounding with demanding fingers in small circles. Your body answered as though commanded, enticed by the delicious imagery in your filthy mind. With a final cry of his name, you fell apart, writhing and shaking as you held the toy still inside your clenching walls. You blew out forceful breaths to keep from moaning, hips jolting with the waves of orgasm, each growing further apart as you came down from the ecstasy.

Between the exhalations, the aphrodisiac scent was unrelenting. It felt as though your release had barely quenched your thirst enough to get you by; there was still so much need wracking your body, making your breasts sore and belly knot. You writhed against the toy, seeking that finality of relief after a successful orgasm, yet not quite feeling done.

In frustration, you removed it with a sharp intake of breath, hastily fixing your jeans in place as you took it to the ensuite to clean.

The bathroom was thankfully less scented, allowing you a moment’s clarity for the desire to ease off enough to relax your shoulders.

In the short time you were in there, you gained enough sense to fix your hair and apply some makeup, hiding your flushed face under concealer and mascara. You made sure to spread some foundation and powder down your neck and chest after seeing the bright pink staining under your thin fur.

Steeling yourself to walk back into the bedroom, you lock your breathing through your mouth alone and force your sense of smell to cut off completely.

It wasn’t enough. At ALL.

It was almost metallic and hot on your tongue, nearly making your eyes water. If it was any thicker in the room, you’d choke on it. Your legs faltered as you walked forward, tripping to your knees and clinging on to the side of the bed. Your nostrils filled with unwanted waves of desire, making your thighs shake with need that you just couldn’t satisfy. You broke out in shallow whines, pressing your fist against your mouth and rocking your hips in the air.

At this point, you were ready to beg.

Whatever the hell he wanted, if he could stop this ache, this pain, you’d give it to him.

Relinquishing any form of dignity you had, you stumbled to your feet, tucked the toy back in the dresser, and fought your way to carefully tread across to the bedroom door.

Outside the room, the wall of cool air hit you, a merciful relief.

You regained your sense of self, clutching onto your sanity with urgent gasps, gratefully feeling the desire in your groin easing off to a manageable level. You choked back deep breaths, coming down from the lustful high safely and steadily.

With enough composure now, you found that walking was far more manageable, leaving you looking relatively normal as you made your way down to the kitchen to help prepare dinner.

Angel had already started slicing the vegetables with a pan on the boil by the time you joined. He eyed you suspiciously, waiting for you to get settled in with seasoning the meat before speaking.

“SO, that was a sudden disappearance. Where’d you go, eh?”

You blinked up at him, confused and afraid of being caught getting off, “uh, just to fix some makeup on, i felt a little... underdressed? I don’t know, why? Did something happen?”

He narrowed his eyes, studying you. “So you just went to your room, huh? Alone?”

“Yeah, obviously. Why?”

“You know you should probably tell me if somethin’s going on with you and... someone else here. Might not be safe for you, ya know?”

Genuine confusion crossed your expression this time. “Wait what? Safe? Do you think I'm sleeping with anyone? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since i got laid? Pal, i can promise you, that is NOT the case. Don’t you worry about that.”

He chuckled, sensing the honesty behind your proclamation. “Alright doll, i believe ya. It’s just... ah, forget it. Just look after yourself okay? Lotsa unsavoury characters end up in Hell, and you can’t be sure who to trust.”

“Thanks for the advice... i guess? Um... anyway, is that pan supposed to-”

“Oh shit!”

He leapt across the kitchen, turning down the heat under the pan that bubbled over. He swore, mopping up the mess and grumbling. You sighed in relief, sensing the tension easing just a little.

It bothered you, though. The way he thought you were seeing someone, just because you’d disappeared. It’s not like anyone followed you. It didn’t make enough sense to put two and two together, which frustrated you enough to lose focus a couple times on the recipe and have to double back and re-check a few steps.

By the time dinner was ready, you were pretty well composed. You and Angel proudly showed off your hard work; though neither of you were great cooks, you’d at least produced a semi-decent spread that was probably not too overcooked, and generally smelled pretty great thanks to the ungodly amount of onions and garlic you’d charred.

The table filled with hungry-looking guests and staff, even earning praise from Husk and Vaggie as they tucked in their seats to begin plating up. Alastor’s absence caught your attention a few minutes into the meal; you looked around the room, seeing no sign of the red demon, feeling a wash of disappointment compounded with confusion.

You ate slowly, trying to work out how you were going to sleep tonight if your room still smelt so damn strong. Maybe you could ask one of the others for a sleepover, or just crash out on the sofa. Though why your pillow smelt so damn strong, you had no idea-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a violent wave of musk hitting you like a brick wall.

Losing your senses to heady desire, a tiny whine slipped out. Biting your tongue, you played off the noise as a little backache, stretching your arms dramatically as you tried to subtly peek at the demon you knew just entered the room.

With dark, tired eyes, Alastor smile-scowled into the room, hands tightly gripped behind his back. His smile was so tight it looked almost pained, with flashes of teeth as he warned off those staring at his late entrance, aimed at everyone except you. He refused to look at you with arrogant determination in his eyes.

It dawned on you all at once; the scent was HIM.

The overgrown curve to his antlers that poked above his hairline by an additional few inches gave his animal instincts away; the poor guy was going through rut, HARD, and you’d just served up an entire buffet where you’d touched every. Single. Damn. Dish.

Regret and dread warred in your stomach as you realized how brutally he was going to suffer during the meal.

Those heavy lids looked a far cry from the bright eyes you normally saw; even in such a short time from watching him join the twister game, he looked exhausted, as though he’d run a marathon or two. Even his hair was slightly unkempt, flicking upwards and mussed out to the sides as though he hadn’t cared to perfect it to its usual state. Much to your dismay and lack of control, he looked hot as fuck.

The scent was winning over your mental capacity for public decency. You rested an elbow on the table, covering your mouth to hide the teeth clamped on your lip, biting back the urge to beg and plead for him to bend you over the table and fuck the need right out of you.

Nobody else seemed particularly affected by his scent. As you curiously checked the faces of other demons, they seemed to be only vaguely concerned for his wellbeing, or mildly afraid. A few demons munched happily, avoiding the Radio Demon’s gaze at all costs. You swallowed, remembering you were here to eat, not to stare. Forcing a few mouthfuls down, you contemplated how badly this situation could go if neither of you were able to get a hold of this goddamn season. He was far too proud of a demon, an OVERLORD, to allow himself to look this sloppy. It threatened a much more sinister break in his composure that would, without a doubt, leave someone on the sharp end of those claws.

It must have been intensely sore for him for his usual composure to slip this much. He was visibly tensed in every muscle, every movement measured and precise.

If he felt the hormones the way a dominant stag would on Earth, there were only two routes for his aggression to be tempered off at this point; fighting or fucking.

You snatched a sharp breath in as two and two finally came together.

The pillow. He’d stolen your fucking pillow. That’s why your room smelt so strongly of him.

Without thinking, your face contorted into confused disgust, pondering why in Lucifer’s red Hell he would steal a pillow, especially if only to return it. Did he take it during the night? Did he... oh no. The DREAMS. OH NO.

A giggle burst from your throat before you could catch it. Wide-eyed and fighting back hilarity, you forced your hand over your mouth and bit hard on your tongue. A few eyes pivoted towards you, not helping the situation. You forced your eyes to lock onto an inconspicuous cup nearby, losing the battle between the laughter choking in your throat. Your shoulders started to shake and eyes teared up as the situation cracked your composure.

Feeling more eyes on you, you cringed into your hand, scrunching your eyelids shut. One hand pressed into the table, trying to keep you grounded and stop the laughing, but honestly it was far too late. You’d caught him now. He had a weakness, and it was the exact same one you were suffering from.

Goddamn deer hormones.

You sank your teeth into your cheeks, wiping your tears with a napkin and steadying yourself to take your plate out. You were far from done; but if you sat here any longer, you’d look at him and start wheezing.

You stumbled out of your chair with the half-eaten dish, determined in your faulty stride to get to the kitchen, nearly dropping the plate on the counter as another round of giggles struck.

In the back of your mind, a cruel joke made of spite and revenge toyed with temptation.

Acting quick, you left your plate on the counter and rifled through the cutlery drawer, finding a metal skewer and a small thin filleting knife. The perfect size for a bedroom lock. Little tricks you’d picked up working in the rougher parts of the Pentagram before you found your way here.

Running upstairs, taking the steps two at a time with an overzealous chuckle, you sprinted to the one room you’d never dared to go near.

You knew it was his before you came close; the smell of woodland swamp humidity and feral need was nearly overpowering, even from down the corridor. The fine detailing on his nameplate made you laugh harder, thinking about how far from dainty he looked right now downstairs.

You worked quickly, feeling the pressure of time, feeling the latch give in less than a minute. You sprinted back to your room, hopping inside and grabbing the pillow from the side you slept on the most, the one he hadn’t taken before. Glee lit up your expression as you lobbed it into his room, watching it flop and roll over to his pillows before you quickly shut the door.

It’d take too long to re-lock it, so you just abandoned the door shut closed and made a beeline for the kitchen again, sliding down the stair railing to save time.

You fixed your composure, maliciously mulling over how badly his room was going to reek of your suffering and pleasure the next time he went up there.

Cleaning your plate and looking around, the excitement was just too much of a high for you to go back to the table and act normal.

You flitted over to the fridge, checking out the options to whip up a dessert.

Overeager, you pulled out just about every fruit the shelves had, and dug out the ingredients for crumbles and a sponge mix. Clutter laid out on the counter like this was a more than pleasant enough distraction from the visceral lust swirling behind your decisions.

The smog of heady musk slammed into you as you whipped the sponge batter, making you freeze in place.

Behind you, the Radio Demon gave a low chuckle.

Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you pushed on with your preparation, barely able to concentrate on the consistency you were aiming for.

He came closer, his presence overwhelming as the heat prickled up the back of your neck. You felt as he stood just behind your left shoulder, as if he was a sun burning into your skin.

Swallowing loudly, you peeked back at him, trying to stifle the humorous grin that threatened to break through. His narrow eyes slitted in warning as he met your gaze, though the smile on his lips was far more frightening. The teeth were bared to the very gum, lips tight with fierce tension.

Wordlessly, he looked over your shoulder to the phone beside you, investigating the recipe you had on the screen. He surveyed the mess of ingredients as you mixed and silently picked out his own chopping board and knife, collaborating with your project. You pursed your lips, wondering if he felt the arousal just as strong as you did.

Needing a little more flour for texture, you spotted it on Alastor’s left. Wicked thoughts tempted you; you took your first shot at challenging the Radio Demon the only way you felt brave enough to. With your body.

You pressed your elbow into his front, pushing him back from the counter and reaching past to grab the flour. He froze, stunned, knife mid-air as he waited for you to move back into place. You added the flour as if nothing happened. He took a good twenty or so seconds of processing before hesitantly carrying on chopping fruit, eyeing you cautiously from his periphery.

This was far more fun than you intended, now you knew he wasn’t angry for no reason at all. Rather the opposite; you played a game of pure rage-bait as you dug your shoulder into his as you walked past to grab a baking tray, knocking him enough to turn him sideways. He smacked his palm on the counter, glaring at you, but still not speaking.

The desserts became a minefield of careful digs and pushes, intentionally keeping things out of reach so you could barge into him to grab them.

Finally, as you took the bowl from his hands and pushed his chest out of the way to grab the oil, he snapped.

A harsh growl tore from his throat as he snatched your wrists, pinning them against the counter and forcing you to face him. Inches from you, his visage of domineering accusation loomed over you, antlers creaking as his temper blazed under your barrage of disrespect. Feeling utterly pleased with yourself that you’d finally been brave enough to earn a look from him like this, you gave him your best smirk. His brows twitched, faltering in his fury.

In a menacing tone, he spoke to you directly for the first time since you moved into the Hazbin Hotel.

“My dear, how frightfully dangerous of a game you seek to play. You have no idea how very vulnerable you are right now, yet you wish to tempt me to violence? Have you no self-preservation?”

You drank in his presence, mind spinning with the heat and adrenaline coursing through your entire body. You wondered if he felt the pulse hammering in the wrists he held tight.

“Not particularly. Especially since i don’t mind your little temper tantrums. They’re far more satisfying than you just ignoring me. Do i have your attention now?”

He blinked at you, sclera blackening and bright neon green sutures flashing at his lips. “You think i haven’t seen you? Haven’t heard you? I know the way my name falls from your lips, sweet doe. You’re playing with a fire you cannot comprehend.”

Your thighs pressed together and hips bucked involuntarily, startled by the direct confrontation. Your lips parted as his eyes darted down your front to where your thighs clenched tightly. You wanted to keep going, to push him further. “See, i thought you had a little more dignity than this. But a pillow? Mister Radio, sir, all you had to do was ask.”

His voice pitched with radio tuning as static filled your ears, demanding and loud; “what do you believe i would ask for that you could possibly give? I need nothing from you.”

“Nothing at all?” You widened your eyes, giving the sweetest Bambi impression you could as you tilted your chest and face up towards him. “So, you can turn around and walk away right now, leaving me to finish up MY baking, right?”

His lips twitched with a sneer over the forced smile, lowering until he was barely an inch away from your face. In laboured snarls he rebutted your suggestion. “Fuck you.”

You chuckled under your breath, feeling the spite in his expression as he glowered down at you.

“How eloquent. I love it.”

He snorted, nose pinching in affront. “I hate you.”

Licking your lips, you leaned back into the counter, daring him with your eyes. He instinctively followed, eyes unfocusing for a second as he drank in your scent when he came closer again.

“Say that again, but with a little more conviction.”

His face turned slightly, lowering to level beside your cheek, hovering so close to your skin that you felt it could set alight any second.

“I... HATE... you.”

You dragged in a shaky breath, clutching your hands around the counter, feeling him tighten his grip painfully around your wrists. The heat of his breath prickled where he lost himself in deep inhalations intermingled with panting against your neck.

Fighting to stay semi-lucid, you pushed just a little more, sensing his control so close to breaking.

“Do you hate me, or want me? I’m getting real mixed signals here-”

He slammed his body into you, the cabinet giving a muffled clatter as he pressed every inch of his front against yours. His legs, hips, torso, chest, everything pushed against your heated skin. You gasped against him, resting your forehead against his shoulder as the prominent bulge curved into your sex like a sinful request.

Fuck, he smelled so good. So smoky, with vibrant notes of carnal pleasure and dark promises, his sweat gave off the very scent you’d chased for days now, magnified a thousand times over as your nose brushed his collar. Driven by pure lust, you licked the exposed skin at the edge of his jaw leading to his scalp, confirming he tasted just as good as he smelled. He flinched into you, cock twitching from the unexpected stroke of your tongue. He seemed to be fighting the desires raging through his body, resisting the breeding urge that drove him to seek you out so ardently. With the subtle creak of growing antlers and shudder in his shoulders, you felt him losing the battle. He arched his pelvis forward, snatching irregular gasps of breath as he rocked back and forth, grinding against you. You felt the friction burning against your pubic mound, fantasizing the possibility of just lifting up a little, parting your thighs, letting him in-

The clicking door handle disturbed the delicious moment, leaving you dropping unceremoniously to the floor as the body holding you up against the cabinet suddenly disappeared.

You caught a brief glimpse of dark shooting through the kitchen and out of the doorway; the Radio Demon fleeing the consequences of his actions, leaving you far less fortunate.

Angel rounded the kitchen island with a stack of plates, inane chatter flowing in from the doorway. He halted, spying you doubled over on the kitchen floor, bright red and crying from laughter. He helped you up, unable to get you to admit what was so funny.

He eventually helped you finish off the dessert while you bit back more laughter; the occasional flash of amusement catching you in a snort as you thought about how very badly Alastor was going to be suffering now he was hiding in a room that smelt violently of your pheromones and a well-worn pillow.

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/Alastor/

He cursed in three languages as he stalked across his bedroom, finding no escape from the torturous heat and merciless pressure at his balls. The rigid shaft brushed harshly against his pants with every step, testament to the testosterone demanding his every sense to seek out his mate.

He snarled, trying to snap out of it to no avail. Even the tiny respite he’d gotten from pleasuring himself just before joining dinner seemed to have nil effect to temper these feverish fantasies. Behind his eyelids, her sultry eyes saw right through him, peered into his very core and asked for everything he had. With the incessant perfume of her musk filling his room, he knew he was about ready to submit to her pleas.

She’d played fucking dirty with the pillow. It wasn’t even the one he’d washed; she’d thrown her favourite one on his bed like a fucking grenade and left him to lay in the ruins.

He gritted his teeth and stood at the edge of the illusory space into his personal Bayou, feeling just a hint of cool fresh air overcoming the thick smog. He gulped down the clean air, though didn’t step further. For how much it tortured him, he revelled in the scent of her.

He toyed with the idea of hiding out here and visiting her in the night; an idea so perilously tempting, he knew it would end badly in one of them getting hurt. To be left alone and so riled up would be devastating the second he came near the real flesh and blood of the sublime demon doe.

Gathering the shredded remains of his wits, he adjusted his coat and did up an extra button than normal, barely concealing his tight trousers enough to pass for public. It looked strange for him, yet it was necessary. He wanted to go claim what was his.

He waved his hand to unlock the door from across the room, hearing a strange lack of click. With minute curiosity, he approached the lock and peeked into it with the glow of green flame, spying multiple harsh scratch marks inside the mechanism. He laughed raucously as he realized that she’d been so brutal as to pick his lock, not even capable of basic sorcery to commit her misdeeds.

Knotting his hands tightly behind his back, he made his way towards the landing, contemplating the shadows in the hallway and wondering how much time had passed since he’d abandoned the ‘confrontation’.

Glancing down to the lobby over the railings, he paused mid-step, catching her eyes as though she’d been expecting him. Her smile creased the corners of her eyes as she stifled a laugh, not looking away from him this time. He bit his cheek, fighting back his own genuine smile as he stared down at her from the banister.

He made his way down the stairs slowly, enjoying the brief respite from her scent, entirely focused on her presence. How he’d never noticed the pride in her smirk, or the way one leg cocked arrogantly, he had no idea. She didn’t flee, didn’t cower. Especially not from him. His mate would never.

She seemed to wait for him, no longer engaging in the conversation by the pool table, ignoring everyone else around her.

He approached her directly, feeling a faltering in the rhythm of his heart as the scent grew thicker with every nearing step. She waited patiently to greet him until he was close enough to keep her voice hushed. The two deer demons stood respectfully distant for the public spectacle as they held each other’s unwavering attention.

Alastor cleared his throat, picturing the words he’d rehearsed on repeat, controlling his tone to keep as quiet as possible so only her alert doe ears would detect his voice.

“I don’t give in easily. It takes a lot to break someone like me. But i must hand it to you dear, you have quite the advanced weaponry on your hands. A pillow? Pure carnage and destruction in every facet of my senses, and yet you smile up at me like you have nothing to apologize for. Did you even hesitate when you invaded my privacy?”

Her eyes darted to the curious faces observing the quiet conversation, keeping her voice equally hushed. “Did you hesitate when invading mine?”

He startled, affronted by the truth. “I’d come to check on you, after Charlotte demanded so. I had no idea what you were doing, right up until the moment you sang my name. Tell me, was that the first time? Or had you been tempted for far longer?”

Pink stained her cheeks as she looked pointedly at the ground with amused embarrassment. “That’s a very private question. I’ll answer that if you answer one of mine;” she met his eyes, determination in her expression, “were you in my room? Did you stay?”

He hesitated, considering the correct way to answer. “I never... lingered. It was always one reason or another that ended up with me being momentarily trapped by the situation you put me in. Entirely your fault, really.”

“Hmm. Mine alone. Nothing to do with how your scent would wake me from sleep and overpower me, or bring me to the brink of falling apart just by walking in my own bedroom? You think that’s all my fault too?”

“My... does it affect you the same way? Impossible. You’d be on the floor. You’d be broken. You’d....”

His argument trailed off as he remembered her falling to her knees by the bed after leaving the bathroom; at the time, her arousal had penetrated his nostrils like tear gas. Shit. Maybe he did have that effect on her. His lips twitched with delight as he felt a little of the power dynamic shift, relieved he was not alone in this infernal suffering.

She could clearly see him processing, tapping a finger on her arm as she patiently waited for him to draw conclusions.

Clearing his throat again, he looked out over the gathering, catching a few curious and cautious gazes from other sinners and staff. So far, he was behaving well enough to be allowed this conversation, though Vaggie and Charlie were glaring at him like hawks ready to swoop in. He returned his own menacing smirk to the ladies, amused when Vaggie scowled back.

The pool table erupted with juvenile cheers as a victor was finally named. Alastor noticed the intent blazing in the doe’s eyes as she looked between him and the pool table, raising a brow expectantly. He acquiesced willingly, catching a cue as it was hastily dropped by a nervous sinner.

She chalked hers up, flickering her ears as she sauntered around the table.

“Standard rules, no magic, no telekinesis, no bullshit. Just pool. I’ll rack, you break. Ready?”

He nodded, entertained by her bossy tone. He helped collect the balls from the pockets and rolled them easily towards her, noting the familiarity she held with arranging the triangle. Finally, he picked up the white and placed it on the head spot, taking his time to bend low and measure up his angle. She hesitated as she lifted the rack, eyes wandering over him carnally with barely a blink until they met his gaze. She had the decency to look a little embarrassed, at least.

He took the opening break shot with a loud clatter of red and yellow balls scattering across the table; one red sank into the far-left pocket, announcing his colour with a challenging smirk. As he lined up for the next shot, he made tactful conversation plenty audible enough for the nearby demons to hear.

“So, did you finish dear?”

She coughed, startled. “What?”

“The dessert? Did you end up completing the dishes?”

“Ah, uh, yes, i had help. Angel. Yeah.”

He lavished in the flustered voice, catching her eye briefly before pocketing another red with a loud clack.

He chose his next target, easing into a low bend across from her. “Excellent. And how did it taste?”

She was definitely getting more uncomfortable as his double meanings met their mark beautifully. His own aim faltered as her shifting knees distracted him, causing him to send his next ball wide. His lip curled, displeased with the failure.

“Rather delicious, actually. As good as it smelled.”

She followed the cue ball slowly around until she was at the right-hand side of the table, picking out her options. Honestly, it didn’t look like a good spread of yellows; many were trapped in a cluster of reds, or blocked from straight shots into pockets with a few tricky angles. He watched as she tilted her head and checked for different perspectives, picking out one in particular he wasn’t expecting. The yellow ball had a three-cushion bank shot before it could possibly sink without her hitting either one of his reds on the way or knocking the black. She dipped incredibly low, arching her back and creating a spider-like bridge to support her cue. With little surprise, the yellow ball went completely away from the only pocket it could possibly land in, rolling uselessly nearby a centre pocket at a tricky angle.

He chuckled under his breath, amused at how tightly she controlled her expression.

Alastor picked out his next shot, pocketing a red with ease, wondering whether he was being outwardly cruel to win so quickly. The doe bowed her head in praise, a small twitch in her lip giving away her enjoyment of the game.

“So, Alastor, that book you’re reading must be very good. You’ve been on the same chapter for... three days now? Romance, or thriller?”

He bit back a smirk as he debated a rebuttal, aware she was entirely correct. He’d barely even turned a single page in the last few days. “Something of a dark fantasy, I'd stretch. The kind of scenes that make you wonder how sane you truly are to enjoy it.”

Her sharp inhale of breath distracted him at the last second, catching him off-guard and missing the break shot he’d planned, hitting one of her yellows instead.

“Tschh, whoops. My turn. Two shots. Mind moving over?”

He complied, taking his sweet time so she had to sidle right up next to him before he was out of striking range from the cue. He noticed as her body stiffened with a shallow breath, clearly as intoxicated by scent as he was.

She appraised the full set of seven yellows steadily, not giving away the desperation she must have been feeling.

Watching her pick out another nearly impossible shot, he wondered if she’d ever really played this game for anything less than drunk amusement prior to this. The ball went clearly astray, rolling to a halt way off from any possible pocket, only just within reach of a future shot to the back left.

She lined up another, peeking briefly up at him before rebounding one of the central yellows off one of her own, causing them to both lazily roll across to the corner pockets, only sinking one. She seemed pleased, giving a quick nod before picking out her next shot, missing once again.

“You know, if I'd known you were this inexperienced, I'd have been a little more gentle.”

She side-eyed him at the remark, brow raising a fraction with indignance. “I take my time. If you’re expecting an easy win, you’re not really enjoying the game.”

He grinned maliciously at her, striking the cue ball with a natural English spin that delicately pocketed a further red. Amongst her sea of yellows, his imminent win seemed promised.

“Excuses. Your technique is laughable and your shots are sloppy. I could of course teach you, if you’d be amenable to being so very near me.”

She sucked her teeth, staring down at the table and considering the very real offer.

Truthfully, as much as he desired to bend her over the table and press his stiff length against her backside, he knew temptation would win out over public decency. It wouldn’t do very much to protect his proud image if he took her right then and there.

“You say that like I'm afraid. Take your shot, Radio. You’re wasting everybody’s time right now.”

Enjoying the thrill of this discourse, he purposefully sent his next shot astray, allowing her to take a turn. She had the audacity to look displeased, audibly sighing and crossing her arms.

“Throwing the game? Really?”

“Just giving you a chance, my darling. Besides, your yellows are making it hard to see my reds.”

She laughed, chalking up her cue and crossing her arms. “Put the cue ball back where you fucked it up, and take it again. Do it properly, or don’t bother.”

He measured her determined gaze, pleased that she wasn’t easily backing down from her pride, even if she was losing horribly.

“Very well. You may stand to regret this.”

“Perhaps. How about a little wager?”

He paused, surprised. “Oh? You think you have something to offer?”

He ducked low, striking the cue with precision, pocketing a red with a tight spin directed off a side cushion. In his periphery, she grinned down at him, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in mischievous amusement.

“I know YOU do. How about, if I win, you answer one single question with absolute honesty. No matter how personal, invasive or terrifying, you will answer in plain English and using a fully logical, grammatically correct sentence.”

“HAH, i hardly imagine there is anything valuable you would gain from such a request, as unlikely as it is you’d be able to claim it. And if i win?”

“Is there anything in particular you’d desire, Radio?”

He mulled over the options, considering what he could ask for that wouldn’t make the demons around him blush scarlet red. “I want to destroy something particular of yours that i would hope to never see the light of day again. A physical object, no harm caused to any person or being. Agreed?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

“You heard.”

The conversation overlayed his current struggle as he noticed how many pockets were blocked by her awfully failed shots, contemplating how he’d have to attempt a jump shot to manage his next one.

“That’s... ominous. Fine. Deal.”

He grinned up at her from his bend, gripping the cue to a precise angle before making the white hop cleanly over one of her yellows. It rolled just slightly off the mark, missing his red, rolling into the side pocket as his smile faltered.

The audience seemed rapt, now sensing the stakes were a little higher now the Radio Demon clearly had a bone to pick with something she owned.

On the table were six yellows, two reds, the black, and now the cue ball in hand within the half-circle. Alastor felt glee in tandem with desire as he imagined the chemical flames that vile invasive toy would make as he burned it in front of her, reminding her that she belonged to him and him alone.

She aimed, appearing far more relaxed than she should have been for how alarmingly out of range her angle was going to take the yellow she pointed the cue ball at. With no surprise to Alastor, it bounced sharply off a cushion close to the pocket, rolling to a halt vaguely near the pocket he now had guarded by one of his remaining reds.

Tightly controlling her expression, she met Alastor’s victorious grin.

He lost himself in the gaze, resting his hands on the table and drinking in the sight of her. She mirrored him on the opposite side, holding the cue in one arm as she leaned slightly forward, her hair dangling in soft curls.

“I want you to look me in the eyes as i win, Alastor. Can you do that?”

Her tone ran with an electric undercurrent of carnal promise, jolting through his groin and reawakening the barely concealed bulge in his crotch. He’d only just managed to control himself, damnit. Even some of the nearby sinners looked a little surprised and awkward at her tone. He leaned forward as she did, holding her gaze as she lined up the cue without looking down. She gave one quick glance to adjust the angle and created a loop with her forefinger as a bridge before fixing her gaze back on him.

She struck quickly, cleanly and very accurately.

The cue ball knocked the yellow near the far-right pocket, not even finishing its course before she was already moving around the table to meet it. With another quick glance down, she bent, met his eyes, struck the white, and pocketed the yellow by the central pocket between Alastor’s hands. His own eyes darted down as he realized the shark in the waters. Each yellow was in a perfect place to guard a pocket, except from the one he had guarded with a red. She’d lined every single fucking one up ready for this.

Her eyes sparkled as he caught on to her ploy. She’d never be able to pull this one off on him again, that was for sure. It was remarkable. Another glance down, another fixed gaze, another pocket. The audience around them grew audibly excitable at his downfall, watching the violent turnaround with the appreciation that it deserved.

Down to her final yellow, she was trapped with the cue ball central to the table, the only viable pocket blocked at an angle by both of his reds. There was no way she could get that yellow past his, plus no safe way to rebound off the cushions without likely pocketing one of the reds as a consequence.

She seemed undeterred, crossing over to stand in front of Alastor, pushing her hand against his chest to move him a step backwards to clear space. He complied, fascinated by the way his body felt alight where she touched him, even through clothes.

She hitched her left leg up on the pool table, bending low enough to brush her hair and breasts on the felt lining. He lost any and all focus on where she was angling the cue, entirely distracted by the wicked curve of her ass and arch of her back in front of him.

He heard a loud clack, just about tearing his eyes away from the view to notice the vicious running English shot that made the cue ball ricochet off the left cushion and graze the yellow so finely, it sent it into a spin, curving naturally in an arc towards the back left pocket away from his reds.

His stomach sank as the ball rolled in with a little plunk to announce her success.

She stood up straight and gave a pointed cough, gesturing two fingers for him to look into her eyes as she’d demanded. Gritting his teeth with a feral grin, he followed her movements as she strode to the other side of the table, now in pathetically easy grasp of winning. A glimmer of fear dared dance in his chest as he wondered what she wanted to know.

With only a few seconds of lining up and drawing back, she held his gaze and called the central pocket between his hands as the designated target. He tucked his fingers away from the cushion, keeping well out of any potential trajectory.

Eyes locked on his, she struck the cue ball, pocketing the black between his hands with ease, nil cushions or trick shots needed.

He heard hysterical laughs behind him from both Angel and Husk, alongside a few muffled chuckles from both Charlie and a few sinners. He took the defeat gracefully, offering a slow clap and wide smirk as she gave a bow to her audience.

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