The idea of that one character being Alastor’s mom compelled me. That is all.
Summary: Alastor goes to his mother for advice when a spell has an unexpected consequence.
Wordcount: 807
Warnings: Mentioned mpreg
He was worried.
She could feel it through the door that he was hesitating outside of, static crackling the little radio across the kitchen that was playing a jaunty swing as she drummed her fingers on the oak of the table.
“It’s not polite to darken a doorstep for too long, dear. In or out?”
The static intensified for a moment before he knocked, and she told him to come in. Much better.
“It’s been an… unusual day.”
“I imagine, if something has you all ruffled like a puffed-up hen.” She gestured at the chair next to her and he folded into it, legs crossed at the ankle but foot bouncing for a moment before stilling. Up close, she could see the dip in his ever-present grin as teeth hid behind lips, as well as the way his knuckles tightened around that microphone stand he had clung to like a lover even before taking one. “Don’t leave your poor, weary mother in suspense, out with it. Did that girl of yours do something ridiculous?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” He glanced at the door before leaning closer, despite being aware that few knew of this place. “We were planning to have a second child-“
“Good! It took you a hundred and fifty years to give me a grandchild, you have plenty of time to make up for, mister.” He groaned a little and she grinned, patting down her dress slightly. “Go on, go on. I’ve earned a bit of a right to gloat after all this time, you know.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, congra-“ It took a moment for the words to process properly, and she would swear there was a record scratch screeching through the air if she’d been granted the same abilities he had. “Excuse me?”
“The spell was rather more undiscerning about who should bear the child than we thought it would be.” His knuckles were gray, and her eyes darted down to his coat as she adjusted her glasses. Still trim, no visible bump at all. He must have just found out.
“Are you keeping it?”
“I'm… torn about that, I must admit.” She could hear a hint of his natural accent underneath the practiced one he’d smothered himself in for the airwaves, a slip of the baby boy she remembered bouncing on her knee as he gnawed at chicken bones and spilled the story of his life every day to the rocks by the creek.
She drummed her fingers again, feeling the fur of her mink catching the sweat from her neck. She’d been planning to go out for a walk on the town. “Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Will it kill you?”
“That is up in the air. Most likely not, but she was equipped to carry, while the spell apparently rearranged some of my organs. However, she has a family friend who helped with Clove in magical matters.”
“Well, now you know some of how your poor mother felt when she had to bring you into this world.” A pause. “You’re a dead man walking, Alastor, and have been for over a century. If this is about the amount of pain birth will be, I know you’re strong enough to manage. And if it’s about anything else, you’ll figure it out if you want to. You’re clever.”
“So you don’t think it’s-“
“Odd? Certainly! But we live in Hell, dear. Our neighbors are men shaped like animals and the walls watch us if we step too far into the city. My tolerance for the absurd has gone up quite a lot.” She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he rolled his eyes but she could see the way his smile loosened a little, a touch softer than before. “You ravaged this world and turned it upside down to show what you were made of, you can handle this if you choose to.” She tilted her head. “Besides, I want more grandkids, you hear? If you decide not to, I expect her to pick up the slack.”
“She’s perfectly fine with that, although the spell may not work again, based on how it backfired this time. Who knows, perhaps next time it would hit some random civilian, wouldn’t that be a sight!” A dozen stations cycled through in a fraction of a second before he nodded, more to himself than anything as he patted her hand and stood up. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, dearest. Do let me know so I can bring a gift basket around to that gaudy building you call a home now.”
“What can I say? The rent is free and the company burrowed under my skin.” He laughed with a wave of his hand, the music from across the room back to flowing smooth as butter, and she knew he was going to be just fine.
Summary: Alastor considers Stellaluna while she’s asleep.
Warnings: Somnophilia, dubious consent relating to that. I like to think that Stellaluna's told him he's free to do stuff like this because she trusts him by that point, but it's not explicitly laid out in the fic, hence the warning.
Rating: E
Wordcount: 1225
She breathed quietly in her sleep. He supposed that it made sense- owls are known for being silent predators, so why not while resting? (Then again, deer typically are not predators on par or above owls, so there’s nothing one can truly take for granted here.) However, quiet breath meant that, aside from the soft rise and fall of her chest and stomach, an unobservant eye could almost think her fake. It wasn’t like her exaggerated proportions would exactly be eager to disprove that, and at the thought, his grin widened as his fingers tiptoed over the crevice of her cleavage, the left breast settled upon the right. Quite a doll indeed.
Still, as the fingers slipped down from her chest to her side, his smile drew in a bit, thoughtful. Her tail shifted beneath the blanket and her eyelids fluttered, deep in REM sleep while his fingers curled around the soft feathers just off her stomach. There was lean muscle there, borne of the kind of training that can only come from hard-earned practice at the art of assassination, but also a thin layer of softness. His hand fell flat and he squeezed at it, just strong enough to have her breath puff out warm and moist against his hair in her sleep.
If she was awake, he’d slide the hand down further, give one firm smack or squeeze to her backside with either his hand or the end of his microphone stand and throw in a bawdy comment, then laugh as she whipped her tail at him, cheeks dotting a darker red than usual from the glittery blue-black blood rushing to her face. The reaction is the point, and it’s a game she enjoys just as much as he does- perhaps even more so, from how she moans during their little play sessions when he strings her up and watches her unravel under his power.
But she isn’t awake now, and so her body is a canvas to explore at his own pace.
He gives another gentle squish- the general stomach area is softer still, the feathers almost like down as his hands sink in. She squirms beneath the touch, breath escaping her beak, and he lets his head fall forward, nibbling gently at the flesh and feeling the ancient power bubbling just underneath the surface. She gasps, murmuring out something that might be his name if it was suffocated and run over. That sleep was deep tonight.
Once again he pulled back, but this time he scooted further away, taking in her entire prone body. She’s an enticing artistic mix of sharp edges and soft curves, almost impressionistic as the light of the hallway catches her feathers. The speckled white of an incomplete facial disk that mimicked an imp’s markings, the beak that he’d seen rend bodies end from end, both above the mound of soft feathers and feathery, supple breasts that were a better pillow than he’d had in a hundred years... each individual piece only mattered as part of the greater whole.
Idly, his hands moved down to her thighs, and her breath hitched a bit again, but she didn’t wake, didn’t have any pesky expectations about how fast or slow or complete this should all be, and although she hadn’t pushed, he could still feel the question burning every time things lasted longer than a playful jab or slap or gag.
His nose nudged between her legs. He could feel the muscle there as well- and the heat. Her whole body was warm, warm, warm in a way that most sinners weren’t, or at least weren’t as much- Hellborns were alive, after all, not the manifestations of souls made flesh in new forms. Alive, with fresh heartbeats and pumping blood, only given this single chance to live. There was no afterlife for them, no eternity (or not-eternity, what with the Exterminations and all) to ponder, only a brief, fleeting existence, and she was spending it in his bed, (or rather, she let him into hers) even though it was rare they did anything but sleep in it.
Honestly, it flattered the ego almost as much as the warning posters did.
He gave a little pinch to a bit of fat on her thigh before his hands slid around to rest on her rump- not as meaty as the breasts, but still enough to sink his fingers into. There was muscle underneath the glutes, (enough to want to sink his teeth into, but that would certainly wake her up and would pop this whole thing like a balloon) and another whimper from her throat. Those little keening noises filled him with hot, bubbling oil, thick as hearty stew, in a way that the body itself couldn’t quite manage alone.
If he was presented with her stuffed and plastic and soulless, like the dolls he’d seen tucked into Angel’s closet as part of his job, he couldn’t imagine feeling anything, but the way all of it melded together, the memories with each piece (spilling ice cream down her shirt and tugging it off without a thought to clean it up, being slashed through the middle and needing stitches that he sang along with as she kept up a wavering grin while blood oozed over red and white and black, his shade’s face between her legs as he watched her face fracture and tasted salt between his lips) was worth far more than what they’d be on anyone else.
It was an expedition to discover what bits and pieces he enjoyed for himself as opposed to what everyone else seemed to. Her tail shifted again, this time curling around his wrist, and he chuckled at it.
“You’re as curious as she is, aren’t you?”
The tail didn’t respond, feathers tickling at the back of his hand, and he let that hand rest on her leg, the other sliding between her thighs. They clenched together for a moment before relaxing, body unwinding as easily as a trick knot, and he crooked the joints up against her pajama shorts, rubbing back and forth for a few seconds through the fabric. She shivered, and he let his knuckles rest before flipping his hand over and doing the same with his fingertips.
He could feel something wet and sticky soaking though as she let out the little whine, and he grinned.
It was fun to play games, to watch her watch him watch her, to play the doting boyfriend or the casual sexist or the enthusiastic host who gave the audience of one what she wanted, but it was also very fun to be able to unravel her without having to make it a show, without the interplay of expectation. Complete control, with a very impressive living doll that was better than the rest.
Idly, he continued stroking with his fingers and listened to the song of whimpers and purrs and moans, her legs twitching, before she gasped in that familiar cadence just for him. His fingers dragged on the sheets below her thighs, dismissing the evidence.
He shifted up in the bed to rest his cheek against her breasts again, draping an arm over her side. Her breath ghosted over him in gentle pants, and her forearm wiggled for a moment before she hugged him closer.
She’d find it in the morning, and they would go around again.
When Stella wins the hunting game she makes him pay to take her out for dinner or makes him do stupid shit like eat spray cheese. When he wins he treats her like he's about to actually kill her because the power trip is fun or he knocks her out and dresses her in dumb outfits. Either way it's fun.
Can’t decide if it’s sexy, but “date night hunting” and alastor uses a gun- with tranq darts on her, or something that makes her immobile but aware while he does things to her when he can catch her haha though waking up to find herself nude and dressed up like a thanksgiving turkey is great
I've thought of them laying traps to make the game more fun, and a tranq gun would count with that! They set up some kind of code or spell so she can tap out even when she's stunned, but thinking she's almost home free before suddenly feeling that pinprick and getting dizzy before he flounces up and starts examining her like a piece of meat... it's very good.
At first it's just to immobilize her, but playing with going fully unconscious and waking up somewhere else speaks to the level of trust that they've developed- and naked and trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey sounds like exactly the kind of shit he'd pull.
