Summary:It had begun as little more than an idea tossed between Heaven and Hell, born somewhere between Emily’s and Charlie’s relentless faith in redemption. With a new alliance struck and wayward souls finally being offered a chance at salvation, the little experiment took shape.
There was to be a lottery. One of Heaven’s own sent below to show Hell’s sinners exactly what awaited them should they choose redemption. You were the perfect human soul. A walking testament to everything salvation promised, delivered straight into the heart of the Hazbin Hotel. Heaven had intended you to inspire sinners; however, they had not accounted for Alastor, nor for his ravenous hunger for things that were never meant to be his.
The Matter of You
Alastor POV
Alastor, the most powerful sinner in Hell, had spent the better part of both his lives rather pleased with not being a slave to his physical needs. In life, he had dabbled with lovers of any gender (depending on how he felt that day). However, he had never found much meaning in either, beyond momentary amusement and mutually understood transactions.
In Hell, such pursuits had fallen even further down his list of interests. Power, influence and notoriety were infinitely more satisfying to him than sex. Though there had been the occasional friendship blurred by too much liquor and poor judgment, only to be instantly regretted and never spoken of again come morning.
Desire had barely possessed him. And not ever like this. Never had he been so driven by it that he was doubled over in his shower every morning and night, tugging himself sore, gasping your name, envisioning your mouth or cunt squelching around his weeping cock. He woke up hard every morning and went to sleep dreaming of your velvety walls fluttering around his length. How he longed to have you milk out every drop of salty spend he had to offer.
It seems that when it came to you, Alastor was woefully unprepared for the sheer wantonness his own body seemed determined to inflict upon him. It responded to you before his mind could intervene. Hungering with such an insistence that it was becoming increasingly difficult to work around. He could reason with himself until he was blue in the face, remind himself that he was a creature of discipline rather than appetite, but apparently his body had grown tired of consulting him on the matter of you.
And that was perhaps the most maddening part of all. Alastor was painfully aware of what he would eventually have to do about this little affliction. He could not continue skulking about the hotel like some hormonal adolescent, becoming positively feverish whenever you smiled at him or stood a touch too close.
He was going to have to fuck you.
That was the only viable solution. Now, before you, Alastor had always been able to coax a rather impressive list of momentary lovers into his bedroom with little more than a tilt of his head and perhaps a button or two left strategically undone. However, he suspected employing the same tactics on a winner from Heaven would prove considerably more difficult.
And you…You seemed hardly aware of him at all! Much less to all his little charms. Alastor was certain he knew perfectly well how to make himself desirable. He simply had no earthly idea how one went about tempting someone who did not seem to be picking up anything that he put down.
And unfortunately for him, he was beginning to need you badly enough it was quickly becoming urgent.
“You okay, boss?” Husk asked, watching Alastor glower from the corner of the room while you sat across from Angel, who appeared to be frantically retelling some tale or another with enough wild gestures to nearly knock over his drink.
“Couldn’t be better, Husker,” Alastor gritted through his yellow teeth.
He had been so thoroughly preoccupied that he hadn’t even realized he was being watched. His attention remained fixed upon your sweet person, practically staring daggers through you as you leaned closer to Angel, listening far too intently to whatever ridiculous story the washed up porn star had decided was worthy of your attention.
What could possibly be so interesting you hadn’t even shot one glance his way? That was what Alastor wanted to know.
Angel spoke and you laughed. Angel gestured and your eyes followed him. You asked questions, smiled readily, even touched his arm once when something he said startled another little peal of laughter from you. Yet Alastor could hardly coax a glance in his direction. And when those lovely eyes did happen to find him, they always widened slightly before darting elsewhere.
You threw your head back at something Angel said, and that was apparently all it took for Alastor’s curiosity to finally overwhelm what remained of his manners.
He simply had to know what was going on. Slipping toward the edge of the bar where you sat, he positioned himself just near enough to overhear the tail end of some rather interesting conversation about desire.
“No, seriously, we want for nothing!” you insisted, your voice carrying that slight, airy looseness of someone who had already indulged in at least one drink. “None of that is even really considered there. I suppose since our every need is met, even those of the more… carnal variety simply aren’t a concern.”
Alastor’s ears perked immediately.
“Seriously?” Angel stared at you as though you had just informed him Heaven had outlawed breathing. “So you don’t desire anybody? Like, ever? Not even a crush in all your time there?”
“Mmmhmm.” You grinned around the rim of your glass, shaking your head.
By the looks of things, Angel had managed to get at least one drink into you before steering you toward this particular line of questioning. Your pretty cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and, judging by the way you suddenly became very interested in your glass, the increasingly intimate nature of the conversation.
“That’s craziness. But what about on Earth? You had it then?”
“Of course I desired people,” you said, your smile turning almost bashful. “And I acted on those desires too, though that was a verrry long time ago.” You dissolved into another little fit of giggles.
Alastor went terribly still, trying hard and failing not to imagine you acting upon desires of the flesh. Willing his mind to push away the image of you gasping his name, sprawled out, legs spread on his bed or on his desk begging for him to fill you up. It would be so delicious… Now why couldn’t you just want him as much as he wanted you?
“Well, good!” Angel laughed, tossing back the last of his drink. “At least we know that isn’t on the list of condemnable sins I need to worry about atoning for.”
Your POV
While, for the most part, you had managed to settle into Hell over the next several days, as strange as that seemed, you were still rather uncertain about the curious hotelier. Of course, you noticed the normal things. How, despite his rather odd haircut and perpetual smile, you could appreciate that he was particularly handsome in a dark sort of way.
He seemed to be equally at odds with you after your first meeting upon the staircase. No matter how hard you tried, you could never quite escape the weight of his crimson gaze, nor did you seem to be afforded the opportunity to know him as you had the rest of the hotel bunch. He watched you often enough, certainly, but rarely seemed inclined to actually speak with you.
Perhaps that was what spurred you forward when you spotted him standing before the window of his broadcast room. At Husk’s suggestion, you had wandered upstairs in search of parchment to prepare your notes for the “Heaven Tell All” that was to be held that evening after dinner.
“Good evening, sir,” you greeted pleasantly, knocking against the already jarred door to announce your presence. Startling him from whatever thoughts had held him so deeply, you immediately caught the slight grimace that disturbed his features despite the smile still stretched neatly across his face.
Oh…Were you truly so dreadful for him to look upon that your mere arrival warranted such a reaction? Suddenly feeling rather small beneath the weight of his gaze, you hurried to explain the reason for your intrusion, gesturing vaguely toward his desk as you spoke.
“I’m terribly sorry to bother you. Husk mentioned I might find some parchment up here. Charlie has asked me to speak after dinner this evening and I thought it best to prepare a few notes beforehand.”
For several uncomfortable seconds, Alastor said nothing. His eyes merely remained upon you. There was something peculiar in the way he looked at you, something you had begun to notice more and more over the last several days. His attention never seemed casual. Whenever those crimson eyes found you, they settled with such startling intensity that you became suddenly conscious of the smallest things about yourself. The placement of your hands. The rise and fall of your breathing. The warmth gathering inexplicably beneath your collar. You shifted beneath his gaze.
“Nevermind. I can look elsewhere,” you offered softly, already taking half a step backward.
“No.”
The answer came quickly enough to startle you both.
“No need for all that, my dear.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened as he moved quickly toward his desk, wrenching open one of the drawers and rummaging through its contents.
“Oh, thank you,” you breathed with relief, stepping fully into the room and making your way toward him.
He was terribly tall up close. You had noticed it before, certainly, but there was just something different about standing within the confines of his space that made his presence feel all the more imposing. Tall and lean and striking. You found yourself watching a little too intently as he gathered several clean sheets of parchment and a pen before turning back towards you.
His brows lifted slightly when he discovered just how close you had come. You pretended not to notice.
“Here we are, my dear.” He ushered the parchment between the two of you like some sort of shield.
“Thank you.”
Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the items, and something strange passed between you at the contact. So slight you might have imagined it, nothing more than the fleeting drag of his fingertips against your own, and yet Alastor did not immediately relinquish his hold. For one peculiar moment, the two of you simply stood there holding opposite ends of it. And then he let go.
Something flickered behind his eyes. You could not place it. Whatever the inexplicable was it sent a little current racing along your spine before his fingers finally loosened and allowed you to take it.
“Good luck.”
Completely caught off guard, you stared up at him, trying to wrap your mind around his words while simultaneously grappling with the far more pressing realization that his touch had sent little electric currents racing through your body, leaving an unfamiliar warmth pooling low in your stomach.
“Um..what?”
“Tonight,” he clarified smoothly. “Good luck tonight. The topic is temptation. Well…according to Charlie’s event calendar.”
“Oh. Um. Yeah. Thank you, Alastor.”
His name rolled from your tongue so naturally, and something about it made his smile stretch just a little wider. You prayed he could not hear how violently your heart was beating.
“Temptation,” you repeated, mostly because your mind appeared incapable of producing anything more intelligent.
“Mmm.”
His eyes traveled over you for one lingering moment before returning to your face. Was he looking at your lips? Okay…That was definitely heat you felt beneath his gaze.
The sensation was so unfamiliar that you found yourself utterly struck by it, trying desperately to comprehend the strange little jump your heart had given and the warmth still coursing beneath your skin. Surely a simple touch was not supposed to linger like this. Surely you were not supposed to remain so painfully aware of the man standing several feet away from you after he had already let go.
“That’s not really something we deal with in Heaven. You know, eternal happiness and all that.” You gave a nervous little laugh, hoping desperately to dismiss whatever peculiar feeling had begun curling low in your stomach.
“Though I suppose temptation is rather rampant in Hell,” you continued, babbling now as you managed to look absolutely everywhere except directly at him.
From the corner of your eye, you caught the slow tilt of his head. Alastor was studying you again, you realized. With that same unnerving concentration he always seemed to possess in your presence. His eyes dipped briefly toward the hand he had brushed before traveling leisurely back to your face.
“You’d have no idea.” He muttered darkly.
Not sure of what to think of that you just nodded.
“Well, thank you again. I should probably let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
You had scarcely managed to turn away before something caught gently around your hand, halting you before you could take more than a step. You froze, glancing down to find two of Alastor’s long fingers curled loosely around your wrist. There was hardly enough pressure in his hold to restrain you, nothing that would have prevented you from pulling free, and yet the quiet certainty of the gesture made it perfectly clear that he expected you to stay.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then his fingers shifted, drawing your hand almost imperceptibly closer as his thumb settled against the tender inside of your wrist. It moved once, tracing slowly over the delicate skin there, directly above the pulse that had already begun to betray you. Such a small touch, barely anything at all, and you might have convinced yourself it meant nothing had his gaze not remained so unnervingly fixed upon your face.
Then his other hand rose. Slowly, almost cruelly so, his fingers curled beneath your chin and tipped your face toward his.
You could have simply passed away right then and there. Good God, why were you suddenly so warm?
Heat rushed beneath your skin with such startling force that for one dreadful moment you wondered if something was genuinely wrong with you. Your heart stumbled, your breath caught somewhere uselessly inside your chest and every place he touched seemed to awaken beneath his hand. You had never been so horribly aware of your own body before, of the blood rushing through it, of the frantic beat beneath his thumb, of how impossibly close he stood.
“Pretty.” He said, almost to himself. More like an observation to himself rather than a statement.”
“Pretty girl…such pretty lips…though…” he mumbled thoughtfully, “I do think they would look much better around my cock.”
Summary: It had begun as little more than an idea tossed between Heaven and Hell, born somewhere between Emily’s and Charlie’s relentless faith in redemption. With a new alliance struck and wayward souls finally being offered a chance at salvation, the little experiment took shape.
There was to be a lottery. One of Heaven’s own sent below to show Hell’s sinners exactly what awaited them should they choose redemption. You were the perfect human soul. A walking testament to everything salvation promised, delivered straight into the heart of the Hazbin Hotel.
Heaven had intended you to inspire sinners; however, they had not accounted for Alastor, nor for his ravenous hunger for things that were never meant to be his.
Greetings
Alastor POV
Alastor decided rather quickly that an immediate Irish goodbye was preferable to facing the consequences of doing something so terribly intimate such as shaking the heavenly newcomer’s hand. Which he feared would be expected of him once they were properly introduced.
He slipped away by shadow before anyone might think to question his abrupt departure, reappearing just feet away from the blessed privacy of his own rooms. With a shudder crawling unpleasantly down his spine, he let himself ponder what might have happened had he actually taken that delicate little hand in his? No doubt that maddening scent would have clung to his skin, soaked into his hand, followed him for hours until he was driven half mad with the knowledge that he had dared to touch the curious creature responsible for it.
He slammed his hotel door with much more force than necessary. And proceeded to stalk across the room toward his vanity bar before pouring himself a rather indecent four fingers of rye, swallowing down half of it before the bottle had properly settled back against the polished wood. Mm, no, he needed something stronger. Something foul enough to drive the memory of that impossible sweetness from his senses before he did something truly humiliating, like wander back downstairs simply to get a whiff of her again.
Glass in hand, he retreated into the artificial bayou sprawling beyond his rooms in search of whatever remained of the deer carcass he had enjoyed for breakfast that morning. Surely that would do it. He needed something truly ripe. Something that was well past the point any respectable creature would consider edible.
He found the carcass where he had left it, beneath the cypress trees, pleasantly decomposed beneath the oppressive heat of the bayou. Ordinarily, the smell alone would have been enough to stir his appetite anew. Alastor crouched beside it, bringing the glass to his lips as he regarded what little remained with the same fond familiarity a normal person might afford leftovers tucked neatly away in an icebox.
He hoped that indulging in something sufficiently rancid might dampen whatever grotesque appetite had awakened downstairs. A smaller, considerably more irritating part of his mind knew better. Nothing was going to quell it. Not while that… thing resided in his hotel. Alastor bristled at the thought, fingers tightening around his glass.
His hotel, it seemed, was now contaminated by something that smelled as though it had been plucked directly from Eden’s very garden and deposited downstairs specifically to torment him.
He turned his attention stubbornly back toward the carcass. Only the head remained. Normally this was his favorite part. Yet as Alastor stared down into those clouded, lifeless eyes, something strange happened. His stomach actually turned. The smile upon his face twitched.
For several long seconds he simply stared at the thing, almost disgusted by the sudden wave of nausea rolling through him. This was perfectly good meat. Better than good, in fact. It was aged beautifully and softened by heat and rot until it practically fell from the bone.
And yet all he could think about was her. His appetite recoiled from the carcass entirely. Alastor slowly lowered his glass.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me. This is madness.”
Alastor scrubbed both hands roughly down his face, as though he might physically wipe away whatever affliction had taken hold of him. He had assumed it was hunger of the perfectly edible variety. A rather violent bout of it, perhaps, but hunger nonetheless, and hunger was something he understood exceedingly well. He had spent the better part of two lifetimes indulging it.
So naturally, he had assumed a proper meal would settle the matter. Yet the longer he sat there sulking beside his thoroughly unappetizing carcass, the less sense any of it made.
The hunger remained, it was no longer the familiar gnawing within his stomach. It had settled somewhere deeper, unpleasantly difficult to locate, rumbling through his bones like an instinct too ancient to be reasoned with. His teeth still ached. His mouth still watered. Every predatory sense he possessed remained horribly, humiliatingly alert, and yet the perfectly delectable remains sitting before him inspired absolutely nothing. Alastor hated things he could not explain.
More importantly, Alastor hated being caught unaware. He had made an art of remaining at least two steps ahead of nearly every wretched creature in Hell. He learned what made overlords and sinners tremble and what made them desperate, cataloguing every weakness long before anyone thought to search for his own.
The next step in Alastor’s carefully constructed deescalation plan was, naturally, to ravage a few sinners.
A bloody rampage or two normally did wonders whenever he found himself feeling particularly out of sorts. There were few ailments that could not be remedied by a good hunt, a little screaming and the satisfying exhaustion that followed an evening spent reminding Hell precisely why his name still carried weight. It was familiar and most importantly, it required absolutely no introspection whatsoever.
Perhaps he might harass Valentino while he was at it. The damned moth had been making a nuisance of himself lately, continuously attempting to encroach upon bits of territory left vulnerable after Vox’s spectacular downfall. Alastor had tolerated it thus far mostly because watching the creature scurry about collecting unwanted scraps had been mildly amusing. Tonight, however, the thought of wrapping his hands around those ridiculous fluffy wings and ripping them from his slutty little back nearly restored the genuine curve to Alastor’s smile.
There, much better. Violence was something he understood well. And so, with renewed purpose, he set out to blow off steam in the manner he knew best. A little blood, a little murder. That would surely do it. By the time he returned, exhausted and pleasantly bloodied, that beautiful imaginary taste of you would be scrubbed clean from his tongue. And perhaps, if he was especially thorough, he might finally stop wondering what the real thing tasted like.
Your POV
“Well, I think that’s just about everyone! You only need to meet Alastor now. He’s amazing. He’s our hotelier and such a huge part of everything we do here.”
Charlie continued rambling cheerfully as you were paraded through the lobby, shaking hands and committing an exhausting number of unfamiliar faces to memory. You had been introduced to so many people within such a short span of time that you were beginning to wonder whether you ought to have brought a little notebook along simply to keep them all straight.
“I swear, he was just here,” Charlie continued, glancing around the lobby as though this mysterious Alastor might materialize from the thin air. “But we can at least get you settled. He’s around here somewhere. He kind of does his own thing anyway, so maybe you’re not missing much right now, but really, he’s an amazing guy.”
You nodded politely, only halfway listening as you followed the pretty blonde up the grand staircase. Alastor, got it. You tucked the name away with all the others.
“I’ll have Vaggi bring your things upstairs so you can get properly settled,” Charlie continued, leading you down one of the long corridors. “I was thinking you might want to rest for a little while, and then maybe this afternoon you could sit in on one of our redemption meetings? If you’re feeling up to it, of course! We can always start tomorrow. I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything. It’s just…”
She stopped outside one of the doors and turned toward you, clasping her hands together as her eyes practically sparkled.
“I know everyone is dying to hear about Heaven.
So she truly was the driving force behind this entire endeavor. Something inside you softened at that realization.
“Thank you,” you said, offering her a genuine smile.
It was the first one you had managed since being unceremoniously deposited in Hell. At least the princess seemed kind. And if you were being completely truthful, several of the sinners you had met downstairs had seemed perfectly pleasant as well. Far more pleasant than you had expected, considering the rather dreadful things you had spent the last several hours imagining about the inhabitants of Hell.
Perhaps this would not be quite as terrible as you had imagined. After that, the day proceeded with almost alarming ease.
You unpacked your trunk, arranged your belongings within the surprisingly comfortable room you had been given, and were delighted to discover that Hell did, in fact, possess all the ordinary bathroom necessities one might expect to find in Heaven. Clean towels, running water, soap, even toothpaste. Thank goodness for that.
After a quick nap of the desperate sort, where the body simply gives in after sustaining itself on adrenaline for far too long, you awoke feeling remarkably better. A hot shower did wonders beyond that. By the time you dressed and made your way downstairs again, you felt rested, clean, and, if you were being generous, almost calm.
Charlie appeared positively delighted by the mere sight of you descending the staircase.
When you explained that you would much prefer to observe a few of the hotel’s group sessions before actually involving yourself in them, she agreed so enthusiastically that you suspected you could have announced your intention to sit silently in a corner for the remainder of the afternoon and she would have applauded your initiative anyway.
Lunch came first though, prepared with the help of the fallen angel you had met earlier, Vaggi. Heaven had quite a lot to say about fallen angels and none of it particularly kind.
Yet you found yourself stealing curious little glances at her from across the table. She did not appear corrupted beyond recognition, nor did she carry herself like some miserable creature forever mourning the paradise she had lost. If anything, Vaggie looked rather content here. That realization struck you. If one of Heaven’s own could fall so terribly far and still find something worth loving down here, perhaps Hell was not quite so devoid of goodness as you had been taught.
Perhaps you could find something tolerable in it too. And with that you carried that curiosity with you into the afternoon sessions, taking a seat slightly removed from the little circle while Charlie enthusiastically began whatever exercise she had planned for the day. You had expected tales so wicked that you would have to cover your ears in fear, instead, you found yourself listening.
It was astonishing how terribly ordinary they could sound. They had been people once, just like you , after all.
Earth had changed considerably in the century since you had last walked upon it, and admittedly some of the sins being discussed seemed dreadfully modern to you. There were phrases you did not understand, references that sailed entirely over your head, and at least once you had to resist the urge to ask what precisely someone meant before deciding that perhaps ignorance was the safer option.
But beneath all of that were things you understood perfectly well. The terrible ache of wishing you had done something differently when there was no longer any way to go back and change it.
One by one, they spoke about the lives they had lived and the people they had hurt. But beneath the horns and claws and teeth were remnants of humanity that Hell had not entirely managed to burn away.
You found yourself reconsidering the fact that perhaps your place here was not entirely in vain. And by the time the session ended, you were no longer sitting quite so far from the circle listening intently and nodding along as conversations went back and forth.
It was upon your ascent upstairs, deep in conversation with the pretty girl named Cherri, that your tentative comfort with Hell suffered its first considerable setback.
She had been telling you about Sir Pentious, the very sinner whose redemption had apparently sparked this entire celestial exchange in the first place. There was such genuine affection in her voice, such reverence beneath all that brashness, that you had nearly forgotten where you were entirely as you listened to how much she loved him. Then something crashed within the lobby below.
“What in the world was that?” you gasped, instinctively grabbing Cherri’s arm.
She leaned casually over the banister. You made the unfortunate mistake of doing the same. Just as something enormous came storming through the lobby.
Black tendrils writhed around a towering figure, snapping and curling through the air like living forms. Antlers stretched grotesquely from its head, its limbs elongated beyond anything remotely normal even for Hell. It was snarling, as it stalked toward the grand staircase with all the fury of some ancient beast disturbed from its lair.
“Good God!” You stumbled backward, grasping blindly for anything within reach. “Is that a monster?”
Cherri merely rolled her eyes.
“Oh, yeah. That’s just Alastor.”
“The hotelier?”
“Seems he’s in a mood.” She shrugged, entirely unconcerned by the nightmare presently making its way towards the stairs. “We mostly ignore him when he gets like this. He’s a little different but we like him. He’s actually quite soft underneath it all.”
You pressed yourself against the wall of the landing, trying desperately to regulate your breathing. Small thoughts…Think small thoughts. Perhaps if you made yourself terribly insignificant, the creature would simply pass without noticing you. The wallpaper was an stark mixture of bright red and gold. Perhaps if you stood perfectly still, you might somehow disappear into it.
Unfortunately, Alastor had already begun ascending the stairs. And he was taking several at once.
Those impossibly long legs carried him upward while the tendrils followed behind, curling over the banister and dragging through the air. Yet with every step his monstrous shape seemed to retreat. The antlers diminished into cute little horns. His limbs shortened. The shadows folded themselves neatly back toward him until, by the time he reached the upper landing where you stood, the nightmare had compressed itself into something considerably more sinner-like.
“Alastor!” Charlie called from somewhere below. “We have guests remember!”
“Terribly sorry!”
The voice that answered crackled through the air like a radio caught between stations, making every little hair along your arms stand upright.
“I find myself a touch riled up! You know, very busy protecting this charming establishment and all the unfortunate creatures residing within it!”
You flattened yourself further against the wallpaper. He was going to pass you. Thank Heaven. His long legged stride carried him by without so much as a glance, and relief had only just begun loosening the terrible knot in your chest when something cool slipped across the floor. One of the lingering tendrils, cheekily curled around your ankle as if acting with a mind of its own
You squeaked at the cool contact and Alastor hissed. The reaction was so immediate and violent that you hardly knew which of you had been more startled. He whipped around. For one dreadful second, whatever gentlemanly facade had returned to him vanished entirely.
His eyes were wild. The pupils had narrowed, now something resembling dials as his gaze snapped first toward the offending tendril and then slowly traveled upward until it landed upon you. The tendril released you immediately and something slight changed in his expression. Then that enormous smile stretched just a fraction wider.
“Dreadfully sorry, my dear.”
The apology emerged through tightly clenched teeth. Golden fangs glinted beneath the warm light of the hallway. For an uncomfortable moment, neither of you moved. Then, as though remembering himself, the dreadful creature straightened his coat.
“I fear we haven’t been properly introduced.” His voice had softened considerably, though that peculiar static still hummed beneath every syllable. He placed one clawed hand against his chest and offered you a slight bow. “Alastor. The Radio Demon. You’ve probably not heard of me,” he continued almost quietly. “But I'm somewhat known for my radio broadcast.”
You softly squeaked out your own name in response. Now that you were no longer preoccupied with the possibility of being devoured alive, you actually take a moment to look at him. The somewhat tattered coat was still tastefully tailored to his slim build. You noticed the careful way he carried himself. And the old fashioned cadence of his speech and that peculiar, almost theatrical politeness.
He seemed rather dapper. Was he from somewhere around your own decade of the 20th? He certainly spoke like a gentleman.
Then for a moment Alastor appeared to hesitate. His fingers flexed once at his side before he seemed to reach some private decision and extended one long, slender hand toward you. Long black and red claws in place where you only assumed long tapering fingers must have once been. They were sharp enough to make your stomach flutter nervously. Still, manners were manners.
You placed your hand into his. His talons closed around yours and Alastor went perfectly still. His grip tightened before he could stop himself, almost desperate to wind any part of himself around you. It happened without so much as a thought.
However you did not notice as you were much too busy studying him with those enormous cautious eyes, apparently attempting to reconcile the snarling monstrosity from moments before with the gentleman now holding your hand. He lifted your hand and you blinked in surprise as your knuckles nearly brushed beneath his sharp nose.
His eyes fluttered ever so slightly as he inhaled. Your pulse spiking beneath the delicate vein in your hand, carrying that impossible sweetness directly beneath his nose, and driving him mad. And in that one hideous instant the hallway disappeared. There was only hunger to press his lips against your skin and give into his body’s plea: to explore every inch of your delicate arm.
He had thought his body demanded he sink his teeth directly into that tender little vein and discover whether you tasted half as divine as you smelled. But he realized now he desired nothing more than to explore your body with his mouth and tongue in order to find out where you tasted sweetest. In the split second your hand was in his and those perfect eyes were gazing up at him he had a flashing idea where it might be…no your blood alone would never be enough. Simply devouring you would never satisfy him in the way he realized now. He needed you writing beneath him in the most intimate of ways. Ways he hardly ever desired.
However, how were you to know any of this? All you saw was a gentleman simply taking your hand in a formal greeting. No, instead of overindulging, Alastor pressed his lips to your hand. You felt heat rush from your fingertips clear to your face.
He lingered only a moment too long for propriety, yet far too long for his sanity. With what seemed like regret the demon called Alastor tore himself away.
“A pleasure,” he managed brightly, but his smile looked painful.
Before you could formulate an answer, he swept past you, crossed the hallway and disappeared through a nearby door. It shut firmly behind him. You remained where you were, staring after him with your hand still hovering stupidly before your chest. Cherri looked from the closed door to you, then back again.
“Well now you’ve met everyone,” she said flatly before making her way to her own lodgings.
You swallowed hollowly and your gaze drifted toward the door directly opposite his. There sat your room. It seemed his room just so happened to be right across from yours.
Summary:It had begun as little more than an idea tossed between Heaven and Hell, born somewhere between Emily’s and Charlie’s relentless faith in redemption. With a new alliance struck and wayward souls finally being offered a chance at salvation, the little experiment took shape.
There was to be a lottery. One of Heaven’s own sent below to show Hell’s sinners exactly what awaited them should they choose redemption. You were the perfect human soul. A walking testament to everything salvation promised, delivered straight into the heart of the Hazbin Hotel.
Heaven had intended you to inspire sinners; however, they had not accounted for Alastor, nor for his ravenous hunger for things that were never meant to be his.
When my family warned me about talking to people online, I doubt they ever imagined it would lead to me finding someone as wonderful as you. 😂♥️
Love you so much, my darling @spiritflakess aka @terriblealastorart. Thank you for the stickers, the beautiful prints, and all the teas 🫖 You are officially my second favorite person in the whole world. The first is currently stealing stickers from me for her water bottle as we speak XD
I’m so ridiculously lucky the internet and our shared love of Alastor brought you into my life. ♥️ I will cherish my prints, notes and posters forever!
Summary: It had begun as little more than an idea tossed between Heaven and Hell, born somewhere between Emily’s and Charlie’s relentless faith in redemption. With a new alliance struck and wayward souls finally being offered a chance at salvation, the little experiment took shape.
There was to be a lottery. One of Heaven’s own sent below to show Hell’s sinners exactly what awaited them should they choose redemption. You were the perfect human soul. A walking testament to everything salvation promised, delivered straight into the heart of the Hazbin Hotel.
Heaven had intended you to inspire sinners; however, they had not accounted for Alastor, nor for his ravenous hunger for things that were never meant to be his.
Notes: I’m back in this bitch, I’m back in this bitch 😈
Warnings: None for now but plan for this to be more porn vs. plot 🥱
The Lottery
Your POV
Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as your best friend (Elizabeth) tried, rather unsuccessfully, to comfort you.
“Honestly, you should be honored to have such a journey bestowed upon you! Obviously you’ve been divinely chosen to help others along their heavenly path. Why, I would give anything to be in a position to help souls find their way here.”
You managed another miserable little sniffle from where you sat upon the floor of your humble home, thoroughly devastated by the day’s proceedings.
It had begun much like any other day in Heaven. It had been perfect, of course. Absolutely, wonderfully perfect. Then came the announcement.
A lottery was to be held. Every saved soul in Heaven would have their name entered for the chance to accompany a small delegation below, part of some new arrangement between Heaven’s higher authorities and the Princess of Hell. The entire thing was apparently meant to encourage sinners toward redemption by allowing them to meet those who had already earned their place above. Living proof, so to speak, that whatever awaited them beyond salvation was worth the trouble of pursuing it.
You had heard about the redemption case, of course. Everyone in heaven had. That strange, snake like sinner had somehow managed it, though privately you still weren’t entirely certain what to make of the whole affair. Redemption after damnation seemed terribly backwards to you. It had always been your firm belief that one ended up precisely where one had earned the right to be, and you yourself had done things the proper way.
You had lived according to the Good Book. You had attended church, honored your parents, minded your manners and done your very best never to knowingly cause another soul harm. You had been charitable when you had little to give and kind even when kindness was not necessarily returned. Perhaps yours had been a simple life, lacking much in the way of excitement, but you had been perfectly content with that.
You had been meek. You had been good. Excitement of the sinful variety had never held much appeal for you anyway. In fact, you had been well on your way to living an exceptionally respectable life when that unfortunate business with the Spanish influenza had rather abruptly put an end to it. All at twenty five years old, no less. Darn.
And after more than a century of enjoying the eternal reward for a life so carefully lived, Heaven had apparently decided to reward your good behavior by sending you directly to Hell. You dissolved into fresh tears.
“Oh, darling.” Your friend sighed.
“I don’t want to go to Hell!” You managed.
The mere thought of descending into that fiery wasteland utterly abhorred you. You had done everything right. You had lived properly, died properly and spent more than a century enjoying the reward you had been promised for doing so. Why, then, were you now to be made a spectacle of it?
“But just think of all those you’ll be helping,” your friend added softly, wrapping her arms around your still shivering form. “Perhaps there is someone down there who needs to meet someone exactly like you.”
You sincerely doubted it. Your descent was scheduled for tomorrow morning whether you liked it or not, and you knew perfectly well that when the appointed hour arrived, you would be there. Refusing the will of Heaven seemed precisely the sort of transgression that might earn one a rather unfortunate reassessment of their eternal accommodations, and after more than a century above you had absolutely no intention of discovering whether salvation could be revoked.
Could one be cast into Hell after already ascending? You weren’t entirely certain. Perhaps it was better not to ask.
Brushing the troubling thought aside, you steadied yourself and turned instead toward the trunk that had been delivered by the Celestial Descent Committee earlier that afternoon. If you were truly being sent to Hell, then there was little use spending your final evening in Heaven sobbing upon the floor.
You would pack. The decision did little to stop the occasional tear from slipping down your cheek as you began carefully folding your belongings into the trunk. How exactly was one supposed to pack for Hell, anyway?
Did they even have toothpaste down there? You shivered again at the thought. Heaven had been frustratingly vague about the practicalities of your temporary accommodations at the hotel, and the possibility of spending several weeks conversing with foul breathed sinners was nearly enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes.
With a grimace, you tucked another bar of your beloved floral scented soap into the corner of your trunk for good measure.
There….Surely four would be enough. You lowered the lid with a deafening thud and stared miserably at the packed trunk.
You could not eat that evening. You could hardly sleep. Long after Elizabeth had finally abandoned you to your sulking, you lay beneath the covers staring at the ceiling, listening to the perfect silence of the heavenly night beyond your window.
It would only be a few weeks. Everyone had assured you of that. Just a few short weeks below, smiling pleasantly and speaking of the joys awaiting those who sought redemption, and then you would be returned safely to the eternity you had earned. It sounded perfectly reasonable when explained by the Celestial Descent Committee. It seemed noble, even.
However, that did very little to soothe you now. You had been assured repeatedly that no harm would come to you. There were agreements in place, protections established and apparently several rather powerful individuals at the hotel responsible for ensuring the safety of Heaven’s chosen representatives.
Still, you worried dreadfully over precisely what sort of sinners you might encounter. Murderers, perhaps? Thieves? Adulterers? You pulled the blankets a little higher beneath your quivering chin.
What dreadful men and women might be waiting for you within that ridiculous little hotel?
You had, however, been briefed on the establishment’s goal once your name had been drawn. The Princess of Hell herself operated it, apparently possessing the rather peculiar conviction that even the most wretched souls could become something better if only someone bothered to show them how.
It truly was a lovely sentiment. You simply wished Lady Luck had chosen someone else to prove it. The next morning came far too quickly.
You were stripped from your little haven of perfection before you had properly accepted that you were leaving it at all, escorted through gleaming halls toward a chamber you could only assume housed some heavenly means of transporting you to your dreadful destination. A portal, perhaps?. Some magnificent celestial doorway that would open directly into fire and brimstone and whatever other horrors awaited you below.
There were three of you going in total, though apparently Heaven had possessed enough sense not to send you all at once. You were the first, an unfortunate pioneer of sorts, and the remaining two would follow once you had either exhausted your explanatory abilities or those overseeing this ridiculous experiment decided your usefulness had run its course.
The waiting was gruesome. You stood idly near the center of the chamber, hands clasped tightly before you, while Sera watched from the sidelines with the faintest glimmer of displeasure upon her otherwise composed face. From what little you had gathered, she had not been particularly enthusiastic about the entire Heaven and Hell exchange program. Unfortunately for both of you, her objections had apparently been overruled rather quickly. At least someone here possessed some sense.
Emily, on the other hand, could scarcely contain herself. She grasped your hand between both of hers and spoke with such breathless excitement that you barely registered a word of it. Your body no longer felt entirely your own. You were merely occupying it, watching everything unfold from somewhere several feet behind yourself like some dreadful picture show you had been forced to sit through.
“Thank you, truly,” Emily said, squeezing your hand. “For your service to Hell and Heaven both. You will be greatly rewarded.”
Rewarded? The word finally managed to penetrate the strange fog clouding your thoughts. With what, exactly?
You wanted for nothing here. You had spent your afterlife surrounded by beauty, comfort and every small pleasure you could ever dream up. There was no hunger, no fear, no uncertainty. You had friends you adored, gardens you could wander without ever growing weary and a home so perfectly suited to you that you had never once wished for anything grander.
What reward could possibly compensate for being tossed into Hell like some celestial missionary? Perhaps they would give you a larger house? You nearly frowned. You rather liked the one you already had….
Alastor POV
“Places, everyone, PLACES!”
Charlie practically howled the command across the lobby as she scrambled from one end of the hotel to the other, desperately attempting to organize her ragtag collection of sinners for a meeting no one but her seemed particularly interested in attending.
Cherri was still sulking over the grievous injustice of Sir Pentious not being selected for Heaven’s little exchange program, despite being reminded several times that sending him back down to spend several weeks in her company would rather defeat the purpose. She had also taken considerable offense to the suggestion that she might simply corrupt him all over again.
Alastor, meanwhile, remained comfortably removed from the commotion. Half concealed within the shadows near the edge of the lobby, he made no effort whatsoever to involve himself in the preparations. Helping would imply enthusiasm, and enthusiasm might suggest that he actually wished for this ridiculous little program to succeed. And that simply would never do.
After all, he had grown rather fond of watching Charlie gather up Hell’s most wayward souls and attempt to scrub the sin from them with trust exercises, heartfelt conversations and whatever other nonsense she had devised for the week. Their inevitable failures provided him with a reliable source of amusement, and Alastor saw no reason to meddle with this perfectly entertaining arrangement.
He inspected the tips of his talons absentmindedly. They were perfect already, of course. Unlike the sinners currently being herded into some semblance of respectability around the lobby.
No, Alastor did not care for the idea of Heaven meddling in his little shit show. He cared even less for the additional scrutiny that would undoubtedly accompany one of its precious “Winners” taking up residence beneath his roof. The whole arrangement struck him as terribly invasive. It was one thing to watch Charlie attempt to reform the damned. It was quite another to have Heaven send down one of its own success stories to demonstrate precisely what they were all supposed to aspire toward.
He supposed there might be some entertainment to be found in it. He also found himself wondering what sort of soul Heaven had selected.
Some unbearably virtuous little thing, undoubtedly. Perhaps a priest or nun? Someone who had spent their mortal life feeding the poor, nursing sickly children and never once entertaining an improper thought. Perhaps they would arrive draped in religious garbs with that irritating serenity the righteous always seemed to possess, prepared to speak endlessly of kindness and forgiveness while recoiling at every vulgarity uttered within earshot.
Perhaps a fine specimen of Hell such as Angel Dust could make them regret volunteering within the hour. Alastor’s signature grin widened slightly at the thought. Ah yes, maybe just perhaps this little arrangement could prove amusing after all.
After all, Heaven was not sending them an arch angel or a heaven born exterminator like Vaggi or Lute. They were sending them someone who had once been human.
Someone who had lived, suffered, sinned however slightly and still somehow managed to earn their place beyond those pearly gates. They were a shining example of everything Charlie insisted these miserable wretches might someday become.
What Alastor had not expected to endure, however, was the hunger….
Not anything of the ordinary sort. Not even the familiar appetite that occasionally stirred when some particularly unfortunate sinner wandered too close and reminded him that there were far more entertaining uses for flesh than simply leaving it attached to its owner.
No, this was something altogether more primal. The sensation struck him with such vicious immediacy that, for one peculiar moment, Alastor actually forgot to smile.
Heaven’s chosen soul materialized within the lobby in a wash of pale, celestial light, landing rather unceremoniously amid all those harsh reds and blacks with confusion written plainly across her lovely features. She looked almost painfully out of place. Seeming much too bright against a landscape that seemed determined to swallow anything remotely pure.
“Welcome! Welcome to, well… Hell.”
Charlie chuckled nervously before Lucifer stepped forward, bowing with all the ridiculous flourish Alastor had come to expect of him and extending one irritating little paw toward their guest.
The sweet creature hesitated before accepting it. She inclined her head politely, her expression soft despite the unmistakable apprehension hiding behind her eyes. Pretty enough, certainly, but Alastor had seen pretty things before. Pretty faces came to Hell by the thousands, and most became considerably less so once someone tore them apart.
No….It was not her darling face that had unsettled him. It was her smell. Alastor went unnaturally still. Good GOD, she smelled sweet.
Not perfumed sweet, though there was something delicate lingering upon her skin, roses perhaps? However that floral scent was merely decoration atop something far more intoxicating. Something he had not smelled with such purity since his mortal life.
Hmm…life. His pupils narrowed as it struck him. Every sinner in Hell carried something of death upon them. Decay and sulphur. And it always carried into the taste. Blood long since spoiled and souls steeped in whatever corruption had dragged them beneath the earth in the first place. Alastor had grown so accustomed to it that he scarcely noticed anymore.
But this creature? Oh…she smelled alive. Well not truly, of course. She had died just as surely as the rest of them had. Yet Heaven had preserved something within its Winners that Hell apparently stripped from its damned. It was warm and clean and terribly reminiscent of living flesh. And as we all know, Alastor had once possessed a rather intimate familiarity with living flesh and blood.
His gaze snapped toward the delicate flutter of her throat….Ah yes…there it was. Her living pulse. Fluttering so quick, she was frightened and trying her damndest not to show it.
Ohhh yes, he remembered that lovely scent. Her eyes darted nervously across the lobby, taking in every unfamiliar face, every horn, fang and monstrous appendage awaiting her. With each new horror her heart seemed to beat a little faster, and Alastor could practically taste the sweet irony rush of it upon the air.
His tongue dragged slowly across his sharp golden fangs before sweeping along his tightly pressed lips. Heaven had apparently neglected to consider one very important detail when selecting its precious little ambassador.
They had sent something that smelled absolutely delicious to a hotel with a retired cannibal.
Summary: Alastor Hartfelt’s life was delightfully simple. Host his radio show. Tend to his garden. Commit the occasional murder for funsies. And most importantly avoid people. The arrival of a young widow in the neighboring cottage threatens all four. Oh dear.
Notes: And so we’ve reached another story ending 😭 I hope you’ve enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing this. I know I took a lot of liberties but I hope it was still fun to read :) I had no clue when I set out to write a very self indulgent Alastor/Reader fic it would be this one that got the most love on tumblr 🤣 glad to know I’m not the only nerdy romantic Alastor lover out there 😭
Series Masterlist
Epilogue
Straightening, Alastor dragged the back of his forearm across his brow, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had gathered beneath the Wyoming sun. Resting the axe against the chopping block, he glanced down with open irritation at the blisters that had split across his palms once more. He knew he ought to go inside and put on the leather gloves you had so lovingly made for him, but stubbornness had always been one of his greatest flaws. He had wholeheartedly convinced himself he could simply work through the pain. Unfortunately, the ever blooming blisters on his sensitive hands seemed determined to prove him wrong.
It had been six weeks…Six weeks since you and he, accompanied by that incorrigible cat of his of course, had packed what little truly mattered and crossed the country together. Wyoming had been everything the two of you needed. It was wild and untamed. Vast enough to swallow every single secret the two of you ran from, and far enough away that no curious soul would ever come looking for either of you.
He smiled despite himself, remembering the night you had finally entrusted him with the darkness that your own soul harbored. That confession had changed everything. Unburdening his sins beside yours had been the greatest gamble he had ever taken, and by some miracle it had been rewarded beyond anything he could have imagined. Rather than fearing you, he had fallen even more hopelessly in love. As it turned out, monsters were far less lonely when they found another who understood them.
Now you were Mrs. Alastor Hartfelt. Never, in all his years, had he imagined that name would stir something so fiercely possessive and impossibly tender within him. The two of you had married the very first day you arrived in Jasper, unwilling to waste another moment pretending fate had not already bound your wicked souls together.
Taking a moment to wrap his handkerchief around the worst of the torn skin, his thoughts wandered back to you. Somewhere inside the little cabin, no doubt humming to yourself as you tidied, or perhaps out tending the small garden the two of you had only just begun to cultivate. Much like those fragile seedlings pushing through the earth, the two of you had taken root together. Slowly intertwining, growing around one another as naturally as the vines that had once climbed the cypress trees back home.
He missed the bayou. Lord, and he knew he always would. He knew you missed it too. Trading the swamps of Louisiana for the Wyoming mountains had never been born from desire, only necessity. Still, neither of you had mourned the decision for very long. Wherever you happened to be had become home to him, and he desperately hoped the same was true for you. At the end of the day, neither of you wanted much more from life than the simple privilege of waking beside the other.
His life had changed more in a matter of months than it had in the decades before. Marriage had never once figured into his plans, much less a family of his own. And yet somewhere between falling hopelessly in love with a charming widow and developing an unfortunate disregard for proper family planning methods, every conviction he had once held had simply blown away.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lifted the hatchet once more and brought it down with a hearty swing. The blade buried itself cleanly into the dirt beside the chopping block, having missed the log entirely and only narrowly avoided his own boot. He ought to have been irritated with himself. Instead, he barked out a quiet laugh that echoed through the pines.
He hoped he was right. When you had quietly admitted your monthly was late, the news had unsettled him a little at first. He would have been lying to claim anything otherwise. But as he had held you close that evening, your head tucked beneath his chin, the tight fear within his chest had slowly given way to something else. It unfurled into something warm and exciting in an entirely different way. For the first time in his life, he found himself looking beyond the next hunt, beyond the next glass of whiskey, beyond the man he had always believed himself destined to remain.
He imagined a future here, tucked away beneath towering pines instead of moss draped oaks. A little one racing through wildflower fields instead of muddy bayous. A child who would never know the darkness that had lingered over his own youth or the ghosts he had carried with him out of New Orleans.
“Would a lonely lumberjack such as yourself be interested in some lunch?” your sweet voice called across the meadow, carrying to him much like music upon the mountain breeze.
Straightening at once, Alastor cast a guilty glance toward the pitiful little pile of logs he had only just managed to chop with questionable success. Thank goodness winter was still a long way off….by then he was certain he would learn to swing a hatchet with at least half the precision he employed when cutting a man’s throat.
“Always, cher,” he called back.
Making no attempt to brush the sawdust from his trousers or hide the makeshift bandages wrapped around his palms, he met you halfway. Before you could even set the basket down, he slipped an arm around your waist and gathered you against him, holding you to him in a most loving way.
Together you stood in comfortable silence, gazing out across the endless stretch of pine and meadow. It was different from the bayou in every conceivable way, yet if he softened his focus just enough, the wind whispering through the trees almost sounded like the cypress back home.
Perhaps everything truly would be all right. How grateful he was that he had left New Orleans behind.
For years he had carried the quiet certainty that the city would one day be the death of him. In those final weeks before leaving, the nightmares had only grown worse. Always the same one. Running through the woods, hounds at his heels, his lungs burning as they drew ever closer, only to awaken in a cold sweat with a splitting headache. Perhaps that had been the warning.
A man could only meddle with the occult for so long before something truly evil eventually reached back. His gaze drifted toward you, smiling as you unpacked the little lunch basket beneath the shade of the pines.
No…How grateful he was to have left all of that behind.
The rituals would account for nothing now. He had spent so many years searching for answers about the afterlife that he had nearly overlooked the life he already possessed. You…and now perhaps a child. A future he had never dared imagine for himself.
Whether monsters were doomed to remain monsters forever was something he might never know. Or perhaps, given enough love and enough distance from the darkness they had once embraced, they might become something else entirely.
A quiet smile tugged at Alastor’s lips. He rather hoped to spend the rest of his life finding out.
Tag list @milkissesx @error-buttercup @aurorab-0-realis @fantasyhopperhea @m3lodyxo @multidimensionalslut @a-midwinter-night-dream-86 @izkayfleks @jazztato @toasterpis @sassy-persona
Hey sorry I haven’t posted chapter 11 😭 I’ve been in the kitchen 👩🏽🍳🍳📺💙
It’s getting to be con crunch time - I made a goal for myself before I meet the Vees voice actors in September I wanted to draw/print my own art for them to sign so here is part one… I plan to add a background with Val and Vel but for now it’s just my darling TV head 🫶🏽
Yall fixing to see me like Lizzo with this art work! Thank you @aaltruistor for your amazing work of me and my favorite demon man 😭 thank you for listening to my concerns after my first commission disaster and making my demon lover dreams come true 😭 I’m crying it’s so pretty!
Summary: Alastor Hartfelt’s life was delightfully simple. Host his radio show. Tend to his garden. Commit the occasional murder for funsies. And most importantly avoid people. The arrival of a young widow in the neighboring cottage threatens all four. Oh dear.
Notes: Murder confessions, smut. As always MDNI
Series Masterlist
Laid Bare
Alastor POV
Alastor loved you. Body, mind, and soul. There was no point attempting to deny or run from that fact. Yet alongside that realization sat another, one that pricked at his conscience with increasing persistence.
Never before had he desired for another soul to know him completely. He had spent years cultivating his masks, carefully offering the versions of himself the world wished to see while the darker corners of his life remained his alone. But the deeper his attachment to you grew, the more heavily those hidden pieces settled upon his already sin stained soul. He found himself wondering how you might look at him if you knew the truth. If you knew that the infamous Bayou Butcher was not some faceless monster whispered about in newspaper columns, but the very man who held your fragile heart in his bloody hands.
And then there was the cruel little possibility that refused to leave him in peace. What if he had been the one to kill your husband?
He could not even remember the man’s face. There had been so many over the years, each blending into the next until only fragments remained. It was entirely possible your late husband had crossed his path one unfortunate evening. The uncertainty gnawed at him in ways he had never anticipated. Not because he regretted what he had done (he did not). But because he now feared what that truth might steal from him.
As though the burden of truth was not enough, fate had chosen to mock him even further. He could not even ask for your hand.
Marriage had never once occupied his thoughts before you. The notion had always seemed little more than a pleasant fiction reserved for other people. Yet now he found himself aching with the absurd desire to call you his wife, to have the right to keep you close without whispers from busybodies or judgment from polite society. Instead he was forced to endure the long months of mourning, smiling patiently while every instinct within him screamed that you already belonged beside him.
“What are you thinking about?” you whispered.
Your voice gently pulled him from the depths of his thoughts. He looked down to find you smiling up at him where you lay comfortably against his chest, the two of you tucked away within your bedroom with the curtains drawn tightly against the afternoon sun.
How he hated that. How he hated that loving you had to be hidden behind locked doors and drawn curtains, as though it were something shameful.
“Everything and nothing, mon ange,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.
You smiled against him, fingertips lazily tracing idle circles over his bare chest.
“That sounds rather exhausting,” you teased softly. “Care to unburden yourself?”
His arms instinctively tightened around you.
“I was merely thinking of you,” he admitted. “And how I wish things were different. You deserve the world, my love, and I have every intention of placing it at your feet one day.”
You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, your expression impossibly gentle.
“I don’t need the world, Alastor.” Your thumb brushed affectionately along his sharp jaw. “I just need you. Exactly as you are.”
The words struck him like a blade between the ribs. A quiet chuckle escaped him, though there was little humor behind it. If only you knew who he truly was. If only you knew what those hands now cradling you so tenderly had done. For the first time in his life, the thought of being truly known made him feel ill yet he wanted it all the same.
Guilt truly was a wretched thing. Settling deep within his stomach, heavy and sour, churning until he found himself nauseated by its presence. Alastor had never pretended to be a good man. He was not merely flawed or misguided, he truly was a monster. And somehow, despite all of that, each evening he found himself returning to you, wrapping those same bloodstained hands around your waist as though he had any right to hold something so wonderfully good. It almost felt… wrong.
Then there had been the “incident” during his latest hunt. He should have taken it as a sign to stop. You had been waiting for him, no doubt wondering why he was late, while he stalked unfamiliar streets, convincing himself there was still time for one more indulgence.
As he forced the lifeless weight into the rear of his automobile, something caught the corner of his eye. Movement. There was someone watching. Half concealed behind a rusted dumpster at the mouth of the alley.
For the briefest instant their eyes met. His blood ran cold.
“Fuck… fuck… FUCK!”
The curse tore from him before he had the presence of mind to swallow it. Slamming the boot shut, he threw himself behind the wheel and tore from the alley, tires protesting against the rain slick pavement as the city blurred past in frantic streaks. Forcing himself to slow down, he prayed he was wrong.
Had the man actually seen him? Could he offer the police anything more than the frightened ramblings of a drunk who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time?
Alastor gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. For years he had hunted with meticulous precision. Tonight, for the first time in a very long while… He had made a mistake.
The following morning found the two of you tucked away in the warmth of his kitchen, sunlight spilling through the windows as Jambalaya wove lazy figure eights around his ankles. Alastor moved between the stove and the table, sliding a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto your plate.
“There we are.”
“Thank you, my love,” you smiled, never looking up from the morning paper spread across the table before you. He answered with an affectionate hum, reaching for the coffee pot.
“Oh!” you exclaimed suddenly. “Look at this!”
“What is it, cher?”
“They’ve got a description of the Bayou Butcher.”
The glass percolator nearly slipped from his grasp. Fuck.
It was only years of practiced composure that kept his expression from betraying him. Setting the pot down with deliberate care, he wandered over as though mildly curious and rested a hand upon the back of your chair.
“Have they now?” he asked lightly.
You nodded, reading aloud.
“‘Police are searching for a middle aged man of medium complexion believed to be responsible for the recent string of disappearances…’”
Alastor blinked. Middle aged? His eye twitched almost imperceptibly. Middle aged? I am not even forty.
The absurd indignation flared so brightly it managed, for one glorious second, to smother the panic threatening to consume him.
“…Approximately average height… dark hair… last seen wearing a dark overcoat…”
Relief seeped into his tight chest. What they had was wonderfully vague. Half the men in New Orleans could have matched that description on any chilly evening. He allowed himself a slow, measured breath. That had been much too close.
By the time Alastor arrived at the station, the entire building seemed to be buzzing with speculation. Every hallway conversation eventually circled back to the same topic.
“The police are keeping some things close to the chest,” one of the broadcasters remarked as they gathered around the coffee pot. “That’s what I heard this morning. Apparently they’ve released only a fraction of what they actually know.”
Another nodded knowingly.
“I’ve heard they’ve even got a basic description of the fellow’s automobile. They’re just withholding it for now.”
Alastor’s stomach lurched. He offered nothing more than a thoughtful hum before continuing toward his office, careful to keep his stride measured.
Of course they are.
Why would they show their full hand? His pulse hammered painfully against his ribs. For the first time ever, uncertainty had wormed its way beneath his skin. He felt like people were looking at him from every angle. It was absurd, he knew. Paranoia accomplished nothing.
Yet he could not silence it. When the red studio light blinked to life, instinct carried him through the broadcast. His voice remained smooth. To anyone listening across New Orleans, Alastor Hartfelt sounded exactly as he always did. Only he knew the ugly truth.
His collar clung uncomfortably to the back of his neck. Sweat dampened his palms beneath the desk where no audience could see, and his heartbeat refused to settle no matter how brightly he smiled into the microphone.
It was exhausting. Fear, he decided, was a thoroughly unpleasant emotion. He very much preferred being the one who inspired it.
The moment the broadcast concluded, Alastor slipped from his office without so much as lingering for conversation. His measured pace carried him through the station until the parking lot came into view.
A cluster of men stood gathered near the entrance, laughing amongst themselves. His pulse stumbled. Their attention drifted toward the row of automobiles. Were they discussing his? Had the police released the description after all?
He forced a pleasant smile onto his face as he approached.
“Gentlemen.”
One of them tipped his hat, another offered a cheerful greeting before the conversation resumed as though nothing were amiss. Alastor returned the gesture with practiced ease, unlocked his automobile, and climbed inside without allowing himself to look hurried.
Only once the engine had turned over and the station had disappeared in his rearview mirror did the nausea finally wash over him in earnest. This could not continue. He had been fortunate for years. Luck, however, truly was a fickle companion.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter as mile after mile of Louisiana countryside rolled past his windows. Then, somewhere along the familiar drive home, the answer settled quietly into place.
Two things had to happen. The first was painfully obvious. He had to tell you the truth. Not because he wished to ease his own conscience, but because he refused to build a future with you upon a foundation of lies. If he asked you to leave everything behind for him, you deserved to know precisely the sort of man making that request. You deserved the opportunity to walk away while you still could.
The second revelation followed almost immediately. You needed to leave Louisiana.
Distance would place miles between the two of you and whatever investigation now threatened to tighten around his neck. It would pull you safely beyond the reach of curious detectives, whispering neighbors, and the endless expectations of New Orleans society.
And, perhaps most beautifully of all… It would free you from mourning. No one in some quiet town hundreds of miles away would know you were expected to remain in black for another year and a half. No one would care how recently you’d been widowed or whether propriety dictated patience before another marriage.
You could simply be a woman. He could simply be your husband. The thought should have filled him with hope. Instead, dread settled heavily in his chest.
Because before he could ask you to run away with him… He would have to tell you that the Bayou Butcher had been sharing your bed every night for the past several months.
By the time he pulled into his drive, the decision had settled firmly in his mind.
His gaze drifted instinctively toward your cottage only a few yards away, and for one fleeting, shameful moment he nearly abandoned every ounce of resolve he possessed. It would have been so easy to cross the garden as he always did, gather you into his arms, steal a kiss, and pretend none of this existed.
Instead, he remained where he was. Drawing a slow, steadying breath, he rested both hands upon the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
He understood now that the next few hours would determine the course of the rest of his life. By nightfall, you would either condemn him for the monster he truly was…Or you would choose him. There was to be no middle ground. Though deep down he knew a woman such as yourself would never choose the monster. Oddly enough, he had made peace with telling you the truth. You deserved nothing less. If he truly loved you, then he owed you every terrible corner of himself, no matter how grotesque they might appear beneath the light.
Whether you accepted them… That was never his decision to make. Still…He was, at his very core, a profoundly selfish man.
He intended to savor every smile you offered him, every gentle touch, every lingering kiss, every whispered my love that fell from your lips before the illusion shattered. If those precious moments were to be his last, then he would commit each one to memory.
“Hello, my darling,” you smiled as he ascended the back steps of your cottage just before nightfall.
Before he could utter so much as a greeting, you slipped your arms around him, drawing him close.
His resolve faltered immediately. The thin cotton of your nightgown caught the fading light, skimming the graceful lines of your figure as the evening breeze stirred its hem. You looked impossibly lovely, waiting there for him with that gentle smile that never failed to undo him. God, how perfectly you suited him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “I simply couldn’t wait to see you any longer. I…”
This was it…The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, every sentence rehearsed a dozen times during the drive home. He had come to strip away every carefully constructed facade, to lay bare the man and the monster alike, and allow you to judge them both.
But then your lips found his. As though kissing him was the most natural thing in the world. Your fingers slipped around the nape of his neck, disappearing into the chestnut curls at its base as you drew him nearer still.
The speech dissolved of course. A quiet sigh escaped him into the kiss as his eyes drifted shut, every dreadful thought momentarily swept away by the simple miracle of having you in his arms.
This! This was all he had ever truly wanted, though he had not realized it until you. He would gladly surrender every sin, every dark ritual that had once brought him satisfaction. He vowed to abandon the hunt forever if it meant waking each morning beside you for the rest of his days.
And with that silent vow, Alastor granted himself one final indulgence. Just one fleeting moment beneath the blissful veil of new love, before truth came crashing through it.
He surrendered himself completely to your embrace, gathering you against him with newfound urgency. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he drew you flush to his chest, kissing you with a tenderness edged by quiet desperation, as though he were trying to memorize the very feeling of you.
You smiled against his lips, breathless.
“Did you miss me?”
He rested his forehead against yours, unable to suppress the small, affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Most ardently,” he murmured before stealing another lingering kiss.
Walking you away from the open doorway, he didn’t care at this moment if anyone were to see the two of you. Nothing mattered anymore. He kissed you through every step as you moved within the house. A passionate dance the two of you had come to learn through one another. He’d savor every second that this final act would provide him.
When the back of your legs hit your mattress you gasped as you fell back. He took his place between your legs, pushing your nightgown up to expose your beautiful unclothed cunt. He stopped for a moment to admire the sight.
His plan had diverted in that moment at the stairs in a cruel selfish way, but he figured as it was to be the last time he’d know you this way, he may as well enjoy his damnation.
Alastor loved you, yes. But he was still a cruel, selfish monster. The new plan was to make you drunk on his love so as to enjoy you carnally one last time.
Slipping to his knees he completely ignored the way his own arousal strained at the confines of his trousers. Too focused in that moment on savoring your taste.
Using his thumbs to part your slick folds he wrapped his lips around that little bundle of nerves and sucked, eliciting noises from you that made his heart sing and his cock twitch. You were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted and he’d gladly devour you for an eternity if permissed.
You writhed beneath him, he seemed hungrier than normal. Gone was the gentle lover who had stolen countless nights. He was moving like a man who had only hours to live and you were his final meal.
“Ah, ah, Alastor,” you gasped as his tongue delved into your needy cunt. “What ever has gotten into you?”
He didn’t answer. As he was much too taken by the consumption of you. His focus was solely on the two fingers he slid between your folds as he continued his assault on your clit. Curling them ever so slightly up into that one spot made your back arch off the mattress.
The waves of pleasure were intoxicating as he worked his fingers inside of you. Unable to stifle the moans as your orgasm crashed over you all too quickly. Fully subdued in your pleasured haze it wasn’t until you heard his belt buckle unfastening that you rose up on your elbows to watch. You’d begged him more than once to fuck you again. However up until this moment the two of you had only ever truly made love that one time in the greenhouse.
“I’m afraid tonight I know no restraint, mon amour.” Alastor muttered darkly, as he worked his thick length up and down, tearing his eyes away from your core only to catch your curious gaze with his own heavy lidded one. You’d never seen him like this.
“Please, Alastor” was all you managed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to once again feel him nestled deep within you. Lining himself up he rubbed his heavy cock head along your slit gathering the residuals of your orgasm, as he readied you for his intrusion.
The stretch was intense, but nothing like the first time. This time your body welcomed him as if this was the only correct thing in the world. Pulling him in with every moan and gasp that escaped your sweet lips. You were utterly full of him in the loveliest of ways.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned as he bottomed out, pelvis rubbing along your overly sensitive clit, unable to keep himself still once surrounded by your gummy walls. The squeeze was delicious as he began to rock slowly, testing just how ready you were.
Your own gasps were the only answer you could manage, as you peered down at the union of your bodies. Hoisting your leg up and giving himself a better angle, he pulled out just enough for you to see your own slick glistening on his shaft before plunging back in. He was trying to go slow, truly. To enjoy every second of what was apt to be the last time he was ever to enjoy something as sweet and innocent as you. But the monster inside of him was begging for more. More movement, more passion, more of you.
And so he indulged, fucking you senseless. Groping your chest, pinching your pert nipples and making you moan, he bent down to capture your lips in order to drink up every last gasp. Your hands roamed over his strong shoulders and slid up into his dark curls, tangling themselves in an attempt to anchor yourself to him. Your hips moved to meet his, desperate for everything he had to offer.
Pulling back, he searched your tear brightened eyes. He wanted nothing more than to remember you exactly as you were in this moment. Hair tousled, lips kiss swollen, cheeks damp with pleasured tears, beautiful beyond anything he had ever dared imagine. Were anyone near enough to the cracked window they would have no doubt heard the most salacious noises known to man. Both lost in one another neither of you cared to keep quiet. This kind of love was something not meant to be hidden or kept covered. It was loud, intense, and real. Alastor knew this now.
And when he felt your walls fluttering around his cock he knew you were once again at that peak. Slipping one hand between your sweat slick bodies, he found that spot again and rubbed, as another orgasm washed over you. Fuck. He cursed internally, as your walls grasped what little restraint he had tried to hold over his body away. He hadn’t wanted to come before undoing you at least one more time. But the human body is not always one to oblige.
Leaning down into your neck he panted, screwing his eyes shut, willing his own tears away as his hips rutted into you, burying himself somehow impossibly deeper. He came with your name desperate on his lips. Uttering sweet devotions and promises he knew not if he would be able to keep. Silently pleading that he would never lose the woman who had so completely, so irrevocably, become his heart as he painted your walls with thick ropes of hot seed.
When at last peace settled over you both, leaving nothing but tangled limbs, damp skin, and two hearts beating in quiet unison, Alastor gathered what little courage remained. He could not allow you to fall asleep beside a monster without knowing precisely what sort of man held you in his arms.
“Cher,” he murmured.
“Hm?” you answered softly, already nestled beneath his chin, perfectly content to drift off there against him.
His fingers brushed absentmindedly through your hair, lingering as though it might be the last time he was ever permitted such a privilege.
“Would you still love me,” he asked at last, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, “if you knew the evil things I have done?”
One eye cracked open to peer up at him, heavy with sleep.
“That depends, Alastor.”
He swallowed.
“Would you still love me if you knew of mine?”
A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him. Impossible. Whatever sins weighed upon your conscience could never rival his own.
“Cher…” He hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. “I’ve done things I cannot undo. Terrible things. Things I believe would make you despise me.”
You frowned faintly, lifting your head just enough to study his face.
“I know not what you mean, my love.”
He closed his eyes for only a heartbeat before forcing the words free.
“I believe…” He drew a slow breath. “I believe I am responsible for your husband’s death.”
His confession was greeted with silence. For the first time that evening, genuine surprise crossed your face. Then, to Alastor’s complete bewilderment, the corners of your mouth curled upward.
“Nonsense, darling,” you replied with an amused little smile. “That would be quite impossible.”
His brow furrowed.
“No, you don’t understand. I am not a good man.”
“I never asked you to be.”
“No…” he insisted quietly. “You truly don’t understand.”
You reached up, cupping his cheek with infuriating tenderness before giving your head a small shake.
“I don’t particularly care whether you’re a killer, Alastor nor for any sins you have commited.”
His breath caught.
“But I do know, beyond all doubt, that you had absolutely nothing to do with my late husband’s death.”
He stared at you, utterly lost.
“…How could you possibly know that?”
Your smile widened, equal parts sweet and wicked.
“Oh, that’s rather simple.”
You settled comfortably back against his chest, as though remarking upon tomorrow’s weather instead of confessing to murder.
