word count : 4.9k art credits : @/samira.lt.illustrationsĀ
Once Upon A Broken Heart Series
summary : The kingdom turns pink for Valentineās Day, and Jacks pretends not to care. Evangeline knows better, especially when he builds her a fairytale ending that wonāt fade.
tags : valentines day, valentine's day fluff, fluff, domestic fluff, domestic bliss, post-canon, canon universe, romance, soft, soft jacks, ballroom dancing, tooth-rotting fluff, no angst, romantic gestures, romantic fluff, romantic soulmates, happy ending, not beta read we die like apollo
notes : i'll keep this short and sweet, but before you read this valentines fic, there are some details you should know about !!
- at the beginning, you'll notice i incorporated a town in The Hollows. this is purely to help create the that whimsical, valentines-esque atmosphere for this fic. we don't see a valentines inspired holiday in Magnificent North, so i wanted to try and add traditions and romance for this holiday in this universe for the fic
- this is set post ACFTL ā after evangeline and jacks officially get together and live their happy ever after. however, i made jacks a bit guarded in this fic when it comes to love. dont worry !! he's still absolutely in love with evangeline, he's just still a bit pessimistic when it comes to love in general (except when it comes to evangeline ofc >.<)
i truly hope you enjoy this fic <3
happy valentine's day, my angels
Magnificent North is Pink!
Ā The Magnificent North has turned pink overnight.
Evangeline notices it the moment she pushes open the shutters of their own personal bedroom in the Hollow's Inn.
Snow drifts lazily from a pale winter sky, but it isn't the snow that steals her breathāit's the colour.
Rosey-pink banners hang from every balcony and tree along the frozen canal, fluttering like the empire itself has decided to blush. Gold-threaded ribbons wind around brass lamp posts. Even the frost tracing the cobblestone paths seems softer somehow, as if the winter season decided to be gentle for the upcoming holiday.
Down the path, confectioners are already arranging the sugared strawberries in neat pyramids and dusted with festive heart sugar sprinkles. Glass jars of candied rose petals catch the snowlight as they line shelves in sweet stands and shops. Someone's selling honeyed almonds wrapped in cute, heart-shaped paper.
Evangeline presses her hands to the window pane.
āOh my,ā she whispers.
The world looks as if it has been dipped in a romantic novel.
Behind her, the bed creeks softly.
She turns, and there he is.
Jacks sits against the carved wooden bedframe, gold-spun hair artfully disheveled, icy blue eyes soft and half-lidded from sleep. He looks like winter carved into the pretty shape of a prince. The morning light highlights his sharp cheekbones. He watches the scene past Evangeline the way he watches most things: as if he expects them to disappoint him.
āIt seems it has begun,ā he says dryly.
Evangeline spins back towards the window. āIt's beautiful.ā
āIt's absurd.ā
She gasps, all dramatic, scandalised and sincere. āAbsurd?ā
Jacks rises from the bed in languid grace, slipping into a white button up shirt and ignoring to do up the buttons, leaving his chest and defined stomach exposed. āAn entire day devoted to unrealistic expectations and overpriced sweets.ā
She turns slowly. āYou cannot be serious.ā
āI'm always serious,ā he replies.
She sighs, āthat's your problem.ā
He moves to the balcony doors and pushes them open. A rush of cold air slips inside, brushing snowflakes across the wooden floor. He steps out, leaning against the railing as though the sight of pink-draped buildings, stalls and trees personally offends him.
From below and along the ever-so growing town that has sprung in The Hollow, laughter drifts upwards. And a pair of children race through the snow and between the trees with ribbons tied around their wrists. Somewhere, a harp begins playing something sweet and romantic and Jacks frowns.
Evangeline joins him on the balcony, her fluffy slippers crunching faintly against the frost. Her rose gold hair tumbles softly over her shoulder, catching snowflakes on the soft strands. She doesn't notice the snowflakes landing in her hair are shaped strangely before they melt into her warmth.
āIt's romantic,ā she insists.
āIt's commercial.ā
āIt's hopeful.ā
āItās foolish.ā
She narrows her grey eyes at him. āYou are determined to be miserable.ā
āI am determined to be realistic.ā
She folds her arms. āValentineās Day is not foolish.ā
āIt is a celebration of people promising things they cannot possibly keep.ā
āThatās not true.ā
Jacksā jaw tightens, but his voice remains smooth. āLove is dangerous on ordinary days.ā His gaze drifts toward the frozen canal, distant now. āDevoting a holiday to it is just tempting fate.ā
The words land heavier than he intends.
Evangeline stills.
There it is. Beneath the sarcasm, beneath the sharp edges. The shadow.
He used to be the Prince of Hearts.
Love has never been simple for him. It has always been a curse and consequence and blood on snow. Always something that demands payment in doomed ways.
But she knew very well that Jacks truly loves her from the very depths of her soul.
It just takes time to help unease that sorrow anxiety he has that's so engraved on his heart.
The wind shifts between them.
She steps closer, her voice softer now. āNot everyone sees love as a trap.ā
āNo,ā he murmurs. āJust the ones who survive it.ā She studies him. The way his fingers curl slightly against the balcony railing. The way his expression goes distant whenever he speaks about love like itās a battlefield instead of a blessing.
āYou donāt really hate it,ā she says.
āI absolutely do.ā
āYou love me.ā
āYou're my only exception.ā
āI think you're just afraid of it.ā
His eyes snap to hers, sharp as breaking ice. āI am not afraid.ā
āThen why do you look like someone just announced an impending execution?ā
āBecause they have. Itās called February fourteenth.ā
She laughs despite herself.
He watches her when she does that, like he always does. Like he doesnāt understand how someone can look at a world that has hurt her and still find glitter in it.
Back in the town, a vendor releases a handful of pink paper petals into the air. They scatter across the frozen canal and streets, catching on wool coats and shoulders.
Evangeline inhales deeply, as if she can breathe the sweetness of sugared fruit all the way up to the balcony.
āI think itās lovely,ā she says firmly. āA day where people are brave enough to say what they feel.ā
āBrave,ā he echoes, skeptical.
āYes. Brave.ā
He tilts his head slightly. āAnd what exactly do you plan to do with all this bravery, Little Fox?ā
She smilesābright and dangerous and hopeful all at once.
āI havenāt decided yet.ā
āThatās what worries me.ā
She bumps her shoulder against his. āMaybe Iāll decorate the inn.ā
āDonāt.ā
āOr bake heart-shaped pastries.ā
āAbsolutely not.ā
āOr-ā
āIf you hang pink ribbons from our door, I will remove them.ā
āYou wouldnāt dare.ā
āI would.ā
āYouāre impossible.ā
āAnd yet,ā he says softly, almost to himself, āyouāre still here.ā
The wind gentles.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Snow falls around them. Slow, delicate, almost tender.
A flake lands on Jacksā sleeve. Another catches on Evangelineās lashes. If she looked closely, she might notice the faint curve at their edges, but she is too busy studying him.
āYou donāt have to like Valentineās Day,ā she says quietly. āBut I do.ā
āI know.ā
āAnd Iām going to celebrate it.ā
His brow lifts. āIs that a threat?ā
āItās a promise.ā
Something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Something almost wary.
āJust try not to start a war,ā he says.
āNo promises.ā
She turns back toward the room, the hem of her nightgown brushing snow from the balcony floor, already glowing with plans.
Jacks remains where he is.
He tells himself the pink banners are ridiculous. That the sugared strawberries are a scam. That love is a liabilityāsomething he fights everyday to overcome that mindset.
But as he watches Evangeline disappear inside the Hollows Inn, light-footed and winter-bright and entirely unafraid.
He feels something far more dangerous than Valentineās Day.
Hope.
And hope, something Jacks knows better than anyone, is the most treacherous thing of all.
A Rebellion of Ribbon and Raspberry Jam
Evangeline decided she does not care what Jacks says.
If the Magnificent North insists on turning pink for Valentineās Day that's coming in a couple of days, then so will The Hollows Inn.
She begins with ribbons.
By mid-morning after her interaction with Jacks on the balcony, their chambers look as though a confectioner has declared war of love. Blush silk winds down the bedposts in soft spirals. Pale rose bows cling to drawer handles. Strands of gold-threaded ribbon drape over the mirror, catching the candlelight's warm glow.
Jacks stands in the doorway, watching her balance precariously on the edge of a chair.
āIf you fall,ā he says coolly, āI will not catch you.ā
āYou absolutely will,ā she replies, stretching to secure the final knot.
He folds his arms. āI wonāt.ā
She wobbles on purpose.
He moves before he can stop himself.
One hand closes firmly around her waist. The other steadies the chair. She smiles down at him, entirely unrepentant.
āAww, youāre participating!ā She beams.
āI am preventing bodily injury.ā
āWhich is very romantic of you.ā
He exhales through his nose.
She hops down, landing softly against him instead of the floor. He doesnāt release her. His fingers remain hooked at her waist, thumbs resting in the curve above her hips like they belong there.
And they do.
āYouāre insufferable,ā he murmurs.
āAnd yet,ā she echoes from earlier, āyouāre still here.ā
His gaze flickers, briefly cornered, but he only guides her aside so he can fully view the room.
Ā By noon, flour dusts nearly every surface in the kitchen downstairs.
Evangeline stands at the worktable, sleeves pushed up, pink hair tied back with a ribbon that matches the banners outside. She presses heart shapes into pastry with deliberate care.
Jacks leans against the counter, watching.
āI am not eating those,ā he informs her.
āTheyāre raspberry and white chocolate.ā
āI donāt like white chocolate.ā
āYou do.ā
He doesnāt answer that.
She hums as she works. Snow drifts lazily past the window, more deliberate now. More symmetrical. Jacks notices the shape before she does.
Heart.
Heart.
Heart.
He says nothing.
Evangeline dips a finger into the bowl of glaze and tastes it thoughtfully.
āIt needs more sugar,ā she decides.
āYou already added more sugar.ā
āYes, but it needs more.ā
āOf course it does.ā
She turns towards him with the spoon in hand. āHere, taste.ā
āI don't-ā
She presses it to his lips anyway.
He could refuse. But he doesn't.
His mouth closes around the spoon. Her eyes are wide and expectant.
āWell?ā
He considers lying.
āItās adequate.ā
She beams as if he has declared it divine.
In retaliation, she swipes flour across his cheek, the mark is bright against his skin.
They both freeze.
He lifts one brow slowly.
āOh no,ā she says, backing away, laughter threatening.
He steps forward.
She tries to dart around the table, but he catches her easily, hands firm at her waist. He pins her lightly against the counter, snowlight spilling around them.
āVery bold,ā he says softly.
She grins.
He doesnāt wipe the flour away immediately.
Instead, he studies her face, the flour on her fingers, the flush in her cheeks, the way her laughter hums through her.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his thumb to his cheek and wipes the flour off.
He looks at it.
And then he leans in and kisses her.
Itās not dramatic. Not urgent. Just warm.
His mouth soft against hers, tasting of sugar and berries and winter air.
Her hands slide instinctively into his hair. His fingers tighten slightly at her waist. He kisses her once more, slower, before resting his forehead briefly against hers.
āYouāre getting flour all over our kitchen,ā he murmurs.
āYou love it.ā
āI tolerate it.ā
She laughs and turns back to her tarts.
He doesnāt move far.
He stands behind her now, close enough that his chest brushes her back. His chin settles lightly against her shoulder while she stirs batter for the second batch. One hand remains at her waist, thumb tracing idle patterns against her side.
He kisses her temple without thinking.
It is so habitual she barely pauses. The domesticity of it feels almost sacred.
Ā Later, in their sitting room, Evangeline curls into his lap as though it is the most natural place in the world. She sits sideways across him, legs draped over the arm of the chair, skirts pooling like spilled silk. He adjusts automatically, one arm wrapping securely around her waist while the other rests along the chair back.
She holds a small book bound in faded rose leather.
āA collection of dramatic love poems,ā she announces.
āTragic, I assume.ā
āObviously.ā
She begins to read ā breathless declarations, star-crossed metaphors, promises of eternal devotion sealed beneath moonlight.
Jacks makes a thoughtful noise. āOverwritten.ā
āItās passionate.ā
āItās melodramatic.ā
āLike we weren't a bit melodramatic.ā
He pretends to critique each stanza, but his fingers absently twirl a strand of her hair. Over and over.
When she shifts, he tightens his hold without conscious thought. His chin rests against her shoulder now, lips brushing occasionally against the soft skin there when he speaks.
āYouāre distracted,ā she accuses mid-line.
āIām not.ā
āYou are.ā
He presses a slow kiss just below her ear and she falters mid-sentence.
āThat,ā she says weakly, āis unfair.ā
He smiles faintly against her skin.
Outside the tall windows, snow falls in unmistakable heart shapes now.
The roses in her favourite alcove, the pale blush ones she insists on keeping by the fireplace, remain impossibly fresh. Their petals never droop. Their colour never fades.
Jacks notices.
He notices everything she loves.
The way her eyes linger on pink glassware. The way she touches the ribbons when she walks past them. The way she smiles at sugared strawberries in shop windows.
He says he isnāt participating.
But the world bends anyway.
And he lets it.
A Silk Box of Roses
Ā Twilight settles gently over the Hollows Inn, turning the snow outside the colour of diluted rosewater.
Evangeline is humming when she enters their chambers, carrying the last of the heart-shaped tarts on a small porcelain plate. The ribbons she tied that morning glow faintly in the firelight. Everything feels warm. Lived in. Sweet.
She stops.
There is a box on her vanity, which definitely does not belong there.Ā
Small. Rectangle. Wrapped in blush silk so fine it catches the light like liquid. A thin, gold ribbon is tied around it in a neat, deliberate bow.
Evangeline lowers the plate slowly.
āJacks.ā
He is reclining in the armchair near the hearth, boots resting on the edge of the rug, a book open but clearly unread in his lap. Firelight gilds the sharp lines of his profile, catching in his hair like strands of pale gold.
āYes, Little Fox?ā he replies, without looking up.
āThereās a box.ā
āHow extraordinary.ā
She turns to face him fully. āOn my vanity.ā
He flips a page lazily. āHow alarming.ā
āDid you put it there?ā
Only then does he glance at it. His gaze skims over the silk, the ribbon, the deliberate placement.
āPerhaps you have an admirer,ā he says lightly.
She gives him a look. āI live with you.ā
āTragic for any admirers.ā
āJacks.ā
He closes the book with quiet finality and rests it on the arm of the chair. āIf it explodes, I promise to look appropriately concerned.ā
āItās not going to explode.ā
āOptimistic.ā
She approaches the vanity slowly, as though the box might vanish if she moves too quickly. The silk glows softly in the candlelight, not bright, but luminous. Like it holds the morning sun inside it.
Her fingers hover over the ribbon.
Behind her, the fire crackles.
She can feel him watching now.
She unties the bow carefully. The ribbon slips loose with a whisper. She lifts the lid.
And promptly forgets how to breathe.
Roses.
Blush-pink roses nestled inside the silk lining.
But not ordinary roses.
Their petals hold a pearlescent shimmer, faint and opalescent, as though each one has been brushed with the faintest shimmer of morning light. The edges look almost translucent, spun from dawn itself. Faint golden veins trace delicately through the leaves, subtle as sunlight caught in silk.
They are impossibly perfect.
Not a bruise. Not a curl. Not a flaw.
She reaches out, her fingertips gently brushing a petal.
Itās warm.
Not warm like something left too near the fire, but warm like something alive. A gentle, steady heat that hums beneath the surface.
āTheyāre enchanted,ā she whispers.
āObviously,ā he says.
She laughs, soft and breathless and utterly delighted.
The roses respond.
Petals unfurl further, opening with a delicate, almost audible sigh. Their colour deepens. The golden veins glow faintly brighter.
Evangeline gasps.
She smiles at them, radiant, luminous, and the roses glow in answer, light pooling softly in their centres.
When her expression falters just slightly, overwhelmed by how beautiful they are ā the petals ease inward again. Not wilting.
Protective.
āYou did this.ā She turns slowly towards him. āOf course you did this! No one else has this much whimsy.ā
āWell after you of course,ā Jacks rises from the chair with unhurried grace. He crosses the room, stopping a measured distance behind her. āI may have arranged something.ā
āTheyāreā¦ā She searches for the right word. None feel large enough. āTheyāre extraordinary.ā
āTheyāre flowers.ā
āThey are not just flowers.ā
He watches her reflection in the mirror. The way her grey eyes shine and sparkle. The way her hands hover as though afraid to disturb something sacred.
āThey respond to you,ā she says softly.
āThey respond to joy.ā
She laughs again, and the roses bloom wider.
He does not miss the way her shoulders relax when they do.
āThey wonāt wilt,ā he says.
She stills, her fingers remain resting against a petal. āThey wonāt?ā.
āNo.ā
The word settles in the room like snowfall.
She swallows. āEver?ā
āNot unless you want them to.ā
Silence stretches.
The fire shifts behind them, and outside, snow taps faintly against the glass.
She traces the golden vein in one leaf with her fingertip. āWhy?ā
He does not answer immediately.
When he does, his voice is different. Quieter.
āI thought you might like something that stays.ā
Her chest tightens.
She looks at him through the mirror.
āThings donāt usually,ā she says.
āNo.ā
Her reflection shows the faintest flicker of old fear, of curses and bargains and love that costs too much.
The roses soften slightly, petals drawing inward as if they feel it too.
Jacks steps closer, not touching her yet.
Just close enough that his presence is steady at her back.
āThey wonāt wilt,ā he repeats. A pause, then softer, āI wonāt either.ā
The words are not dramatic. He does not dress them up in poetry. He simply says them and means them.
Her breath shudders out of her.
She closes the distance between them in two steps and wraps her arms around him. Not tentative. Certain.
He folds around her immediately, one hand sliding into her hair, the other firm at her waist, anchoring her as though she is something precious and breakable, though they both know she is anything but.
She presses her cheek to his chest. His heart beats steady beneath her lips.
āTheyāre beautiful,ā she murmurs.
āTheyāre yours.ā
Outside, heart-shaped snow continues to fall over the Magnificent North. And inside, the enchanted roses glow softly in the firelight.
A Question Woven in Snowlight
Night gathers quietly around the Hollows Inn, wrapping it in the kind of hush that only deep winter can manage. The ribbons Evangeline tied that morning stir faintly whenever the fire shifts, their blush silk catching the amber light in soft glimmers. Outside, snow continues to fall in steady, unhurried spirals, gathering along the balcony railings and pillowing the cobblestones below in pale silver.
The empire may be preparing for Valentineās Day, but here in their chambers, everything feels smaller. Closer. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sugared fruit or pink banners.
Evangeline sits curled near the hearth, her legs folded beneath her, watching the flames bend and bloom. The enchanted roses rest upon her vanity across the room, glowing faintly, not bright enough to command attention, only enough to remind her they are there.
Jacks stands by the window, one hand braced lightly against the frame as he looks out at the falling snow. Firelight paints the sharp edge of his profile and softens it at once. He is quieter tonight. Not distant, just thoughtful in a way that feels deliberate.
She rises after a moment and crosses the room toward him. He senses her before she speaks; he always does. His shoulders shift subtly as she approaches, not defensive, simply aware.
āTomorrow is Valentineās Day,ā she says softly.
āI know,ā he replies, glancing down at her. His tone carries a faint trace of irony, but it lacks its usual bite. The cynicism has worn thinner over the course of the day, eroded by ribbons and laughter and strawberries and roses that refuse to wilt.
She hesitates, and that is what makes him turn fully toward her.
Evangeline does not often hesitate around him anymore.
The firelight paints warmth across her face, across the silver of her gaze. There is no mischief there now. No dramatic flourish. Only something gentler, almost shy.
āWill you be my Valentine?ā she asks.
It is such a simple question that it might have been careless. But it is not. It carries weight precisely because it sounds so small.
Jacks goes still.
Not because he doubts her. Not because he doubts himself. They have already chosen one another. They have already survived curses and memory and blood-stained fate. She knows he is hers. He knows she is his.
But Valentines.
For someone who once kills with a kiss, the word does not sit lightly.
He remembers what love used to mean to him. Leverage, weakness, something to be weaponised. He remembers hands reaching for him with desire that turned to ruin. He remembers the cost.
To be someoneās Valentine feels dangerously soft. It feels like stepping willingly into a story that once tried to destroy him.
She notices the stillness and immediately regrets the vulnerability. āYou donāt have to,ā she adds quickly. āI just thought-ā
āI want to,ā he says at once.
And he does.
The hesitation was never about desire. It was about allowing himself to stand in something so openly tender without armour.
He reaches for her then, drawing her into him with steady certainty. One hand settles firmly at her back, fingers splayed against the curve of her waist. The other slides up into her hair, guiding her gently until her forehead rests against his chest. He lowers his chin to the crown of her head and breathes her ināsugar and firewood smoke and winter air.
She melts against him easily, as though this is the most natural place in the world. Perhaps it is.
āIāve been yours since before you knew my name,ā he says quietly.
The words are not theatrical. He doesnāt lace them with charm.
He simply tells the truth.
She stills against him.
Slowly, she lifts her face to look at him, searching for mockery, for a smirk, for the slightest edge of playfulness.
There is none.
Only sincerity, unguarded and unflinching.
āYou mean that,ā she whispers.
āYes.ā
He thinks of the moment she first looked at him without fear. Of the way she defied him. Of how she chose him long before it was safe to do so. He thinks of how he followed her anyway.
Her fingers slip between them, pushing aside the fabric of his shirt until she can press her palm over the scar at his chest. The mark left by magic and consequence and history. She traces it gently, reverently, as though mapping something fragile.
His breath shifts, not from pain but from memory.
āYouāre not afraid?ā she asks. āOf all of it? Of tomorrow?ā
āI am always afraid of something,ā he admits softly. āBut not of belonging to you.ā
Her hand remains over his heart. He remains at her back, holding her as though anchoring himself as much as her. Outside, snow continues its quiet descent, indifferent to confessions made by firelight.
He tilts her chin upward and kisses her.
It's not urgent. Not heated in the way that leaves them breathless and reckless. It is slow and deliberate, a kiss that lingers as though time has stretched just for them. His mouth moves against hers with care, committing the shape of it to memory. Her fingers curl into his shirt, and he feels the slight tremor in them, not doubt, but emotion.
When she parts her lips, he deepens the kiss gently, one hand sliding to cradle her jaw while the other remains firm at her waist. She rises slightly onto her toes without thinking, leaning into him with complete trust.
He kisses her like she is both fragile and fierce, like he knows she could survive without him, but chooses to stay anyway.
When they finally part, their foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the warm air between them.
āTomorrow,ā he says quietly, āI will be your Valentine.ā
Her smile is softer than any ribbon she tied that morning.
āAnd the day after?ā she asks, because she cannot help herself.
He brushes his thumb along her cheek, tracing the line of it as though it belongs to him. āWell, I have always been yours. It would be no different.ā
Jacks kisses her again, slowly, deliberately, as though he has already decided he will be doing so for a very long time.
A Ballroom, Sugared Strawberries, A Harp, and Candied Rose Petals
Ā Evangeline doesnāt realise he has taken her anywhere special until the corridor changes.
They have just finished clearing the last crumbs of raspberry tart from their plates. She is still laughing about the way he pretended not to like the glaze before eating two more, when he takes her hand and leads her downstairs. His grip is steady and familiar, fingers laced through hers as though they have always fit that way.
āYou know, the inn is closed,ā she reminds him lightly as they descend the staircase.
āI am aware.ā
āThen where are we-ā
āYouāll see.ā
There is something almost smug in the way he says it, but softer than his usual arrogance. Anticipatory.
The corridor at the back of the inn is usually dim and practical, all wooden beams and polished floors worn smooth with years of travellers passing through. Tonight, however, candlelight spills faintly from beneath a pair of tall double doors at the end.
Evangeline slows.
āJacks.ā
He says nothing, only releases her hand long enough to push the doors open.
The ballroom beyond is empty.
Empty and transformed.
Candles line the walls in careful rows, their flames steady and golden, reflected endlessly in tall arched mirrors. The chandeliers overhead glow not with harsh brilliance but with softened light, as though filtered through dawn. Snow drifts past the high windows in slow spirals, visible against the darkened sky beyond.
In the centre of the room stands a small table laid simply: a porcelain bowl of sugared strawberries dusted in crystalline sugar; a dish of candied rose petals folded like jewels; a plate of more heart-shaped tarts she made that morning.
Nothing extravagant.
Just hers.
At the far corner of the ballroom rests a harp.
It is not being played by any visible musician, yet as the doors close behind them, a soft melody unfurls into the air, delicate and lilting notes rising like breath against glass. The music feels tailored to the moment, to the way her fingers tighten slightly around his sleeve.
She doesnāt speak at first.
She turns slowly in place, her skirt whispering against polished floors, taking in the candles, the mirrors, the hush. Her grey eyes shine in the golden light.
āYou remembered,ā she says.
It is not a question.
Once, she told him about the fairytale ball she had imagined as a childāthough they never had a clear ending. A ballroom filled with light, where nothing dreadful waited at midnight. Where dancing meant joy.
And he listened.
Now, he steps closer, brushing a stray curl from her left eye. āYou said you never had one that ended properly.ā
Her throat tightens. āSo you made one for me.ā
āFor us,ā he corrects.
There are no guests. No watching courtiers. No expectations.
Just candlelight and snow and the faint sweetness of sugar in the air.
He offers his hand.
She takes it without hesitation.
He draws her into him slowly, one arm settling at her waist, the other guiding her fingers into place against his shoulder. The harp swells gently as though aware of them. Their first step is almost shy, a testing shift of weight, Ā but the rhythm catches quickly.
They move across the empty floor as though it belongs to them.
There is no grand performance in it. No sweeping spectacle.
Just closeness.
Her cheek brushes his shoulder. His chin rests briefly in her hair. Their steps fall into an easy pattern, bodies aligned in a way that feels less like choreography and more like instinct.
At some point, she laughs softly and reaches for a sugared strawberry from the table, pressing it playfully to his lips before taking a bite herself. Sugar crystals cling to her fingertips; he catches her wrist gently and licks one away without breaking their rhythm.
They share candied rose petals between turns. He steals half a tart when she is distracted by the music. She pretends not to notice.
The harp shifts into something warmer, slower.
He draws her closer.
There are no declarations here. No dramatic vows beneath chandeliers.
Only the quiet proof that he listens. That he remembers. That the things she says in passing settle somewhere deep enough for him to build from them.
When the candles burn lower and the snow thickens beyond the windows, he guides her back upstairs without a word.
The enchanted roses wait upon her bedside table, their pearlescent petals glowing softly in the dim room. She sets a single candied rose petal beside them before slipping beneath the covers.
He joins her moments later.
Evangeline curls instinctively toward him, one hand finding his own in the dark. Their fingers thread together as though drawn by gravity. She is asleep within minutes, breath soft and even, pink hair fanned against the white of the sheets.
Jacks remains awake a little longer.
He watches the steady rise and fall of her chest. The way her hand remains wrapped securely in his. The way the enchanted roses do not dim from her vanity.
Snow continues drifting beyond the window, gentle and unthreatening and in shapes of hearts.
oh. iām sure its fine and normal that a video investigating the massive bot farm/slop channel shell company connections to the russian mafia and youtubeās own implication by allowing it to continue for profit has mysteriously vanished with no word from op.
At this point Iām just obsessed. Hope this can feed your obsessionā¦ ( I admit Iām not particularly fond of it, but idk maybe it will grow in me someday?)
Like Minds 2006 edit ; Nigel Colbie & Alex Forbes ā Mind Games, Sickick
As promised, itās finally here! Thank you to all of my patrons for not only the support that made this possible, but for giving me the confidence to work on a big project like this.
Rather than providing any drawing instruction, what this writeup aims to do is help you learn to unpack the decisions being made in a given composition, and articulate what elements in a piece are responsible for its impact. Being able to isolate these qualities in your own art and art that inspires you opens up avenues for improvement regardless of medium, style, or technical skill. This is the first of hopefully many PWYW art ātutorialsā from me.Ā
Summary: At the Hazbin Hotelās New Yearās party, jealousy sparks when Alastor watches you dance with Lucifer. But when midnight strikes, he makes it clear exactly who you belong with.
Would You Fall in Love with Me Again? āļøš
Based on this ask.
Summary: After dying and waking in Hell, you discover your gentle, loving husband was hiding a far darker truth. Forced into a deal that keeps you apart for years, you never stop loving him or wearing the locket that binds your promise.
Can We Go Home Now? āļø
Based on this ask.
Summary: On your first anniversary, all you want is for your husband to come home. Instead, a drunken search through the bayou uncovers the horrifying truth about Alastorās late nights.
Too Sweet for Me ā¤ļøāš„š
Based on this ask.
Summary: After a wild night out, you wake to find Alastor mysteriously turned human, and everyone assumes youāre to blame. What starts as accusations quickly turns into long-simmering tension finally snapping.
The Summoning (coming soon...)
Based on this ask.
Summary:
American Horror Show (coming soon...)
Based on this ask.
Summary:
Like You Mean It ā¤ļøāš„
Summary: One heated night leaves the Devil himself trembling, undone by pleasure he canāt command or predict. In your hands, Hellās king discovers what it means to truly lose control.
welcome! this little get together is [hopefully] the start of something bigger, where we all come together, support each other and see what lies in store...
a little introduction, even though we're not that many [yet] every day for the next few days a fic will be posted on one of our blogs! This masterlist gives you a taste of what's to come and even if you miss a day, don't worry ā the posts will be linked as soon as they're posted.
starting 14th February 2026 ā Valentines day
Red on Red on Red ā 14th February 2026
ā alastor Ć reader
ā Valentines Day is in full swing at the hotel. You werenāt sure what to expect with your first Valentines with the Radio Demon, but... it seemed he had no intention in recognizing the holiday. Too bitter to join the crew in their activities, you go to nap in your room, but get a pleasant surprise instead. [fluff]
written by the amazing @ohdeerfully
Demons do it Better ā 15th February 2026
ā vox Ć fem!reader
ā something about Vox diving into his full demon form awakened a feeling inside you, you never thought existed [smut]
written by me and posted on @sstan-hoe
Not The Chair! ā 16th February 2026
ā alastor Ć wife!reader
ā After Alastor returns from Voxās captivity with a rolling chair as a ātrophyā his wife fears sheās being replaced.
written by the amazing @writingisart-yes
Tease Me, Baby ā 17th February 2026
ā vox x reader
ā Vox is intelligent, no questions asked...however when you started flirting with him, replacing your pants for skirts and shortened them he acted like the dumbest overlord in hell. Was he just not into you or avoiding you?
written by the amazing @activesplooger
if you would like to find out more just send a dm and maybe we can do this again sometime!
welcome! this little get together is [hopefully] the start of something bigger, where we all come together, support each other and see what lies in store...
a little introduction, even though we're not that many [yet] every day for the next few days a fic will be posted on one of our blogs! This masterlist gives you a taste of what's to come and even if you miss a day, don't worry ā the posts will be linked as soon as they're posted.
starting 14th February 2026 ā Valentines day
title tbd ā 14th February 2026
ā alastor Ć reader
ā Valentines Day is in full swing at the hotel. You werenāt sure what to expect with your first Valentines with the Radio Demon, but... it seemed he had no intention in recognizing the holiday. Too bitter to join the crew in their activities, you go to nap in your room, but get a pleasant surprise instead. [fluff]
written by the amazing @ohdeerfully
Demons do it Better ā 15th February 2026
ā vox Ć fem!reader
ā something about Vox diving into his full demon form awakened a feeling inside you, you never thought existed [smut]
written by me and posted on @sstan-hoe
Not The Chair! ā 16th February 2026
ā alastor Ć wife!reader
ā After Alastor returns from Voxās captivity with a rolling chair as a ātrophyā his wife fears sheās being replaced.
written by the amazing @writingisart-yes
Tease Me, Baby ā 17th February 2026
ā vox x reader
ā Vox is intelligent, no questions asked...however when you started flirting with him, replacing your pants for skirts and shortened them he acted like the dumbest overlord in hell. Was he just not into you or avoiding you?
written by the amazing @activesplooger
if you would like to find out more just send a dm and maybe we can do this again sometime!
Eli is at the beach...so im gonna make them at the beach for three chapters...
Chapter one (SFW) Kitty Kitty!
Chapter two - That damn dress (NSFW)
Chapter three - Jealousy Looks Good On You, Cher (MILD NSFW)
Chapter four - Piss off...She's mine. (NSFW)
Chapter five - Early Mornings (NSFW)
Chapter six - Bath time (NSFW)
Chapter seven - Stress Reliever (NSFW)
Chapter eight - Beach Vacation (SFW Part One)
Tags - its in the 1920s but its not time accurate idc./ Lincoln Beach/ Alastor is black, he has been this whole time/ Tooth rotting fluff/ Alastor loves his wife dammit.
The sauce was barely simmering when the front door slammed open.
She jumped, wooden spoon clattering against the potābut before she could even turn around she heard him bellowing from the entryway, voice bright and wild and giddy in that way he almost never let himself sound at work:
(My love, my treasure, my little light- where are you?)
She blinked, heart fluttering even before she saw him, because she could hear the grin in his voiceāwide, unrestrained, boyish.
He practically skipped into the kitchen.
Skipped.
Her tall, handsome, usually composed husband came around the corner with his hat crooked on his head, curls escaping everywhere, sunglasses askew, and the happiest damn smile sheād ever seen on his face.
Before she could ask one single question he scooped her up from behind, arms wrapping tightly around her waist, and twirled her off the ground.
āAlastor!ā she squealed, laughing as her feet left the floor, sauce sloshing dangerously behind her. āWhat on earthā?!ā
He spun her once. Twice. Kissed her cheek. Kissed her forehead. Kissed the tip of her nose. And then started singingānot even actual lyrics, just excited, breathless, melodic nonsense in French as he swayed her around the kitchen like she weighed nothing.
āMon papillon, mon sucre, ma jolieā¦ my wifeāmy darlingāmy precious little doe, do you know what today is?!ā
(My butterfly, my sugar, my joy)
She giggled, breathless, hands gripping his shoulders as he set her down only to immediately wrap her in another crushing hug.
āNo,ā she gasped. āWhat? What happened? Why are you soāAlastor, sweetheart, youāre glowing.ā
He leaned back just enough that she could see his faceāhis eyes shining, dimples deep, cheeks flushed with excitement.
āI got it,ā he said softly, almost reverently.
āGot what?ā
He inhaled sharplyāthen exploded again, practically bouncing on his feet.
Her eyes widened, joy rushing through her so quickly she felt dizzy.
āAlastor! Thatāsābaby, thatās amazing!ā
He nodded rapidly. āOui, oui, yesāyes it is, and do you know what this means?ā
She blinked. āUmā¦ that we can finally replace the broken radio? Orāwe can fix the roof? Orāā
He grabbed both her hands and pressed them eagerly between his, shaking them like an excited schoolboy.
āIt means,ā he said dramatically, eyes wide, voice dropping into an emotional hush, āthat my darling wifeāmy sweet, beautiful treasureācan finally have the trip she has been dreaming of.ā
She stared. Breath hitched.
āTheā¦ beach?ā
āLincoln Beach!ā he practically shouted, spinning her again. āA proper holiday! The train fare, a room near the waterāmon amour, you deserve to feel the sand beneath your feet, to see the sea, to rest. And nowānow I can give that to you.
āHer eyes stung. She covered her mouth, overwhelmed.
āAlastorā¦ IāI didnāt think weād ever be able to afford it.ā
āOh, but we can!ā He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, like he couldnāt stop. āAnd we will. Weāll pack this week. Take the train early Saturday. Iāll bring my camera, you can wear that sundress you likeāmon petit cerf, you will see the ocean.ā
(My little deer)
She laughed, half crying, throwing her arms around him.
He held her tight, swaying with her, still humming excitedly, cheek pressed to hers.In that moment the sauce was forgotten.The house was forgotten.
The whole damn city was forgotten.
There was just himāher joyous, silly, deliriously happy husbandāholding her like the world had finally given him a gift.
āLet me take you to the shore, sweetheart,ā he whispered into her hair. āLet me show you something beautiful.ā
She pulled back only to kiss him again, smiling against his lips.
āYou already have.ā
--------
The next two days in the Hartfelt household were nothing short of chaotic joy.
Their little house, usually neat and humming with calm domestic routine, had turned into a whirlwind of half-folded clothes, open suitcases, scattered toiletries, and one extremely excited Creole husband who kept breaking into song every time she so much as touched a beach towel.
Every few hoursāsometimes every few minutesāhe spun her like they were contestants at a jazz dance hall.
It never mattered what she was holding.
A hat?
Spun.
A pair of socks?
Spun.
A whole stack of folded outfits sheād just spent twenty minutes prepping?
Spunāsent flyingāfollowed by him apologizing and kissing her cheeks so much she forgot she was supposed to be annoyed.
She was on the floor in front of their dresser the second night, trying to get her shoes sorted, when he appeared behind her with a grin so big it shouldāve been illegal.
āTwo more days, mon cÅur!ā he cheered, practically vibrating.
She giggled without even looking at him.
āAlastor, sweetheart, pleaseāif you spin me again while Iām holding something breakableāā
He laughed dramatically and tapped her backside.
Tapped.
Her whole body froze in scandal.
She whipped around, eyes huge, cheeks pink.
āAlastor! Did you justā?!ā
He looked downright delighted.
āOh, pardon,ā he said, absolutely not sounding apologetic. āMy hand slipped.ā
She smacked his shoulder, laughing as he scooped her up mid-protest and threw her over his own.
Her legs kicked in the air while he marched around the bedroom like she weighed nothing, her fists pounding weakly against his back as she choked on her own giggles.
āPut me down!ā
āNon!ā
āAlastorā!ā
āMy darling wife, you are too cuteāthis is your punishment!ā
He finally set her down on the mattress, kissing her silly until she melted into the blankets in a flustered heap. Then came bathing suit shopping.
He didnāt need a new suit; his had lasted years, one of those red 1920s tank-style tops with matching shorts that showed off his shoulders in a way he absolutely knew drove her wild.
But she needed a new suit.
Which meant Alastor had found his new favorite hobby.
The first storeās changing room saw him being kicked out three separate times.Not because he tried anything indecentābut because the moment she pulled the curtain closed, his voice was right on the other side of it.
āHow does it fit, mon amour?ā
āAre you sure that one is comfortable?ā
āI heard the elastic on those new cuts is marvelously reliableāā
āNo! Out!ā she hissed through the curtain, shoving him.
He stumbled back, laughing a deep, delighted laugh that made two older ladies by the hats tut and whisper about āyoung married folk with no shame.ā
When she finally emerged in a modest 1920s-style bathing suitānavy blue, form-fitting but appropriateāhis jaw nearly hit the floor.He went silent.Just staring.
Thenā
āMy god,ā he murmured, stepping close, fingers brushing her waist. āMon petit cerfā¦ you areā¦ breathtaking.ā
She flushed and swatted at him.āAlastor, behave.ā
āI am trying,ā he whispered earnestly. āI swear I am.ā
He bought the suit before she could even blinkāthanking the shop girl three times, beaming like heād just won a prize.
Back home, the packing continued.And the spinning.
And the spontaneous kisses.
And the dancing to whatever song played on the radio.
Every night he fell asleep talking about the beachāwhat snacks theyād bring, what time theyād catch the train, how excited he was to see her in that swimsuit again.
It was childish.
Sweet.
Silly.
Tender.
Perfect.
And on the eve of the trip, as she watched him gently fold their towels with a reverence usually reserved for church, she realized something:He wasnāt excited about the vacation.He was excited because he got to give her something sheād always wanted.
And that made him glow.
---
The train hissed like a waking beast as they stepped aboard, the morning sun spilling gold across the platform. Alastor walked ahead with both suitcasesābecause of course he refused to let her touch a single heavy thingāhis thin linen shirt pulled tight across his back and arms with every movement. She pretended not to stare. He pretended not to notice her staring. Neither succeeded.
āRight this way, sweetheart,ā he said, voice warm and humming with good spirits, Louisiana French slipping in like it always did when he was excited. He nudged open the door to their private car with his elbow, balancing the bags effortlessly. āYour chariot awaits!ā
She stepped past him into the roomette, smiling when he pressed a swift kiss to her cheek in passing. The little room smelled faintly of polished wood and clean cottonāa quiet pocket away from the bustle outside. The door clicked shut behind them, soft but final, and she exhaled. Two hours of peace. Just the two of them.
Alastor set the suitcases down and dusted off his hands dramatically, then turned to her with that blinding grinābright as a spotlight, smug as a cat that knocked over the cream jug.
āNo one stopped us. Not a soul.ā He practically sang it, swaying side to side like he was mid-jazz number. āMon Dieu, I could kiss that man who took our tickets! Finallyāfinallyāsomeone with sense!ā
She laughed, dropping onto the small seat beneath the window. āYou didnāt get delayed once?ā
āNot once!ā he echoed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. āNo suspicious looks, no tedious questions about my finances, no muttered comments about āproper seatsā. I walked right in like the rightful patron I am! Imagine that!ā
He plopped down opposite her, knees brushing hers. He looked like he could burstāgleaming eyes, tapping foot, restless joy vibrating under his skin.
She watched the way his sleeves hugged his arms as he folded them, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone from hauling the bags, the excitement he wasnāt even trying to hide. He caught her staring and tilted his head, smirk growing slow and devilish.āSomething on your mind, darling?ā
She snorted. āJust thinking you enjoy lifting those bags a little too much.ā
āOh?ā He feigned innocence, then flexedāpurposefully, the menaceāraising his arm as though stretching. āWell, well, wellā¦ my dear, you were looking rather intently. Should I be flattered or worried?ā
āWorried,ā she said joked, and he preened.
Outside, the whistle blew. The train lurched forward. Their little room gently rocked with the rhythm, the window filling with passing oak trees and warm Louisiana sunlight.
Alastor stretched his legs out shamelessly until one slid beneath hers. āComfortable, sweetheart?ā
āMm-hm.ā She nudged him softly. āYouāre in a suspiciously good mood this morning. Again.ā
āYouāll have to forgive me,ā he said, leaning forward until their foreheads nearly touched. His smile softenedānot the showmanās grin, but the real one, the one he only wore for her. āIām taking my darlingāmy brightest starāon a trip sheās dreamed of. You expect me to be calm?ā
She flushed, and he absolutely noticed, grinning like it fueled him.
āAnd besidesāā He tapped the side of her leg with his foot. āItās our first time traveling for pleasure. Not work.ā He sighed theatrically. āNo station master trying to keep me back for daring to exist. No cursed deadlines. Just us.ā
He reached out, taking her hand, kissing her knuckles slowlyāone at a time, like he had all the hours in the world.
āAnd a beach with your name on it.ā
āAnd sand thatāll get everywhere,ā she teased.
She kicked his shin lightly as heat rose through her face. āAlastor!ā
āWhat?ā he asked, all mock innocence. āIām simply sayingāā
āYouāre impossible.ā
āAnd you adore me for it.ā
He wasnāt wrong.
The train settled into steady movement, their room gently rocking, sunlight pooling over them like warm syrup. He leaned back, humming softly, tapping his thumb against her palm in rhythm with the tracks.
They were truly on their way.
And Alastor? He looked like the happiest man alive.
---------
The train ride had beenāwellāmostly pleasant.
Every few miles, Alastorās hand had crept higher on her thigh, his fingers drumming to the rhythm of the tracks while his eyes sparkled with that sinful, self-satisfied charm. He whispered things he had no business saying on public transportation, all while pretending to admire the passing cypress trees. Sheād swatted at him more than once, cheeks burning, but he only laughedāquiet, breathy, delighted every time she shivered.
By the time they stepped off the train, she was flushed, flustered, and very aware of how smug he looked.
The walk wasnāt long at all, just a short stroll down a sandy little path lined with sea oats, the salty breeze lifting her hair. Alastor kept glancing at her, grinning like he was trying not to explode with excitement.
When the house finally came into view, she slowedāonly for him to dart behind her with a burst of theatrical energy.
āAh-ahāno peeking!ā he chirped, sliding his palms over her eyes.
She laughed, stumbling when he immediately pressed a kiss to the back of her head. āAlastorāwhat are youā?ā
She didāguided by his hands, the boards creaking beneath her shoes. She could smell the sea. Hear the distant crash of waves. And thenāHe stopped her. Hands lifting dramatically away from her face.
āEt voilĆ !ā he declared. āOur humble seaside sanctuary!ā
Her breath caught.
The house looked like something off a magazine coverāpristine white siding, pale blue shutters, a deep wraparound porch with wicker chairs and billowing curtains. 1920s beach-house perfection. Crisp, clean lines and elegant charm. Like it had been polished for their arrival.
āOh, Alastor,ā she whispered. āItās beautiful.ā
He practically glowed at her reaction, bouncing once on the balls of his feet like an excited schoolboy. āIsnāt it just? I told you your smile alone would be worth the entire tripālook at you, mon cÅur. Like sunlight incarnate.ā
She blushed, and he absolutely basked in it.
He grabbed her hands and pulled her forward, practically dragging her inside. They explored with ridiculous enthusiasmāopening every door, every cabinet, every closet like they were children in a treasure house. She squealed upon finding the old tile bathroom with a porcelain tub; he gasped dramatically at the sight of a phonograph in the living room.
But the bedroomsāoh, that was the real adventure.
āAbsolutely not,ā he said immediately upon seeing the modest guest room. āToo small. Too bland. Tooā¦ far from my darling. Next!ā
Laughing, she tugged him down the hallāwhere the biggest room waited. Sunlight spilled across a wide bed draped in crisp, embroidered linens. The windows opened to a view of swaying dunes. A vanity. A wardrobe with carved floral details. Pale curtains. Quiet, tasteful charm.
āThis one?ā she asked.
He spun her onceāright there in the middle of the sunlit floorāand kissed her forehead. āThis one.ā
They set their suitcases down, still smiling like fools.
Thenā¦ they wandered to the back door.
He opened it for her, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back.
And there it was.
The sand stretched out like pale velvet, the dunes rising and dipping gently. Beyond themāthe ocean. Bright. Endless. Rolling in shades of deep blue and shimmering silver. The afternoon sun reflected off the waves like scattered coins.
She didnāt realize sheād gone breathless until she spoke.
āItāsā¦ right there.ā
āOur own slice of paradise,ā Alastor murmured behind her. His palm slid from her back to her waist, fingers curling softly in her dress. āCloser than I imagined. Even more splendid with you beside it.ā
She leaned into him, heart swelling.Alastor pressed a kiss to her temple.
āWell, my love,ā he said lightly, though his voice held something warmāsomething a little awestruck. āShall we dip our toes in the great wide ocean? Or shall we first see what mischief we can make in this beautiful house before the sand finds its way into everything we own?ā
She laughed, her hand finding his.
āLetās explore the beach first.ā
He grinned. āAs my lady commands.ā
They stepped down from the porch together.
Hand in hand.
The breeze tugged at their clothes.
And behind them, the little white beach house stood gleaming like it was part of a dream.
She bolted.
The moment the ocean came into viewājust a glittering line beyond the dunesāshe took off like a shot, hiking up her dress and sprinting as best she could on the uneven sand.
Alastor shouted after her, half-laughing, half-scolding, yanking off his shoes mid-run and nearly tripping over his own enthusiasm. āMon cÅurāslow down! Youāllā!ā
Too late.
Her foot sank into a deep patch of soft sand, and she pitched forward with a yelpāface-first into a fluffy mound of it.
āAh! My silly girlāā Alastor skidded in beside her, laughing so hard he had to brace a hand on his knee. āYou cannot simply charge the ocean! The sand fights back!ā
She groaned into the sand, spitting out a grain or two. āIt betrayed meā¦ā
āIt did,ā he agreed fondly, brushing gritty speckles off her cheek. āBut it was quite an adorable fall.ā
She smacked his armāplayfullyābefore letting him tug her upright. Her entire front was dusted white, and he kept dusting at her with futile swipes, muttering, āYouāre a menace,ā between chuckles.
The second she was standing?
She took off again
.āSweetheartā!ā He hurled himself after her, laughing breathlessly as he tried to avoid the sharper shells. She stepped on one and yelped; he winced sympathetically but didnāt slow, determined to catch up before she threw herself to the mercy of Poseidon.
The sand gave her no tractionāevery step was a wiggle, a wobble, an undignified scrambleābut she pressed on with complete, joyous determination.
By the time she reached the shoreline, Alastor was only a few steps behind, panting and grinning.
She froze.
A wave rolled in, brushing over her toesācool, foamy, sparkling.
āOhā¦ā she whispered.
He watched her face soften, watched awe wash over her in a way the sea could only dream of matching.
Then she lifted her dress and ran straight into the surf.
āSweetheart! Your clothesā!ā Alastor laughed helplessly as she splashed deeper, water soaking her skirt to the waist. āChĆØre, youāre going to ruin it!ā
She didnāt hear himāor pretended not to. She tossed her head back, twirling, letting the waves soak her hems and cling to her legs. She kicked at the water, sending shimmering droplets flying. Her laughter tangled with the crash of the surf, bright and wild.Alastorās protests faltered.
Because she was radiant like this.Utterly, completely radiant.
He stepped into the water after her, his rolled-up trousers already failing to stay dry, but he didnāt care. Not when she looked back at him with that sun-sparked smile.
āAlastor! Itās cold!ā
āOf course it is!ā he called back, wading toward her with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. āThe oceanās greeting is notoriously brisk!ā
Another wave hit her knees and she shriekedālaughingāand he laughed right with her, reaching out, hands sliding around her waist as he pulled her close.
āYouāre soaked,ā he murmured against her temple, still amused, still breathless.
āSo are you.ā
āBecause someone insisted on frolicking like a madwoman.ā
She splashed water at him with her hand.He gasped dramatically. āOh! So thatās how it shall be?ā
She splashed him again. Harder.
He bit back a grin.
āOh, you donāt want war with me, my dearā¦ā
She absolutely did.
And the ocean swelled around them, cold and bright, as the two of them waged the most undignified, joyful splash battle the 20s shoreline had probably ever witnessed.
The last of the sun dipped low, staining the waves those deep honeyed colors that always made the world feel softerāgold melting into violet, violet melting into blue.
They were still playing, still splashing each other like children, when the sky finally dimmed. Her dress clung to her legs, heavy and dripping; his tank top stuck to him, outlining every line of his chest, and his coiled hair was plastered wetly to his forehead.
When she finally staggered toward himālaughing, exhausted, soaked to the boneāhe didnāt hesitate.
He swept her up.
One arm under her knees, the other bracing her back, he hoisted her effortlessly against his chest. She squeaked, then wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing close, the chill of her wet clothes soaking right into his.
āAlastorā! Youāre cold too now!ā
He snorted. āBecause a certain little siren yanked me under the waves with her,ā he said, tightening his hold just enough to make her giggle.
Her hair bun was drenched, loose curls dripping against her cheeks. Her dress dripped rhythmically, pat pat pat, leaving a trail behind them in the sand. And Alastorās body heatāradiant even through soaked fabricākept her from shivering as he carried her toward the house.
The twilight glow caught him in the most unfair way. Rich brown skin gleaming like bronze. Sharp jaw framed perfectly by those wet curls. The kind of handsome that made her breath catch in her throat every time she looked at him.
She lifted a hand, fingers soft against his cheek, tracing the clean line of bone there.
He looked down at her with eyes so tender it made her chest ache.
āAlastorā¦ā she whispered.
āYes, sweetheart?ā
She leaned her forehead against his, their noses nearly brushing. āIām so happy. So, so happy.ā
His steps slowed, sinking deeper into that momentāinto her.
His heart felt full. Too full. Like her happiness poured into it until he didnāt know where to put the feeling.
He shifted her slightly, holding her closer, as if tightening his arms around her would keep the evening from ending. āGood,ā he murmured, voice warm and velvet-soft. āThat is all I ever want, mon ange. For you to be happy.ā
She squeezed around his neck, burying her face against him. He smelled of seawater, clean sweat, and lingering cologne. āI am,ā she murmured. āBecause of you.ā
He kissed her foreheadājust above her brow, slow, lingering, reverent.
āThen it has been a perfect first day,ā he said quietly. āAnd we have an entire week ahead for yourā¦ beach shenanigans.ā His voice lilted playfully at the last words.She laughed softly against his chest and hugged him tighterājust in time for him to step up onto their back patio.
He nudged open the back door with his shoulder, never once setting her down.
Inside the soft light of the beach house, dripping and glowing and breathless, they looked like two people who had found something sacred in the sea and brought it home with them.
Chapter one (SFW) Kitty Kitty!
Chapter two - That damn dress (NSFW)
Chapter three - Jealousy Looks Good On You, Cher (MILD NSFW)
Chapter four - Piss off...She's mine. (NSFW)
Chapter five - Early Mornings (NSFW)
Chapter six - Bath time (NSFW)
Chapter seven - Stress Reliever
Tags - Frustrated Alastor/ Pussy eating Alastor/ Pent up/ Only eating her out makes him less stressed/ Some racist f*cks/ Alastor loves his wife
(Find all these past chapters on my blog because im feeling way too lazy to put the link in for these. Full series here: š)
Alastor gripped the steering wheel so tightly the leather creaked.
He didnāt often lose his temper.
Not outwardly. Not visibly.
Heād mastered the art of smiling through insult, nodding through condescension, laughing lightly when someone spoke to him like he was beneath them.
But today?
Today had been a hive of fat, red-faced old white men at the station, all puffed up with their own importance, all talking over him, all calling him boy like he was twelve years old instead of a married man with a home, a wife, and a career more successful than most of theirs.
He could still hear the patronizing slap of one manās hand on his shoulder.
Still hear the sneer in their voices.
Still hear the chuckles when he politely corrected them and they ignored him.His jaw ached from clenching it all day.
And now, behind the wheel of his car, dusk settling over the streets of New Orleans, he let himself finally feel irritated. The kind of irritation that spread hot in his veins, made his temples pulse.
āBoy.ā
As if they had any authority over him.
As if they knew a damn thing about anything at all.
He breathed in deeply through his nose, exhaled slowly. Didnāt help. The insult stuck in his teeth like something rotten.
But thenāhis thoughts drifted, almost involuntarily, to the one thing guaranteed to soothe him faster than bourbon, jazz, or a night walk by the river.
Her.
His wife.
Soft thighs.
Warm scent.
Wet, sweet center he could lose entire evenings in.
The one place in the whole world he felt worshiped rather than undermined.His slacks tightened at the thought.
He adjusted himself with a low, irritated gruntānot at the discomfort, but at how quickly his body betrayed the direction of his thoughts.
Already imagining coming home, setting down his hat, saying nothing, seeing her turn toward him with that knowing lookāthose thighs liftingāthat dress sliding upāChrist.
Just the phantom taste of her on his tongue made the knot in his stomach begin to unravel.
He didnāt need food.
Didnāt need a drink.
Didnāt need a cigarette.
He needed his mouth on her.
Desperately.
The closer he got to home, the faster he droveānothing reckless, never reckless,but urgent.
His heartbeat had picked up, pulse pounding low in his belly.
By the time he turned onto their street, he felt half-wild with anticipation, teeth gritted, thighs tense, every inch of him drawn tight with need.
He didnāt rush, but God, he moved.Not even the cold bite of late November air could slow him. The slam of his car door cracked through the quiet street, echoing how tightly his jaw was set. His long strides ate up the walkway, the sparkle of a Christmas wreath catching his eye just before he unlocked the door.
A wreath. Already.
Of course sheād started decorating early.
The smallestāsmallestāfraction of his fury broke apart at the thought of her humming around the house that morning, probably balancing on her toes to hang it just right. He breathed once, deeply, letting the scent of the home he shared with her fill his lungs and sweep clean even parts of him he didnāt realize were clenched.
But under all that?
Heat.
Coiling low in his stomach.
Tightening his slacks.
He knew exactly what would soothe him. What he needed
He set his work bag down by the door, not in its proper place but close enoughāheād put it away after. His hat went on the stand, jacket hung neatly beside it. He wasnāt sloppy. Not even when every nerve in his body was dragging him forward.
Something savory drifted in from the kitchen.
Pasta.
Heād eat later. He always did after this. Heād sit there freshly calmed, chin still wet, and sheād fuss over him while pretending she hadnāt just dissolved under his mouth.
He rounded the corner into the living room.And there she was.
Exactly where he wanted her.
Curled up on the couch, magazine open, the radio low and crackling beside her. The warm light hit her face just right. Heād swear Heaven itself didnāt glow like she did on quiet evenings like this.
She looked up.
Her whole face brightened at the sight of him.
Her lips partedāāWelcome hoāā
He didnāt let her finish.
His hands were already on her cheeks, long fingers spanning her little face as he crashed his mouth to hers. Hard. Starved. Not a greetingāan exhale of everything heād been holding back all day.
She gasped, surprised but not frightened, the magazine slipping from her hands as she melted into him. Her body reacted with instinct older than language: her legs uncrossing, knees falling open for him even while she was still seated.
She didnāt question it.
Didnāt tease him.
Didnāt ask what was wrong.
She just let him.
Because she knew this mood.
Knew the warning signs.
Knew that when he came home tight-jawed and silent, something had scraped at the parts of him he never let the world see.
And the only thing that ever set him right again was her.
The taste of her.
The act of worship that put his soul back in his body.
His breath shook against her lips.
Oh, yes.
This was exactly what he needed.
He was on his knees before she even finished inhaling.
One second he was standing over her, kissing her like a starving man; the nextādrop.A sharp thud of knees hitting hardwood.
His palms sliding under her calves.
And thenāwithout hesitationāhe lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders like he was slotting a crown onto his own damn head.
He didnāt ask.
He didnāt speak.
Stress had stripped every veneer of civility from him.
He pawed at her bloomers, fingers trembling with that barely-contained desperation he never let anyone else see. She giggledāGod, she actually giggledāand hooked her thumbs into the waistband, slipping them down her hips. They barely kissed the floor before his mouth was on her.
Not a kiss.
Not a tease.
A claim.
He smashed his mouth to her cunt with a needy groan that vibrated straight through her body. His tongue shoved past her folds, messy, eager, sloppy, like heād been starved for days instead of nine hours. His nose pressed against her, dragging in her scent, inhaling like she was oxygen. His grip tightened on her thighsāthose long, elegant fingers digging just enough to say donāt you dare move.
She gasped softly, the sound breathy, indulgent. One of her hands tangled instinctively in his curls, petting him like a poor thing whoād been kicked around all day.
āBad day, sweetheart?ā she cooed.
He didnāt answer with words.
He just noddedāfrantic, jerkyāand whined straight into her cunt, the sound swallowed by her wetness. The vibration made her hum, leaning back into the couch cushions, picking up her magazine like this was simply the rhythm of their life. And it was. Three times a week at least.
She flipped a page with a soft sigh.
He licked her like he was losing his mind.
Messy didnāt even begin to cover it.
He was slurping greedily, nose bumping her as he sucked her clit into his mouth, tongue stroking in sloppy, uncoordinated patternsābecause he wasnāt performing. He was soothing a deep, raw ache in himself. Her slick dripped down his chin, dampening the front of his shirt, wetting the curls that kept brushing her thighs.
He didnāt care.
He never cared.
This ritual had started months ago, and neither of them had known where it came from. Heād stumbled home after one crushing, humiliating day, collapsed between her legs, and something inside him hadā¦aligned. Calmed. Softened. He had tasted her and exhaled like sheād placed her hands on his soul and pressed āreset.ā
Every time he went withoutāthose days of the month when she shyly refused to let him kiss her thereāhe pouted like a child denied a favorite treat. Sat through dinner quiet and sulky, unable to explain that it wasnāt just desire. It was a need. A tether. A grounding.
And she learned.
God, she learned him so well.
Learned that when he walked through the door silent and tight-jawed, she didnāt need to ask. She simply parted her thighs, welcoming him into the place he felt most himself. Most safe.
He devoured her, slurping, sucking, practically growling with the effort of getting every drop of her taste onto his tongue. His nails flexed on her thighs as he mouthed at her greedily, his breath hot and heavy against her.
Her soft little hums floated above him, each one loosening something knotted inside his chest. He worshipped, adored, consumed, grounding himself in the only thing that ever made him feel whole after days like today.
Her.
Heād die like this if she let him.
On his knees, face buried in the cunt that held him together.
Alastor sank deeper between her thighs like a man crawling into church after a week in hell.
He wasnāt kissing her.
He wasnāt teasing her.
He was devouring herāsloppy, ravenous, nearly shaking with how badly he needed this. His tongue dragged through her folds with obscene, wet sounds, each lap louder than the last as he chased every drop of her slick like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Her taste hit his tongue and he growledālow, guttural, desperate.
He couldnāt help it.
It ripped out of his chest like instinct.His curls brushed her thighs, damp from the spit and slick and the mess he was making of her. She stroked his hair gently, fingertips dragging through tight coils and tugging them into little straightened strands before releasing them, watching them spring back. Each tug made him groan into her, his fingers tightening around her hips.
Heād been so tense minutes agoājaw clenched, shoulders stiff, chest tight with the insults still echoing in his skull.But now?
Now his brows slowly loosened, his shoulders uncoiled, every taut line of his body softening with each messy swipe of his tongue. The stress melted away like snow on hot pavement. Her scent, her heat, her tasteāGod, he could drown in it. And part of him hoped he would. If death came for him with her cunt on his tongue, he would die smiling.
He sealed his lips around her clit suddenly, sucking hardāhungry, demanding.
She gasped, head thrown back against the cushions, thighs trembling on his shoulders.
The sound she madeāsharp, breathlessāshot straight through him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock throbbing painfully against the fabric of his slacks. He didnāt touch himself. He didnāt need to. He just pressed harder into her, tongue working wildly, wet, messy licks broken by more growls as her slick ran down his chin and dripped onto his shirt.
His mind was blissfully blank.
No insults.
No old white men.
No humiliation.
Just her.
Just her taste, flooding him, grounding him, restoring him.
He clung to her thighs like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth, and maybe she was. His breath came shallow, hot against her, as he devoured her with a devotion too intense to be sane.
Nothing soothed him like this.
Nothing steadied him like this.
Nothing loved him back the way her body did when it softened around his tongue.
He groaned againālong, drawn-out, vibrating straight through herāas he buried his face even deeper, like if he could get closer, he would crawl inside her and stay there forever.
Alastor didnāt slowādidnāt ease upādidnāt even think about giving her a gentler touch once she started to climb.
If anything, her body tightening around his tongue made him frantic.
Her thighs trembled on his shoulders, her breath hitched, and when her fingers suddenly tightened in his curlsāfist closing, dragging him closer, shoving his face deeperāhe moaned into her. A desperate, grateful sound.
She arched, hips jerking, a soft broken moan spilling from her lips as she came.
And Alastor?He buried himself in her like he was drowning and her climax was the last breath of air heād ever get. He pressed deeper, mouth sealed against her, nose nearly brushing her mound, willingly suffocating himself on her release. Hot, sweet, perfect. His entire body shuddered as he drank her in greedily.
He didnāt stop.Even as she whimperedāthose overstimulated little gasps that always made something feral claw at his ribsāhe kept licking, tasting, swallowing every last drop. His grip on her thighs tightened, fingertips digging into her soft skin as he chased the aftershocks, lapping up everything she gave him.
Only when she was shaking, breath broken, legs twitching uncontrollablyāonly thenādid he finally pull back and inhale like heād been underwater for minutes.
His chin glistened.His lips were red and swollen.His curls were a mess from her fists.He looked absolutely ruined.
And yetā¦His grin was bright. Boyish. Cheerful. Stress completely obliterated.
He brushed a thumb under his chin to catch one last trace of her release, popped it into his mouth with a soft hum, then looked up at her like he hadnāt just nearly drowned between her thighs.
āWell,ā he said with that sunny, satisfied warmth that always came after he got his fix, āthat was much better than anything the station had to offer today.ā
She was still pantingāshaky, flushedāstaring at him with wide eyes.
He just beamed.
āNow,ā he added pleasantly as he rose to his feet, straightening his vest with casual ease despite being soaked in her slick, āwhatās for dinner, sweetheart? I thought I smelled marinara when I came in, but Iād hate to make any assumptions.ā
His tone was chipper.
Normal.
As if his face hadnāt been buried in her cunt thirty seconds ago.
He held out a hand to help her sit up, utterly delightedāutterly calmāas if he hadnāt just licked her into oblivion.
Chapter one (SFW) Kitty Kitty!
Chapter two - That damn dress (NSFW)
Chapter three - Jealousy Looks Good On You, Cher (MILD NSFW)
Chapter four - Piss off...She's mine. (NSFW)
Chapter five - Early Mornings (NSFW)
Chapter six - Bath time (NSFW)
Tags - Devoted Alastor/ Fingering/ Fem receiving/ Alastor being lovesick/ Alastor loves his wife omg/ Cumming partially untouched/ Cumming in pants/ Body worship/ Bath stuff...like candles and bubbles/ Smutty....obvi.
Eli Note! This is a series that I made a WHILE ago, before episode 4...So some things aren't canon BUT IDC. I'm gonna post it anyway. This is an ongoing series. If you'd like to request a chapter its 3 USD to my Venmo Eli_Harper77 (yes thats my only payment method unless its an actual fic) ANYWAY ENJOY, Also. None of these chapter are related to one another
The evening in New Orleans had settled into its slow, sultry rhythm. Streetlights flickered through the windows of the house, painting shadows across the walls, and the faint hum of distant jazz mingled with the crickets outside. Upstairs, the bathroom was a sanctuary of warmth and candlelight. Dozens of small flames flickered, casting a soft glow across the tiles and making the bubbles in the bath sparkle like tiny glass beads. The scent of lavender and rosewater hung in the air, mingling with the faint undertone of soap and warmth from the bathwater.
She was there, knees drawn up from the frothy bubbles, a light novel in hand that she occasionally set aside to glance around, letting the heat and scent of the water envelop her. Her hair was pinned up, exposing the nape of her neck to the open air, and small droplets of water clung to her skin, catching the candlelight. A small portable radio sat on the sink, tuned to his broadcast. When his voice wasnāt filling the room, soft jazz danced out of the speakers, smooth and lazy, curling through the space and mingling with the flickering shadows. Archie, their little black cat, was curled up in a ball on the bath mat, fast asleep, his tail twitching lazily but guarding nothing.
Below, the staircase creaked faintly as he climbed, careful to keep quiet but not wanting to rush. Alastorās mind was a storm of devotion and longing. Each step toward her, the faint click of the floorboards, made his chest swell with pride and affection. He had never imagined himself in a life like thisāmarried, utterly enraptured by a woman who made his world brighter with every smile, every movement. And yet, here he was, drawn to her even when he had work left to finish, utterly bewitched by the sight of her bathed in candlelight, submerged in the warmth of the water, bubbles clinging to the swell of her shoulders and the curve of her knees.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused, spotting the bathroom door slightly ajar. The sight of herāsoft, relaxed, completely unaware of himāsent a rush of heat to his chest. He leaned against the doorframe, careful not to startle her, though every instinct in his body ached to reach out, to pull her close, to press his lips to her damp skin. He watched her for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her, the way the candlelight kissed her form, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He could feel the familiar swell of need and adoration building inside him, his mind filling with love-sick thoughts, each one devoted entirely to her.
How did I deserve this? he wondered, voiceless in the quiet. She is mine, and yet Iāve never felt more like I belong anywhere than when I see her like this.
Archie stirred firstālifting his head, giving a tiny questioning chirp before a full, echoing mrrrow announced the intruder.
She looked up, eyes drifting toward the doorway, and the moment her gaze met her husbandās lovesick stare, her smile bloomed. She closed her novel with a soft thump, bubbles shifting as she adjusted in the tub.
āAlastor,ā she giggled, āyouāre a dreadful creep.ā
The accusation only deepened his smile. He stepped forward with that smooth, unhurried grace he carried everywhere, leaning over the edge of the bathtub. She rose up from the warm water just enough to meet him halfway, lips brushing hisāsoft, warm, familiarāand he let out a quiet hum of contentment.
He sank down to the floor, folding himself beside the tub and settling his head on the porcelain edge so he could be level with her. Her fingers slipped immediately into his curls, combing gently, just how he likedāslow, deliberate strokes that eased every muscle in his shoulders.
His eyes fluttered half-shut. āTell me about your day, sweetheart,ā he murmured, voice smooth but low, touched with affection that soaked into every word. āGo onāevery detail.ā
She hummed, thinking, circling a finger in one of his curls before letting it slide away. āWellā¦ I did some chores around the house.ā She tapped her wet knuckles against the rim of the tub playfully. āI scrubbed the floors today.ā
His eyes snapped open. Still resting his cheek on the tubās edge, he shifted just enough to glare at her, brows raised indignantly.
āThat,ā he said pointedly, āwas meant to be my task come Sunday.ā
She rolled her eyes, lazy and amused. āItās done already.ā
He made a soundāhalf scoff, half pout. His hand slid along the tub until his fingers brushed her arm beneath the water, as though making sure she was truly there, truly safe.
āI dislike when you lift a finger around the house,ā he muttered, voice sliding into a low, earnest grumble. āI can tend to everything for you.ā
She laughed softly, bubbles shifting around her shoulders.
But he wasnāt joking.
Not in the slightest.
Inside, the thought echoed with a possessive warmth that made his chest ache.
You shouldnāt have to work. Not when Iām here. Not when I can do it all. Not when you deserve every comfort I can offer.
He stayed with his head resting on the tubās edge, gazing up at her with that simmering blend of devotion and irritationāthe kind only a man hopelessly in love could muster.
Her fingers slid into his hair again, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like a man starved.
āYes, yes,ā he murmured under his breath, half to her, half to himself. āOne of these days Iāll simply tie you to the bed so you donāt overwork yourself.ā
She flicked water at him. Archie purred.
And Alastor smiledāsoft, dark, and utterly besotted.
He watched her pick her book back up, the soft ripple of water moving with her, one hand still lazily carding through his curls. He let out a humālow, pleased, content in a way only her touch ever coaxed out of him. His eyes closed without him meaning to; the feeling of her nails grazing his scalp was enough to make his shoulders melt against the tub.
After a quiet moment, his voice slipped out, warm and curious.
āYou never take baths, darlingā¦ Why tonight?ā
Then quicklyāinstinctivelyāhis tone sharpened in earnest reassurance.
āNot that Iām complaininā. Never that.ā
He didnāt bother hiding the way his gaze drifted lower, down the gleaming slope of her shoulders to where the bubbles clung thickest over her chest. The candlelight caught on her skin in soft gold, and he could swear the sight alone could knock the breath from his lungs. His cheek stayed pressed to the porcelain edge, but his eyes had a hunger to themāa reverent one, dark and shining all at once.
She rolled her shoulders, sinking deeper into the warmth. āMy backās been killing me lately. Figured Iād try to relax a bit.ā
Then she reached down with her free hand and pinched his cheek.
The audacity.
He blinked, caught between outrage and lovesick awe.
āAnd if you were home sooner,ā she teased, eyes glittering, āI wouldāve just used you to wind down.ā
Heat flared through his chestāswift, consuming, sweet.
His heart gave a sharp, eager thump against his ribs.
Used him.
She said it so casually, so playfullyāyet he felt the words like hands on his hips, pulling him forward.
āOh,ā he breathed, eyes half-lidded, voice tinged with a tremor he hoped she didnāt hear. āWould you now?ā
He tipped his head a little, nuzzling against the cool porcelain beside her arm, letting his fingertips drift along the outside of the tub until they brushed her submerged knee. Every bit of him leaned toward herādrawn helplessly, instinctively, like gravity itself bent for her.
āYou know,ā he murmured, his voice a smooth, warm rumble, āyouāve only to say the word, cher. Iād sooner be your cushion than let you ache even a moment.ā
She snorted softly, returning to her book, pretending she wasnāt flustering him senseless.
Her hand stayed in his hair, thoughāstroking lightly, affectionately.
And he stayed curled against the tub, watching her with soft, smoldering eyes, every beat of his heart whispering the same thing:
I'd let you use me for anything.
He didnāt even see Archie leaveādidnāt hear the soft meow, didnāt register the little thump of paws as the cat disappeared down the hall. The moment the door clicked faintly behind the cat, Alastorās entire world had shrunk down to the sight in front of him: his wife sinking into warm water, bare skin glowing under candlelight, soft bubbles clinging to her collarbones.
She felt him staringāof course she didāand when her eyes lifted to his, that sweet, knowing giggle left her lips. It undid him instantly.
She leaned in to kiss him.
He met her halfway, eager, greedy, cupping her face with a gentle but trembling hand. When she tried to pull back, he didnāt let herānot this time. He pressed in harder, breath warm, lips urgent. With his free hand, he plucked her book cleanly from her fingers and set it aside without so much as looking. He rose to his knees on the bathmat, leaning over the tub, guiding her backward with the weight of his kiss until she was comfortably braced against its porcelain curve.
The kiss went from warm to burning in an instantādeep, messy, hungry.
A needy little sound escaped him when she opened her mouth to him, and he swallowed it greedily like a starving man.
She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh. āAlastorā¦ what has you soāā her voice dipped teasingly, āāworked up?ā
He didnāt answer.
Instead he dipped down to her throat, lips sliding over damp skin, teeth scraping lightly before he bitānot enough to hurt, just enough to make her breath hitch and her back arch out of the water. His hands trembled on the edge of the tub before sliding down, fingers brushing bubbles aside to find the warm curve of her chest.
Her gasp shivered straight through him.
āWhatās gotten into you?ā she whispered, though her tone said she already knew.
He breathed against her skin, voice low and thick with desire.
āHow could I not be?ā His lips dragged down her neck, slow and intoxicating. āI walk through the doorā¦ tired, ready to unwindā¦ā His hand cupped her breast through the bubbles, thumb brushing over a peak he could barely see. āAnd I find my wifeāmy darlingānakedā¦ wetā¦ glistening for me?ā
His thumb grazed again, slower this time, savoring the way she trembled.
āYou think I wouldnāt fall to pieces at the sight?ā
Another kiss to her neck, this one softer, reverent.
The curls at his forehead brushed her collarbone, damp from the steam.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails dragging lightly through his shirt.
āMmnā¦ cher,ā he murmured, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. āYouāre reward enough to make any man lose his senses.ā
His palm slid lower, down her ribs, over the edge of the tub, then underwaterāslowly, deliberatelyāuntil his fingertips brushed the soft inside of her thigh. He looked up at her, eyes dark, glassy with want.
Her whole body answered him before her voice couldāhips lifting from the water, thighs parting under the warm glide of his fingers. A trembling, breathy little āAlastorā¦ā left her as his fingertips brushed her mound, and he felt the sound all the way down his spine.
He was too focused on the taste of her neckāsoft skin, warm from the bath, pulsing faintly under his mouthāto notice that half his sleeve was soaking itself in the bubbles. She noticed, though. She always did. Even when her breath was hitching and her legs were shaking.
āDarling,ā she scolded softly, fingers tugging his sleeve up past his elbow, āyouāre getting your shirt all wetāā
He barely heard the words.
Because the moment his fingers parted her folds beneath the surfaceāoh, that sound she made. That sharp, startled gasp as his thumb slid over her clit made his pulse stutter, made his breath falter against her throat.
And that was when he blinked, pausing just a moment.
āHow oddā¦ā he murmured.
She froze, face going hot, hands hovering in the air like she wasnāt sure whether to pull him closer or cover herself. āW-Whatās wrong?ā
He lifted his head, dark curls damp with steam, eyes heavy-lidded and warm as they swept over her. He shook his head slowly, reassuring, the corner of his mouth lifting.
āNothingās wrong,ā he saidāand his voice was maddeningly casual, smooth, steady. That same voice he used when he was telling her about his dayā¦ even when he had her pinned to the mattress, flushed and incoherent beneath him. āItās simplyā¦ curious.ā
His fingers stroked her againāslow, deliberate. She sucked in a breath, hands gripping the edges of the bathtub.
āEven with the waterā¦ā he continued, as if discussing the weather, āI can feel your slick. The difference in the texture.ā His tone dropped, warm and pleased. āThickerā¦ warmerā¦ unmistakably you.ā
The smile that crept across his lips was sinful, reverent, hungry.
And when he slid two fingers into herāeffortless, smooth, the water parting around his handāher whole body arched. Her breath broke into a needy, helpless little cry; her hand flew to his shoulder, gripping hard.
His eyes softened, darkened, drinking in the sight of her mouth falling open, her chest rising from the bathwater.
āThere,ā he murmured, voice roughened by desire he barely bothered to hide. āJust like that, darling.ā
His thumb circled her clit, slow but firm, fingers curling inside her with a confidence that bordered on worship.
āLet me hear you.ā
He almost didnāt realize heād pulled her up until her slick back hit the cool porcelain lip of the tubāone arm around her shoulders, dragging her gently, reverently, until she was settled against the divider with her head tipped onto him. It wouldāve looked tender from afar. Devoted. Perfectly domestic.
But his other hand was a completely different creature.
He drove his fingers into her with an urgency that shook the water around them, each thrust sharp and sure, the wet slap of the tub echoing under the rhythm he forced inside her. His sleeveāstill rolled haphazardly to his elbow from her earlier fussingāwas soaked again within seconds. Not that he cared. Not when she spread for him like this. One leg hooked out of the bath entirely, foot braced on the ceramic as if she needed every bit of leverage just to take what he was giving her.
She was trembling. Small, breathy squeaks kept slipping out between her gasps, her nails scraping helplessly at the edges of the tub. Her chest rose in shuddering little bursts as she tried to form words, but all she could manage were choked, needy sounds that made something tight and aching coil inside his ribs.
He hadnāt stopped kissing her neck. His lips dragged slowly along the curve of it, tasting her damp skin, sighing softly between each kiss as if she were something divine heād been granted temporary permission to worship. Every time her body jerked around his fingers, he hummedālow, pleased, maddeningly calm.
Of course he was calm.
He was in love. Obsessed. Entirely consumed.
And she was in his arms.
When she squealedāan honest, high noise she couldnāt swallow downāhis breath hitched against her throat. His eyes closed for a moment, lashes trembling with restraint he didnāt actually possess. The water splashed against the sides of the tub with each punishing stroke of his fingers, droplets flicking up onto his cheek and the corner of his grin.
āOh,ā he murmured, voice warm, delighted, like he was taking notes in a spellbook. āThere you areā¦ā
His hand tightened on her shoulder, pulling her impossibly closer. Her head rolled against him, her lips parted, her breath fanning over his jaw as she moaned.
He cracked one eye open, looking down at her flushed faceāthe dazed, blissed-out expression she only ever wore for him. The sight made something hungry and deeply tender twist through his chest.
āSuch a lovely reaction,ā he said, voice utterly steady despite the obscene pace of his fingers inside her. āYou always sound sweetest when youāre overwhelmedā¦ā
He flexed his wrist, thrusting harder, deeper, until the water surged violently around them again. She cried out, her leg slipping slightly before he caught her, steadying her without missing a single motion.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, smiling like a man who had finally won his lifelong obsession.
āGo on, sweetheart,ā he breathed against her hair. āFall apart for me.ā
And he made sure she did.
The moment she grabbed his lapels, everything inside him twisted.
Her little fists bunching in the fabric, tugging him closerānot out of fear or discomfort but sheer, desperate pleasureāmade his vision blur at the edges. The candlelight flickered across her wet skin, her flushed chest, the frantic rise and fall of her breath. She looked ruined already, trembling and slick and needy, and he had barely even started.
She lifted her hips up into his hand, small choked sobs leaving her throat every time his fingers bottomed out. Water sloshed violently with her every movement, spilling over the tub rim, but she didnāt even notice.
āAlastorāā she gasped, breath catching. āIāmāIām gonnaāā
One perfect brow arched.
āOh?ā he said lightly, as if sheād told him it was raining outside, not that she was about to fall apart all over his hand. The candlelight painted a halo across his cheekbones, made his smile look soft and sinful all at once. āSo soon, darling? You hardly ever unravel this quickly.ā
She let out a frustrated sob, hips jerking, her grip tightening on his lapels. Her thighs squeezed around his wrist helplessly, trying to take him deeper, begging without words.
āYesāyes pleaseāā
The sound she made when his fingers curled just right nearly tore his composure to shreds.
Outwardly, he stayed composed. Pleasantly attentive. Almost casual, the way he tilted his head, studying her face as though her pleasure were a specimen he was cataloging.
But inside?
Oh, inside he was completely unhinged.
His heart hammered so hard it almost hurt. He could feel the pulse of his own arousal throbbing against his palm as he pressed the heel of his hand discreetly into his erectionāan attempt at relief that only made the ache worse. His breath caught every time her body clenched around his fingers, every time her eyes rolled back, every time she moaned his name like it meant salvation.
She had no idea what she did to him.
She didnāt know that he was seconds away from shaking. That he was grinding the heel of his palm against the outline of his cock like a starving man sneaking scraps. That he felt devotedātruly, terrifyingly devotedāin a way that made his knees weak even though he was sitting.
She didnāt know that the sight of her reaching for him, clutching him, trusting him to guide her through the crest of her pleasure, made him feel almost reverent.
She writhed again, water splashing up his chest.
āPlease,ā she begged, voice high and trembling. āPleaseāAlastor, IāmāI canātāā
His chest tightened painfully. His fingers didnāt slow.
He leaned in just enough that his forehead almost brushed hers, his voice low, steady, betraying none of the frantic devotion clawing inside him.
āThen come for me,ā he murmured, eyes dark. āShow me how beautifully you fall apart.ā
Her climax hit so hard it nearly stole his breath.
Her head tipped back against the porcelain, throat arched, eyes rolling white as she sobbed his nameābroken, desperate, perfect. Her whole body tightened around his fingers, convulsing with pleasure, and the sound she madeāhigh, strangled, half-cry, half-prayerāsent a sharp shiver straight down his spine.
His teeth sank into his bottom lip, hard enough to bruise.
God, he tried. He always tried.
But every single time she came, every time she clenched around him, every time she dissolved like this because of himā
He broke.
Quietly. Shamefully. Inevitably.
While she writhed through her orgasm, completely gone to the world, he muffled a low, guttural groan against her shoulder. His hips jerked forward helplessly, and he felt itāhot, thick, humiliatingly eagerāspill into his underwear in a pulse he couldnāt stop.
It hit him so fast his fingers stuttered inside her.
His breath trembled. His face burned. His entire body went rigid as pleasure ripped through himāsilent, stolen, hidden.
And she didnāt notice.
She never did.
Her back arched, limbs shaking with aftershocks, barely conscious, too overwhelmed to open her eyes.
Perfect.
That was how he wanted herāblissed out, unaware, soft and pliable in his handsābecause it meant she wouldnāt see the dark, filthy obsession twisting inside him.
When she finally slumped, panting, water lapping weakly around her hips, he still couldnāt breathe right. His cock throbbed uselessly in his soaked pants, warmth spreading uncomfortably under the fabric as the last of his release tapered off.
He swallowed hard, dizzy with it.
Before she could even speak, he reached into the water and scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. The bubbles slid down her thighs in sheets, the water clingy and weightless compared to the limp heaviness of her post-orgasm body.
She gasped softly, arms slipping around his neck on instinct. Her legs dangled over his forearm; she felt small and fragile and utterly spent.
He rose from the bathmat without effort, ignoring the sticky discomfort between his thighs. His focus was only herāher trembling limbs, her dazed eyes, her soft, confused smile as she realized she was being carried.
āAlā¦?ā she whispered, voice shaking, unsure if she was dreaming.
He didnāt trust his voice.
Not when his mind was a cyclone of lust and devotion.
Not when all he could think about was laying her out on their bed and marking every inch of her until she remembered nothing except his hands.
He pressed his cheek to her temple as he carried her down the hall, breathing her in, holding her tighter than necessary.
His thoughts were nothing but craving.
Sheās mine.
Sheās so beautiful.
Iād ruin myself for her.
Iād ruin everything for her.
When he reached their bedroom, he laid her onto the sheets with a tenderness that violently contrasted the filth swirling in his head.
He stayed leaning over her, staring down at her flushed, boneless body. His soaked pants clung to him unpleasantly; his thighs felt sticky, tacky, humiliatingly wet.
But his voice, when he finally spoke, was softāadoring to the point of worship.
āYou look divine.ā he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek.
Inside?
He was trembling with the need to give her more.
To take her again.
To feel her come again.
To lose control again.
And he knewāif she so much as reached for himā
First Time Rut With Her (Alastor x FemReader NSFW)
Synopsis - Alastor has experienced his ruts for almost 70 years, and every time hed simply hide away until it was over, totally disgusted by the nature of it. But now that he has a lovley significant other to help him? Hes not sure how he'll act during his rut...
Tags - Deer rut/ Breeding/ LOTS of cum/ Knotting/ French/ Cervix hitting/ Mating cycles/ Monster fucking/ Top Alastor/ Praise/ Rough sex
He felt it before he admitted itāan uncomfortable tightening behind his antlers, a low throb under the skin where bone met magic. It was faint, but familiar, and the realization made something sour and hot twist in his stomach.
Not yet, he thought. Not now.
But the signs were unmistakable. Irritability. Restlessness. Heat pooling beneath his ribs like a simmering pot. His instincts prowling just below his polite mask.
A week. Maybe less.
Heād always despised this part of himselfāthis animal his body insisted he was. Every cycle heād hidden away, bolted the door, snarled at the walls until it passed. No touching. No vulnerability. No shame.
But this yearā¦
He had her.
They were curled together on the couch in his tower when he finally forced himself to speak. Heād kept her pressed against his chest, her warmth grounding him in a way nothing else could. His claws made slow, lazy paths up her arm, drinking in every rise of gooseflesh, every soft breath she gave him. The sight soothed the agitation inside him more than he wanted to admit.
He swallowed hard.
āI believe,ā he began carefully, tone low, āthat I should inform you ofā¦ a forthcoming inconvenience.ā
She hummed, not opening her eyes, fingers brushing casually through his chest fluff. The touch made his back arch ever-so-slightly before he stiffened with embarrassment.
āOh?ā she murmured. āWhat kind of inconvenience, my love?ā
He hated this. Hated explaining. Hated needing.
āMy antlers have begun to ache,ā he said softly, āand it appears myā¦ season is approaching.ā
Her eyes opened at that, curious. Not repulsed. Not alarmed. Just watching him. Heat surged under his skin.
He cleared his throat and continued, trying to salvage dignity he absolutely wasnāt feeling.
āOrdinarily, I isolate myself during this time. I prefer to keep theā¦ symptomsā¦ to myself. It is not something I control with ease. Nor something I have any wish to inflict upon you.ā
She blinked slowly, thumb dragging along the edge of his fluff. āAnd what symptoms are we talking aboutā¦?ā
Alastorās ears twitched violently.
āIāwellāā He looked away, jaw clenching. āIt growsā¦ overwhelming. Instinctive. Rather intense. I becomeā¦ preoccupied. And impatient. Andādear lord, must I say it?ā He groaned softly into his palm.
She only smiled, leaning up to peek at his face. āYou can tell me, Alastor.ā
He forced his eyes back to hers. She deserved honesty. Proper warning.
āI would requireā¦ physical attention.ā
The words came out strangled.
She raised an eyebrow, amused. āPhysical howā¦?ā
He froze. She was enjoying thisāof course she was. His embarrassment always delighted her. Heat flooded his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears.
āWell,ā he muttered, āI would beā¦ needy.ā
The word tasted humiliating.
Her grin widened.
He forged onward, voice dropping even lower. āI would want you. Desperately. Without reserve. It is notāpolite. Nor dignified. And you are under no obligation to endure it.ā
She kept petting his fluff.
āWhat else happens?ā she whispered.
He swallowed again. His claws resumed their path on her armāgentle, rhythmic, grounding.
āThere areā¦ physical changes.ā
āSuch as?ā
āSuch as,ā he hissed through his teeth, āI becomeā¦ larger.ā
Her eyes snapped open wider. āLarger?ā
He let out a miserable noise. āA few feet.ā
She sat up. āFeetāplural?ā
āPlease stop reacting,ā he begged under his breath, face burning as he stared at the ceiling.
She gaped at him. āAlastor, youāre already seven feet tallāhow big do you get?!ā
āTen. Perhaps eleven,ā he muttered, covering his face with one hand. āIāve never measured. I had no reason to.ā
She let out a low whistle. āAnd you justā¦ lock yourself in your room for a week like that?ā
āYes,ā he snapped, more sharply than intendedāthen softened instantly. āForgive me. I amā¦ tense.ā
Her hand slid down to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. He leaned into it despite himself, eyes fluttering.
āSo if I say no,ā she murmured gently, āyouāll do what you always do?ā
āYes.ā
āAnd if I say yes?ā
His breath caught. Hard.
He stared at her.
Her warmth.
Her soft, steady voice.
Her hand on his face.
The woman who chose him
She realized something was off almost immediately.
It started subtleālittle quirks she chalked up to a bad mood or maybe a stressful meeting. But the next morning, when a sinner at the hotel lobby brushed too close to her, and Alastor growledā¦
Yeah. Something was definitely happening.
Not his playful, mocking little hums.
Not his sharp, smug chuckles.
A growlādeep, resonant, coming from somewhere low in his chest, his ears pinned flat against his skull and his body crouching like he might lunge.
Everyone else froze.
She blinked up at him, heart thumpingābut not out of fear.
He looked ridiculous.
Terrifying to the poor sinner who nearly wet himself, yeah, but to her? With his ears flattened, antlers bristling, and eyes narrowed in that overprotective, instinctive way?
Adorable.
Absolutely adorable.
He snapped the sinner away with a sharp flick of his microphone's static and then straightened himself with a flustered cough, pretend-polishing his monocle like the last five seconds didn't happen.
The very next day, he did it again.
And again.
And once at Angel Dust, who only cackled and called him āBambi on steroids.ā
But alongside the possessiveness, other changes blossomed.
His antlers grewāvisibly, startlingly. Some mornings she woke to find the tips thicker, sharper, branched with new growth. He would scowl at them in the mirror, huffing in annoyance, and sometimesāwithout warningāsnap off a section like ripping a branch from a tree, tossing it directly into the fireplace with a muttered:
āNuisance.ā
She watched the flames curl around the bone while he dusted off his gloves as though dealing with an especially annoying house chore.
But it was the rubbing that caught her most off guard.
The first time, he froze mid-motion, his cheek pressed to her shoulder, breath hot against her collarbone. His eyes went wide with horror before he jerked back as though burned.
He disappeared into shadow so fast she didnāt have time to laugh.
But by day three?
He didnāt even try to stop himself.
Sheād be reading, or talking, or doing literally anything, and suddenly his face would be nuzzling along her neck, a low, steady vibration pulsing from his chest like a purr he didnāt know how to control.
Sometimes it was her arm.
Sometimes her cheek.
Sometimes the top of her head, which heād bow down to reach, breathing warmly against her hair like he was inhaling her.
He didnāt apologize anymore.
He didnāt even comment.
He just did it, eyes half-lidded, ears twitching, claws lightly gripping her waist whenever she shifted.
She caught him onceāhead buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling like he needed airāand she swore his tail flicked.
And he was growing.
Not dramatically by the hour, but enough that she noticed. His coat hung differently. His limbs seemed longer, leaner, shoulders broader. And every morning, she had to tilt her chin just a tiny bit higher to meet his eyes.
By day four, she had to crane her whole head.
By day five, she felt miniature standing beside himālike he towered over her in a way that was almost dizzying. Not just tall, but looming, overwhelming, predatory in a gentle, attentive way.
He hovered.
Watched.
Tracked her across rooms like she was sunlight he couldnāt afford to lose.
The day before his rut officially began, she woke to the warm swipe of something soft and wet against her cheek.
A lick.
She jolted, blinking up at him, and he was thereāhuge now, beautifully intimidating, eyes half-lidded and glowing warmly. He leaned in again, giving another slow, deliberate drag of his tongue along her cheekbone.
āAlastorā?ā
āI need you to smell like me,ā he murmured, voice low, rough-edged with instinct. āEvery inch. Everywhere. They should know who you belong to the moment you walk into a room.ā
He licked her againālike kitten kisses, precise and careful, but possessing a feral undercurrent that made her shiver.
āAnd I need,ā he added softly, āto remind myself youāre mineā¦ before this begins in full.ā
She swallowed, breath stuttering.
He smiled down at her, overwhelming, huge, claws curling gently around her waist as though she were something precious he might break if he held too tightly.
Tomorrow, she realized, he wouldnāt be able to restrain any of this.
Tomorrow, he would be in rut.
And judging from the way he nuzzled into her neck againāwarm, rumbling, hungryā
She had no idea what she was in for.
-
She woke slowly, stretching into the warmth beside herāonly to find none.
The sheets were cold.
The space next to her empty.
But in his placeā¦
A pile of water bottles.
Protein bars.
Chocolate.
She blinked blearily at the neatly arranged stash, brow furrowing. Alastor wasnāt exactly the āsnack-pack-by-the-bedā type. He didnāt even eat. So thisā¦ had to be for her.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and cracked open the nearest bottle. Her mouth was dryāreally dryāand after a few long gulps she finally looked around the room.
Quiet.
Still.
The air feltā¦ different.
She swung her legs out of bed, the wooden floor cool against her feet, and walked toward the open archway leading into the indoor forest. Usually it was warm in hereāhumid and thick, a replica of the Louisiana wetlands he adored.
But today?
It was cool. Crisp. Every blade of grass that brushed her bare feet felt like morning dew.
āAlastor?ā she called softly, stepping further into the false-dawn glow.
No answer.
She moved deeper, brushing past ferns taller than she was, following the faint hum of static in the air. Her heart thumped faster. She wasnāt scaredāshe never was with him. But there was something unfamiliar settling in her chest.
She called again, louder.
āAl?ā
This time, the answer came from behind her.
āMy dear.ā
His voice was wrongānot in a bad way, but deeper, rougher, layered with static that rolled through the trees like distant thunder. And beneath itā¦ a thick, steady purring, vibrating against her spine.
She turned.
And froze.
Her jaw fell open.
Her lungs forgot how to work.
Her heart slammed.
Because Alastor wasnāt ten feet.
He wasnāt even twelve.
He was colossal.
Crouched low to avoid brushing the canopy, he had to beāgodāfourteen feet? Fifteen? His antlers stretched like twisting spires, massive enough to cast shadows over half the clearing. His claws were long, dark, wickedly curved.
And trembling.
He was shaking.
Slowlyāso slowly, as if terrified of startling herāhe reached out. His hand eclipsed her entirely, each finger thicker than her wrist. When he touched her cheek, his clawed thumb covered half her face.
āGood morning,ā he rumbled, voice splitting through the static.
She gulped hard, instinct screaming predator, while her heart whispered Alastor. Both truths collided in her chest.
He leaned downācloser, closerāuntil his lips brushed hers.
Gentle.
Soft.
Completely at odds with the sheer size and power trembling through him.
She finally found her voice.
Orā¦ half of it.
She laughed breathlessly, hands coming up to cradle what tiny part of his jaw she could reach.
āThis is NOT ten feet.ā
His massive frame lurchedāalmost like heād flinched from embarrassment. The static purred louder, shivering through the ground beneath her.
He was holding himself back.
Violently.
Painfully.
She realized it instantly.
āOh, sweetheartā¦ā she whispered.
He made a low, broken soundāsomething between a growl and a pleaāas she rose onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. His body tensed like stretched rope, but he didnāt pull away.
She pressed soft kisses to his cheekāwarm, trembling fur beneath her lipsāand stroked the side of his face.
āYouāre in pain,ā she murmured. āArenāt you?ā
His breath released in a shudder, hot and uneven, washing down over her like a gust of summer heat.
He didnāt answer.
He couldnāt.
The way he clung to herāthis giant, trembling creature who could crush mountains yet held her like she was made of spun sugarātold her everything.
And she buried her face into his neck, whispering,
āIāve got you.ā
He was already shakingāshe could see it in every line of him, every quiver of those massive shoulders, every uneven breath that throbbed through the forest floor. But when she kissed his cheek and whispered that gentle truth, something inside him broke.
A sound slipped from him.
Not a growl.
Not a purr.
A whimper.
High for his size, raw, desperate, and so vulnerable it made her chest squeeze.
āIā¦ need youā¦ā he rasped, and the static tangled through every word like shredded silk. āPleaseā¦ my dear, Iā I canātāā
His voice cracked.
He leaned downāmassive shadow folding over herāand his claws slid beneath the hem of her shirt. Even shaking, even towering over her like a starving god, he moved with careful precision. The very tip of one claw hooked into the neckline.
And with a soft shhhkā
The fabric parted cleanly.
She didnāt even feel the rip. All she felt was his trembling breath ghost over her collarbone as he peeled the ruined cloth away, setting it behind him with reverent care. He was being so gentle that it felt painfulālike restraint was a knife pressed against his own skin.
He was struggling.
He was fighting himself.
And she hated seeing him in pain.
Before he could tear himself apart trying to stay controlled, she hooked her thumbs into her shorts and pushed them down, panties with them. The cool air hit her skin andā
Alastor growled, low and feral and hungry, the sound vibrating the trees. His claws twitched toward her like he had to physically restrain himself from snatching her.
āHey,ā she murmured gently.
Then she lifted her arms up toward himāunafraid, offering, open.
A silent request.
A silent I trust you.
His reaction nearly broke him.
He let out a strangled noiseārelief and desperation tangled tightāand lowered one enormous hand. He didnāt grab her.
He scooped her.
One claw alone could have lifted her. But he curved his whole palm under her, sliding his claws around her body like a cradle, lifting her against his chest as though she weighed nothing, absolutely nothing.
The ground fell away.
His heartbeat thundered beneath her.
And he held her like she was the center of his world.
She cupped his jaw, soft and steady.
āGo on, baby,ā she whispered up to him. āTake what you need from me, okay?ā
His breath stutteredāone massive shudder rolling through his entire frame.
And the static behind his eyes flared, bright and starving.
He needed her.
And now he finally knew he could have her.
-----
She was on the forest floor, the soft grass crushed beneath her like it knew to yield for her body, her chest rising and falling in ragged, gasping breaths. Every inch of her skin felt alive, a mosaic of bruises, teeth marks, and the lingering heat of his hands that had gripped her mercilessly. Her thighs glistened, thick with his seed, some still dripping, and the sticky warmth ran between her folds, coating her in a sheen of him. Just one round had left her like thisāutterly splayed, overstimulated, and trembling with need.
Above her, Alastorās frame was massive, impossibly huge even now that sheād grown accustomed to his new height. He was panting, growling low in his chest, the static in his voice rippling through the forest like heat lightning. His antlers bristled with every shudder, and his eyes gleamed with feral intensity as his cockālong, thick, impossibly hardāspurted over her stomach, each pulse pressing into her soft skin, smearing across her ribs, over her hips, a hot, sticky map of his obsession. She could feel the pressure of his knot swelling at the base, throbbing against her with every twitch, stretching her from the inside in a way that was completely, overwhelmingly perfect.
Her hands dug into the grass, nails scraping, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath while his growls vibrated through her, echoing through the clearing like a storm. The sheer force of him made her body hum in overstimulation, and she whimpered, head thrown back, unable to form coherent thoughts beyond the haze of pleasure and ache.
Before she could even begin to recover, she felt herself lifted again. One massive claw curved under her torso, fingers spread wide around her ribs and stomach, and she was airborne, weightless, utterly at his mercy. He flipped her carefully but firmly onto her stomach, the warm air rushing across her back and the grass brushing against her skin in a teasing contrast. Her knees pressed slightly against his chest as he seated himself, and she whimpered again, already sensitive and needy, her chest and stomach pressed to the rough warmth of him.
He positioned her like a master at play, cupping her entire torso in one massive hand, wrapping his claws around her so that her body felt small, pliable, and completely his. Every tilt, every press of her hips against him, was deliberate. Her cunt pressed to the tip of his cock, and she shivered as he began to work her like a toy, steady, slow, each push driving deep, filling her completely. She moaned sharply, hands clutching at the thick, immovable grip of his claw, nails raking lightly over the ridges and edges as her body bucked instinctively, matching his rhythm as best as she could.
It was intense. Overwhelming. Exquisite in its feral intimacy. He was holding her likeālike she was some perfect, pliant instrument made only for him. Up and down, each stroke was precise, deliberate, punishing yet worshipful. His growls and low hums of pleasure filled the air, vibrating through her spine and chest, and every time he shifted, pressed, or pounded her against his knot, she gasped, whined, and trembled, completely at the mercy of his sheer size and strength.
Even as her body throbbed and her mind spun in haze and overstimulation, she felt the deep, obsessive hunger behind every motion of his claw, every press of his hips. He held her like a pocket pussy, impossible and overwhelming, yet carefullyācarefully enough that she didnāt feel crushed, only completely, painfully consumed. Every thrust drove her further into delirium, and she clung to him, hands wrapping around his wrist and claw, trying to ground herself as he drove into her again and again, a slow, feral rhythm that seemed endless.
And the heat of himāimmense, stretching her in every directionāmade her whimper uncontrollably, each cry mingling with the rasp of his static-filled voice as he growled, panted, and whispered her name, claiming her in every conceivable way. She was his, utterly, completely, in the way that left no part of her untouched, no nerve unlit, no breath unclaimed.
She felt the sharp tremble of his gripāthe way he couldāve crushed her if he lost even a sliver of controlāand it only made heat curl low in her stomach. He dropped her down onto him again, and the noise she made tore out of her throat raw and high and desperate.
Her vision shook. Her legs flailed uselessly, trembling hard enough to spasm every time he hauled her up and slammed her back down. He was using his whole arm now, lifting and dropping her with obscene speed, like he couldnāt get her close enough, like her body still wasnāt giving him enough.
Every thrust hit the deepest part of her, punching a scream out of her lungs. She was crying openlyāhot tears streaking down her cheeks, her voice cracking apart as she choked on moans she couldnāt control. Every time he struck her cervix, her hips jerked, her back bowed, her nails dug into the thick ridge of his clawed hand as she sobbed his name into the humid air.
The wet sound of their bodies colliding was constantāslick, messy, downright animalistic. The cum heād already pumped into her in the first round was spilling back out from the sheer force of him, dribbling in thick white strings down his length, dripping off his base and splattering the dirt beneath them. Each time he slammed her down, more of it splashed against his thighs, warm and humiliatingly loud.
He was losing himself.
Growls rumbled up his chest in long, broken rolls, almost pained with how badly he needed her. His breath came in snarls and gasps, hot against her skin whenever he bent down, his antlers casting long shadows as he snarled into her neck like a starving animal protecting a kill. She could feel every tremor of restraint in himāhow he shook, how he panted, how he clutched her tighter for fear sheād slip even an inch away from him.
Her thighs were shaking uncontrollably nowājerking with every brutal lift, every devastating drop. Her voice had gone hoarse, reduced to cracked pleading and high-pitched whimpers she didnāt recognize as her own.
āAlastorā! Ohāgodāpleaseā!ā
He didnāt even slow down.
Didnāt answer.
Didnāt soothe.
He just rasped out a feral, guttural moan, head thrown back, teeth bared, rutting into her like instinct had taken over completely. His cock throbbed inside her, grinding against sensitive walls already swollen from too much, too fast, too deep. She could feel him pulse every time she clenched around him, could hear the way his breath hitched into a desperate whine whenever she tightened.
Her consciousness was flickering at the edgesāwhite, electric, overwhelmingāeach thrust sending a shockwave from the base of her spine all the way to her toes.
āMore,ā she gasped out, barely aware sheād said it.
His claws dug into her hips.
A violent shudder tore through him.
And he moved faster.
Her scream rang through the trees, raw and high and broken, her body jolting with every savage stroke. She wasnāt even sure she was breathing anymoreāonly that her limbs were shaking, her mind dissolving, pleasure forcing itself through her until she could only sob, only beg, onlyā
Only take it.
And he needed all of her. Every inch, every sound, every clench of her body around him. His moans were cracking now, slipping into a frantic pitch sheād never heard from him, every breath coming out as a hungry snarl or a desperate, choked whimper.
He was feral.
And he wasnāt stopping.
He didnāt even let her catch her breath.
Still buried inside her, he lifted her with that same shaking, desperate careālike she was the last delicate thing in a world full of violenceāthen lowered her onto the cool grass. She barely registered the softness beneath her cheek before his massive shadow covered her again. Her confusion flickered only for a heartbeatāher brows drawing together, lips parted, chest heavingāuntil he guided her onto her side, never once slipping free of her.
And then he curled behind her.
Orāmore accuratelyāaround her.
She looked like she was trying to spoon a beast ten times her size, her tiny body tucked against the burning heat of him. His chest pressed against her back like a furnace, his hums rattling through his ribcage and into her bones. Two claws slid around her waist, but because of their sheer size, they overlappedāone curved under her breasts, the other covering her entire bellyācradling her whole torso in an embrace that felt terrifyingly protective and devastatingly possessive.
She barely had time to inhale.
He didnāt wait.
He slammed into her from behind with a force that stole the air right back out of her lungs.
Her entire body jolted, her mouth falling open in a silent cry before a broken moan poured out. Her limbs went instantly slack, her muscles giving out as pleasure crashed through her so violently she couldnāt even tense. She melted against himāboneless, trembling, gaspingātrying to remember how to breathe while he rutted into her with a pace that bordered on punishing.
The sound was obsceneāwet, loud, the kind of slick slap that echoed off the trees. Each thrust shoved her forward only for his claws to pull her right back into him, using her limp body like it belonged to him alone.
She couldnāt think.
Couldnāt speak.
Only moanālong, shaking, helpless sounds that fell out of her with every brutal snap of his hips.
Her eyes rolled back as his knot slammed against her entrance again and again, each heavy, swollen grind of it sending another burst of white heat up her spine. She felt itāhot, pulsing, desperateātrying to force its way inside her, stretching her already tender entrance with every thrust. The pressure was overwhelming, making her whimper with every bounce.
Her voice finally broke into words, high and frantic.
He just growledālow, vibrating, hungryāand buried his face against her neck. His teeth grazed her skin, his breath ragged and hot, each exhale a trembling whimper of need that barely sounded human.
He thrust harder.
Faster.
Desperation poured off him in wavesāhis hips slamming forward, his claws tightening around her torso, his knot hitting her with reckless insistence, each collision a wordless plea for her body to open for him, take all of him, bind him to her the way his instincts screamed for.
She choked on a sob.
Her whole body convulsed.
And heā¦ he couldnāt stop. Couldnāt even pretend to resist the urge to shove his knot into her. He pressed it against her entrance with each thrust, grinding, trying, whining into her neck with an aching need that bordered on agony.
He needed to be inside her.
All the way.
Claimed, locked, filledā
And she felt every ounce of that feral, desperate longing dragging her closer to the edge with him, her moans dissolving into broken little cries as her climax tore through herāhard, violent, overwhelmingāwhile he held her helplessly tight and kept ramming into her as if he could fuse their bodies together.
She didnāt just climaxāshe shattered.
The orgasm ripped through her so violently her entire body bowed off the grass, her legs kicking uselessly, a scream tearing out of her throat as a gush soaked him. Hot, messy, suddenāher release splattered over his cock, dripping down in streams that made his pace stutter for half a second.
He gruntedādeep, primalāat the sudden clamp of her walls, his hips faltering only because she was squeezing him so tightly he could barely force himself back in. And then one clawed finger slid down between her thighs, finding her swollen pearl with shocking precision for a creature trembling with feral need.
The second he touched herā
She broke again.
She sobbed, spine arching until her back pressed flush to the thick, soft fur of his chest. Her hands scrambled for purchase on his claws, her nails digging in as electricity shot through her limbs. She screamed. She writhed. Her thighs shook violently as another jet of pleasure ripped out of her, squirting over his finger, over his cock, over the grass beneath them.
He snarled into her neckāhis breath hot and raggedāhis hips slamming into her harder with each convulsion she gave him. Her tightness was driving him mad, her body milking him so mercilessly he could barely keep control. Every noise she made only wound him tighter, his pace quickening as instinct drowned out everything else.
But eventuallyāeventuallyāher orgasm loosened its claws.
Her muscles softened, trembling, her cries fading into tiny, broken whimpers. She sagged in his grasp, chest heaving, vision blurred with tears.
He didnāt stop.
Not even close.
His finger left her clit, dragging upwardāslow, sticky with her releaseāand rested on her lower belly. His other claw slid up her chest, curling delicately under her chin and guiding her head downward.
Look.
She blinked through her haze, her breath hitchingāthen catching entirely.
Because she saw it.
Every time he thrust forwardāhard, deep, unforgivingāa bulge rose in her stomach, sliding up under her skin before disappearing when he pulled back, only to appear again even higher the next time he drove into her.
He stroked that bulge so reverently it made her dizzyāhuge claw tracing the outline of his own cock inside her, the size of it obscene enough that her whole body lifted with every thrust.
A thin, desperate whine escaped her throat.
āOhāoh my godāAlastorāā she cried, voice cracking, her whole body pulsing around him in overwhelmed shock. āYouāre soābigā!ā
The bulge appeared againāhigher this timeāand she let out a broken, high-pitched squeal, her head falling back instinctively.
Her vision went white around the edges. Her fingernails dragged over his claws. Her thighs fluttered helplessly.
She wasnāt just reactingāshe was unraveling.
And he was trembling behind her, panting, growling, his knot battering her entrance like a demand, like a plea, his claws tenderly stroking her belly every time he made that obscene bulge rise beneath her skin.
He was inside herādeep, massive, claimingāand she could do nothing but cry out his name as her body tried to take every inch of him.
When he finally tried to withdraw, it was instinctiveājust a small shift of his hips, a soft grunt, a tired attempt to move after the storm heād poured into her.
But the moment he pulled, even slightlyā
She gasped, sharp and winded.
He froze.
And then he felt it.
The resistance.
The unmistakable, unbreakable fullness of his knotāthick, swollen, firmly lodged inside her. He blinked once, slow and owlish, a confused sound rumbling from his throat like a questioning whine.
She followed his gaze downward, her breath still shaky, and saw it too: the huge, flushed swell locked deep inside her, sealing them together. A shiver ran up her spine.
His ears fluttered.
Thenā
A deep, rolling purr vibrated through his chest, settling into her back like a warm, humming blanket. No frustration. No agitation. Justā¦satisfaction. Utter, primal contentment...for now
He shifted closer, lowering his massive body over her small, exhausted one. She melted against the soft heat of his chest fluff, his claws curling protectively around her without the slightest pressure. She could feel the occasional tiny twitch of his knot inside her, and each one caused a warm, thick bead of his release to slip out around the sealāslow and syrupy.
Each spill made her shudder.
And each one earned a pleased rumble from him.
He lowered his head andālike it was the most natural thing in the worldābegan to groom her.
Delicate kitten licks.
Slow, methodical.
As if she were his mate, and he was tending her after claiming her.
The first small lap along her cheek made her whine softly, her face heating despite how utterly worn out she was. His tongue dragged warm and careful across her temple, down her jaw, over her forehead.
She groaned, lifting an arm weakly to wipe her own face even though she was too tired to actually reach. His tongue was warm, soft, a little rough.
And so damn affectionate.
āAlā¦ā she rasped, voice thick with exhaustion.
He paused only long enough to blink at her, pupils blown wide and hazy with instinct, before he leaned in again and licked her neckāslow and possessive.
That made her squeal.
She pushed at his face with both hands, barely budging him but trying all the same.
āHāheyā! That tickles! Stopā!ā she giggled helplessly, squirming against him.
He tilted his head, confused for half a second.
Then he rumbledāa soft, indulgent purr that filled the forest airāand nuzzled his enormous nose into her hair, burying his face into her scent. His breath warmed her scalp as the humming of his chest soothed her into stillness.
She exhaled shakily, sinking into him, the weight of his huge body comforting rather than overwhelming. His claws tightened gently around her waist, holding her safe and close, his knot still locked deep inside her, keeping their bodies fused.
Her heartbeat slowed.
His purr grew deeper.
And with her tucked against himāexhausted, claimed, adoredāhe simply held her, grooming her in slow, tender strokes whenever she shifted, too blissed-out and instinct-heavy to do anything else but love her with every inch of his enormous, trembling body.
This is totally just my imagination, so heads up if thatās not your thing!
I wanted to see all the shippingsāDeer Alastor Ć Lucifer, Demon Alastor Ć Human Lucifer, and Human Alastor Ć Human Luciferāso I made a story that combines them all. Yeahā¦ Iām a little greedy like that. š
While thinking this up, Alastor looked so happy that I had a lot of fun drawing it too.
Next, I feel like human-disguised Alastor and the Morningstar parentāchild āpseudo-familyā could bring even more chaotic fun.
If itās okay, Iād love to keep using this setting to draw more illustrations from time to time! š«
I am back at it again, skipping straight to my favourite episode because I love Rosie's so much < 3
would love to be linked if used just so I can see your art :3c
first batch | second batch | third batch | fourth batch | fifth batch | sixth batch | seventh batch (you are here!) | eight batch (coming soon)
