Back from hiatus. Kinda sorta hopefully. Be gentle with me. Jess. Cis. Demi. Queer. 30's. Married to a cis woman, the absolute love of my life. I like all things romance and smut - in fictional format only!- Current hyperfixation - Hazbin Hotel (but this is a fandom free-for-all at times) MDI.
THIS BLOG IS STRICTLY FOR 18+ VIEWERS. Please respect my boundaries and that I do not want to interact with anyone who is not a legal adult. Minors will be blocked. There is a lot of adult content in my works, including smut and dark themes. Please always mind any TW/CWs at the top of my fics and read at your own discretion. Otherwise let's have some harmless fandom fun and know my message box and ask box are always open! If you would like to be on my tag list for any and all fics, please comment directly below.
Hazbin Hotel Masterlist
Alastor x OCwife
The Fire in the Sin - 🔞⚠️🍋🍻💊🤕🚩
Incomplete/Hiatus. Spans 1917 - through season 1 and will be continued through later seasons. DUEL TIMELINE. Please mind the time stamps at the top of each chapter. This series is my pride and joy but there's a lot of TWs and dark content.
Alastor x Reader Series
Girl Talk - 🔞⚠️🍋
Complete. A mixed bag of comedy and smut. Angel Dust is very curious about what you and Alastor get up to behind closed doors.
The Hunt - 🔞⚠️🍋🤕🚩
Complete. Alastor x reader have some dark ideas as to what their date nights should consist of. This is mainly a horror series, so please take caution and mind the tags.
Alastor x Reader One Shots
Alastor Dating Headcanons 🔞
Alastor Headcanons as a Father ⚠️💥
Flying -🔞⚠️🍋 Alastor saves reader from suicide - but also smut.
Patience - Alastor has a toddler with reader.
Secrets in the Dark - Alastor's shadow reveals secrets to reader.
The Morning After - 🔞 post-sex fluff and silliness
Trick or Tease - 🔞⚠️🍻🍋You, Alastor, a costume party, and a closet.
Untitled - 🔞 ⚠️🍋"Your heart is beating so fast right now" sentence prompt.
Hazbin Hotel incorrect quotes
Ask Me To Kill For You
Alastor Is A Hypocrite
Cooking
I Have One Fear
Man or Bear
Oscar Wilde
Proper Planning
Too Spicy
What Do You Sleep With?
You Have A Heart
Chaggie oneshots
Vaggie's backstory - 🔞⚠️🍋🚩
A prompt I received where all the exorcists were forced to sleep with Adam.
I’ve officially started writing it. I’ll have something out by January muwahahahahahahahahahaha. If you get the reference of the title, then I immediately love you.
Imagine you are a new resident to the Hazbin Hotel. You majored in zoology when you were alive so when you meet Alastor you can't help but make him uncomfortable...Part 10
Angel Dust: So, Smiles…watcha think about that there new Baxter fella spendin’ so much time with our girl, Niffty? Think they gonna tie some knots of their own soon? *wagging his eyebrows*
Alastor: *sighs; but continues to read from the book he is holding as he converses with Angel* Please. It is a mere a passing fancy. *licking a finger, he turns a page*
Y/N: I wouldn’t be too sure. *you swish the remnants of your drink in your glass* Anglefish mating habits are pretty damn committal. I mean, a male will go as far as to attach itself to a female’s body by it’s mouth for the remainder of it’s lifetime. That’s some fucking dedication on both sides. Just saying.
Alastor: *Freezes. Flipping the book in his hands shut, his eyes flare a bright red before he is dissolving into shadow and slowly disappearing.*
Angel Dust: Um….you sure you should have said that?
Y/N: Oh, Anglerfish are masters of hiding and camouflage. They can adjust their colorations and flatten their bodies enough to easily evade a deer’s poor depth perception. *you down the last of your drink in one quick swallow* Also. I destroyed Baxter in last week’s Trivia night and he still owes me money. Fuck that guy.
Y/n: Okay, truth or dare?
Alastor: Truth
Y/n: How many hours have you slept this week?
Alastor:
Alastor: ...Dare
Y/n: Go to bed.
Alastor: I don’t like this game.
Y/n: How do I deal with my enemies?
Alastor: Kill them
Y/n: That's a bit extreme, I was hoping for a more passive solution
Alastor: Kill them only a little?
Y/n: Alastor, stop! This isn't you, you've gone mad with power!
Alastor: Well of course I have.
Alastor: Have you ever tried going mad without power?
Alastor: It's boring.
Alastor: Okay. I get it. You've had a really hard time lately, you're stressed out, seven people died-
Y/n: Twelve, actually.
Alastor: Not the point. Look, they're dead now and really whose fault is that?
Y/n: Yours!
Alastor: That's right: no one's.
I'm back guys. Thank you for being so patient and understanding. It means a lot during this time <3
You put the radio on the way to work to listen to some news.
There is no current events. There is only seasonal pillows on Wayfair.
A girl scratches her acrylic nails along her sofa. You are not sure why you need to know the sound of nails on sofa leather.
She says she loves decorating for the season. Her voice does not know the sound of love.
$38 napkin holders are the only way to feel comfort this holiday season.
You want to listen to a podcast to get through your work day.
You keep accidentally scrolling through Instagram instead. You aren't sure how you keep opening up Instagram. You aren't sure you ever made a profile.
15 second video of how to bake brownies.
The baker taps her nails on the pyrex dish.
30 second video on upside down pineapple cake.
She taps her nails on the can of fruit before popping the tab.
20 second video on how to make a mocktail at home. It's just Sprite poured into a mason jar with round ice cubes and a metal straw.
She taps her nails on the glass and stirs the straw.
You just want to listen to some music to wind down on your drive home from work.
Every song is interrupted by an Etsy commercial.
A girl tells you she loves this super simple quick and easy recipe.
You just need a $200 kitchen aid and a $300 Ninja Creamy and $30,000 oven that only burns ethically harvested wood from a local vegan lumberjack.
She just loves the cozy holiday season. Don't you want to relax and be cozy this holiday season?
She taps her acrylic nails on her $150 curling iron and tells you it's 50% off but only for today.
If you spend all this money, you can stop feeling emotions, too.
She taps her nails on her limited edition holiday air fryer and makes toasted cheese sandwiches from cheese that was shipped overseas after being aged for 50 years by Irish tradwives.
You make Ramen for dinner and scroll through the TikTok shop.
This isn't my usual sexy fandom content but whatever. You know how some people use the excuse "they just didn't know better / it was normal for the time" to explain away horrible things like racism, slavery, religious persecution. Except this is Tumblr so we all know by now that's bullshit and there absolutely were plenty of people "back then" that knew better and were outspoken. The same needs to be held true for raising kids. Because "back in the day" they didn't think kids needed toys. That kids were just small adults that could work in factories for 12 hours. That babies couldn't feel pain. That beating children when they missed behaved was good for them. Spare the rod and spoil the child. When anyone who has spent 5 minutes around a child can tell you how instinctually and easy it is to come to ANY conclusion other than those.
It's giving "I am So Fucking Tired I slept in a God Damn Office Chair for a Bloody Week and had to Manipulate Mansplain Manwife my way through Three Fucking Deals and a Throuple Therapy in a spawn of one week just to get my Stupid Fucking Stick fixed I am so Fucking Ready to take every classical substance known to a 30s man and Black The Fuck Out for at least A Month I literally Never want to hear Any Word beginning with a V ever again."
my honest thoughts on hazbin hotel s2 now that the hype has, like… kinda sorta maybe simmered down a bit:
look… the season was mid. i’m sorry, guys, i really am, but COME ON. i get the whole “we only had eight episodes!!” thing, but as a writer/director you still gotta know when to trim the fat so the plot actually flows and doesn’t feel like a pinball machine on cocaine. season 2 felt like my adderall didn’t kick in and every scene just went BAM BAM BAM like a toy monkey with cymbals.
and listen, i don’t pretend to be a good writer and i know making a show is insanely hard. but there were definitely characters and plot points that got glossed over and i’m just sitting here like… “damn. sad. frustrating. tragic even.”
BUT ALSO. i discovered something very important about myself:
if you put a character on screen that i’m horny for? yeah, suddenly the entire season becomes a cinematic masterpiece. oscar-worthy. flawless. i rewatched the season and did i skip every scene without my new simp target? …ye–maybe. look away.
moral of the story: horniness is the ultimate critic filter. the power of simp can override pacing issues, plot problems, and basic common sense. you give me one hot character and i will forgive WAR CRIMES.
so yeah. if you squint real hard, my actual critique is somewhere under the giant glowing “i’m down bad” sign. welcome to the internet.
confession time: i wrote this while two bottles deep into white wine at my in-laws’ party. i barely remember typing any of it, but i do vividly remember puking in my own hair and passing out on the floor next to the bed.
so if this post offended you, relax. I was absolutely obliterated.
but if you read this and thought, “wow, so true,” then please know I was completely sober, perfectly logical, and operating at galaxy-brain genius levels.
Well now my only thought on this is "Wow. I could never write anything that coherent while two bottles of wine into my evening, let alone color code that well."
i feel. like on a fundamental level. i do not understand x reader fic. i am not exactly opposed to it because let a thousand blossoms bloom etc. but like. i genuinely don’t get it. it seems like the exact opposite of how i engage with fiction. like the whole point is that i’m not in there. i don’t wanna be in there. if i’m in there it’s going to be very stressful.
To be so totally honest, I really hate reader inserts. Or at the very least, the culture around it. They can be fun for short, quick stories that are less about them and more about another character but people want NOVEL LENGTH reader inserts. Then writers get hate when the reader has some detail that doesn't fit with some random stranger on the internet'a identity. Do you know how hard it is to write a story that is a one size fits all? 99.9% of reader inserts are just OCs lying about being an OC so they can get more views. I honestly wish I shipped more canon relationships right now so I could step away from this trend completely.
It sounds like you’re describing the difference between first POV and 3rd POV stories. And you’re right, some people don’t want to feel like they’re being placed directly in the world. They want to experience the story with some distance and that’s totally valid. EVERYONE has a reading preference.
But I think it’d also worth pointing out that xREADER fanfics come from a place of love. People want their favorite characters to feel close to them and real. Just like how some readers want to have distance and still get lost in a story.
There’s also a cultural side to fanfics, which you (Blue) mentioned, and what the author allows. I’ve written multiple xREADER fics (short and novel length) and it’s actually rare for someone to get upset about a certain characterization or action. And when that does happen, I as the author choose to either ignore it entirely or address it directly, or other readers will step in. It’s thanks to my novel length xREADER stories that I have built a considerate, tight-knit community around our love for Alastor from Hazbin Hotel.
And if you really think about it, every xREADER fanfic is basically an OC/self-insert anyway. A dry, blank, and personality-less xREADER perspective isn’t super fun to read about. To me, OC/self-insert/xREADER are all the same.
Anyways, the point is that xREADER fanfics aren’t for everyone, just like 1st POV and 3rd POV aren’t one-size-fits-all. And that is perfectly okay. Not understanding someone’s preference is fine, but dismissing it or hating on it kinda overshadows people’s right to read and write something they enjoy 🧡
@sparrowrye you make some solid points! And my hate was maybe misdirected. But I also think you -and I myself - have been spared from the majority of the toxic fan base because it is not all that rare for people to get hate mail for their reader inserts. In fact one of my closest friends in this fandom just sent me a screenshot of hate she got this very morning. Other people in this fandom have had their inboxes flooded with hate over their inserts. A friend of mine got serious hate for reblogging my stuff, though I never directly got it, funny enough. I have also lost some of my favorite fic writers in other fandoms because they shut down their blogs do to hate over their reader inserts. It gives me the ick and to be a little vulnerable, causes me a tiny bit of stress whenever I write. And while you and I are clearly sensible and know there can be massive overlap between reader inserts and OCs, and both have their enjoyable aspects, boy oh boy, people really do get shit for one or the other. I've been super lucky so far to only have followers and mutuals like you who I can feel safe to have these conversations with and I'm beyond grateful.
i feel. like on a fundamental level. i do not understand x reader fic. i am not exactly opposed to it because let a thousand blossoms bloom etc. but like. i genuinely don’t get it. it seems like the exact opposite of how i engage with fiction. like the whole point is that i’m not in there. i don’t wanna be in there. if i’m in there it’s going to be very stressful.
To be so totally honest, I really hate reader inserts. Or at the very least, the culture around it. They can be fun for short, quick stories that are less about them and more about another character but people want NOVEL LENGTH reader inserts. Then writers get hate when the reader has some detail that doesn't fit with some random stranger on the internet'a identity. Do you know how hard it is to write a story that is a one size fits all? 99.9% of reader inserts are just OCs lying about being an OC so they can get more views. I honestly wish I shipped more canon relationships right now so I could step away from this trend completely.
AN: Happy thanksgiving to those celebrating today and may you hold onto spoopy season as long as YOU wish!
CW: Public teasing, shadow tendrils, alastor being a shit, double pen, tendril in the mouth, restraints, begging...
Summary: A single jab at Alastor earns you an entire day of wicked, invisible teasing that no one else can see and everyone can tell you’re not okay. By the time he finally beckons you to his room, you’re past pride, past patience, and dangerously close to begging.
Your day had started normally enough, until you’d made the mistake of getting under Alastor’s skin.
You hadn’t even meant to. A passing comment, a fleeting jab at his outdated slang, something small and harmless in your mind. But the look he'd given you was sharp, amused, delighted in that dangerous way and should have been the warning you heeded.
Instead, you spent the entire day being slowly, methodically undone.
Every time you tried to focus on anything besides him, there he was. The brush of cool fingertips slipping beneath the edge of your clothes where no one could see. A phantom pressure gliding up your spine at the exact moment someone asked you a question, forcing your voice to stutter. A teasing curl of something decidedly not a hand tightening around your thigh whenever you thought you’d finally caught your breath.
And he never once looked at you.
Not directly. Not long enough for anyone to suspect a thing. Just a smirk when your knees buckled against a hallway wall as something pressed against your core, ensuring you were aware of your soaked panties. A hum when you bit the inside of your cheek to stay quiet as something unseen rubbed your clit. A pleased little chuckle every time someone paused mid-conversation to stare at your flushed face.
“Uh…are you feeling okay?” Angel had asked at one point, giving you a look like you might pass out on the spot.
“I- I’m fine,” you managed, which only made Alastor’s grin sharpen as he stirred the radio static behind your ribs again.
By late afternoon, your nerves were frayed. Your patience was gone. Your composure was a distant memory. You could practically feel the smugness radiating off him as he sauntered through the lobby, hands clasped behind his back, humming an old tune, looking for all the world like a man who had not been tormenting you senseless all day.
When he paused at the foot of the stairs, eyes flicking toward you with the gentlest tilt of his head, it didn’t even occur to you to pretend you hadn’t noticed. He didn’t speak. Didn’t gesture. He didn’t need to.
Your feet carried you after him before you’d consciously chosen to move.
Charlie gave you an uncertain little smile as you passed her. Husk muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely sympathetic. Angel whispered, “Damn, girl,” but you weren’t listening to any of them.
You followed Alastor up the stairs like you were tethered to him, heat coiling low in your stomach with every step. His pace was leisurely, mockingly so. By the time he reached his door and pushed it open with a theatrical flourish, your breath had already gone thin.
“Well,” he said, looking back at you with that bright, insufferably triumphant smile, “do come in. After spending the entire day chasing my attention, it would be rather poor form to stop now, don’t you think?”
You didn’t even bother answering. You stepped into his room, heart pounding, ready, finally, for him to make good on every wicked promise he’d spent the day whispering across your skin.
Before you were even across the threshold of his room, your shirt was half unbuttoned. The door wasn’t even closed before you were shimmying out of your pants. Alastor flipped the lock as your bra hit the the wooden floor.
His glowing red eyes seared through the darkness as he looked your naked body up and down. His smile, always present, grew wider. Hungry.
“Is there something you want of me?” Alastor’s voice seemed to caress your skin as he spoke.
“Stop playing.” You wanted to sound strong. You wanted to be demanding. You wanted to be in control of what you received. Instead your voice came out as a whimper as your thighs rubbed together, feeling the way your slick had gathered, smeared over your folds. It reached down your thighs slightly, making a mess of you.
“You think I’ve been playing with you?” Alastor’s ears twitched as he cocked his head, feigning innocence. “I haven’t even begun to play with you.”
“What?” A shot of adrenaline ran through you system. Your mouth instantly grew dry. “Alastor, you’ve-”
“I have,” he examined his claws as he spoke, not looking at you as his shadow tendrils reached out for you.
They wrapped around your limbs, soft, caressing touches that left trails of fire burning under your skin. You were far too worked up for it.
What was a soft caress quickly became an urging pressure, leading you toward the bed. You were not one to argue, Satan knew Alastor’s bed was exactly where you wanted to be right now anyway.
What you didn’t expect when you climbed on the bed was for the tendrils to grow solid, wrapping tightly around your ankles and legs. They pulled, stretching your limbs out toward each corner of the bed.
You laid on your back, naked and spread, as you watched Alastor pour himself a glass of whiskey. Shadows reached up from the bed, caressing your ribs and breasts as he put the stopper back on the bottle.
He pulled out a cigarette as they massaged your breasts and pulled at your nipples. A cloud of smoke wafted up from his lips as he watched another run along your slick folds. He stepped closer as it pushed inside you.
As he smoked it down to a stub, a tentacle pushed inside your tender ass, spreading you wide. He took his time working his tie free, sipping a second glass of whiskey as if he was preparing to wind down for a typical night.
As if you were not moaning on his bed, slick pooling under you as he worked you with his power, filling your holes harshly. And yet, your eyes couldn’t leave him. You couldn’t look away.
He was careful how he thrust into you. Every movement was carefully measured, ensuring that you only had just enough stimulation to be dripping slick, need running through your veins like fire but the one thing he was sure to prevent was your orgasm.
“Alastor…” Your voice cracked on his name, breath shuddering as you tried to steady yourself. “Please. Just- just come here.”
He lifted a brow, tipping his glass toward you in a silent toast as he watched you with cool amusement. “My dear, I am here. You’re simply too worked up to notice.”
“That’s not-” You swallowed hard, fingers curling in the air. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Oh?” His grin widened, sharp and painfully pleased. “Enlighten me.”
Your chest heaved, embarrassment and longing tangling until you didn’t know which felt worse. “I want you. I need you right here, I-” You broke off with a frustrated sound, nails digging crescents into your palms as he held you at the edge of an orgasm. “Stop standing so far away. Stop watching me like that.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to fall apart!” It came out too loud, voice raw, and you winced at the sound. “Just, come closer. Touch me. Do something. I’m begging you. Please, let me cum.”
“My, my.” His tone dipped into something low, delighted. “Begging already? You truly are eager today.”
“Alastor.” His name was nearly a gasp now, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “Please. Please, please. Just come over here. I’m going insane.”
He hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head as if inspecting a particularly interesting specimen. “You sound it. Quite adorable, really. Though I must admit…” His eyes gleamed. “I rather like you this way.”
“That’s not helping,” you whispered, voice cracking again as tendrils pulled at your nipples.
“Oh, but it is.” His smile softened. It was not kind, but warm in its own fiercely possessive way. “You’ll come undone far more beautifully if I let you squirm a little longer.”
You shook your head hard, breath hitching. “I can’t, Alastor, I can’t anymore. Please. I need you. I need you now.”
He finally, finally stepped forward, slow enough to make you whine under your breath.
“There it is,” he said, delighted. “There’s my dear little disaster.”
Alastor walked casually toward the bed, his hooves clicking on the wooden floor. You trembled, suspended on a knife’s edge of pleasure, so very close to tumbling and yet unable to.
Words, lost to your own ears, tumbled from your lips as you rode the waves of sensation. It was too much, it felt like he was everywhere and yet somehow not touching you in the one place you needed to push yourself over the edge.
He was a sadistic master of torture.
You couldn’t tell which shadow tendril was which as they thrust into you, undulating, stretching sensitive tissue to their breaking point only to shrink, allowing your body to relax. All the while, they thrust into you, pushing your guts out of the way to fuck deeper.
You could feel them moving inside you, filling you. Never had you felt so full.
Somehow, shadows kissed your nipples, pulling at them, sucking them into the darkness.
It still wasn’t enough. None of it would be enough.
“Alastor.” You sobbed his name, looking at him with lust glazed eyes as you felt slick run down your ass cheeks. “Please, Alastor.”
He worked his shirt open with one hand as he trailed the claws of his other hand down your outstretched arm. The touch was light, tickling on your over sensitive skin, teasing you with promise that remained undelivered.
Your heart hammered in your chest as he shrugged out of his shirt, passing his whiskey glass from hand to hand. His lean frame would lead anyone to believe he was a scrawny man but that was far from the truth. He was covered in muscle, strong, lean, powerful and above all, functional.
His claw trailed down your side, watching as a shiver ran down your spine. His glowing eyes admired your pert nipples, flushed with blood and sensitive from the slow torture. His tongue darted out, licking his lips like a hungry beast as the shadows returned to devouring them.
The clicking of his belt seemed to echo as he walked lower, rounding on the foot of his modest bed. The glass, now empty, fell to the ground, shattering as he simply let go of it, standing at the foot of his bed, between your spread legs.
Through the shadows, he could see your holes, spread wide. He could see the slick, glittering with reflected light and bubbled from the near violent pace he worked into you. Your clit was so stiff and throbbing that he could see it from where he stood, unfastening his pants.
“Please?” Tears ran down the side of your face, betraying your shattering need. “Please, Alastor. I need you. I need- fuck I need to cum.”
“Such vulgarity,” he spoke, eyes running from your open, weeping holes to your face. “I should make you wait until you can ask like a lady.”
“No,” you whined, muscles straining, chest heaving. The prospect of having to wait longer for satisfaction felt like an actual knife, ripping through your body. “Please, Alastor. I’ll be good. Please?”
“Hmm.” His eyes returned to your openings. watching as you were spread, prepped for him as he let the last of his clothing fell to the ground.
The red shaft of his cock shot out, throbbing. He was long, animalistically so, and with every beat of his heart, he grew thicker and more ridged.
It made sense. If his cock didn’t grow, he’d have a hard time hiding what he offered.
You’d seen him before, laid with him before and yet it never stopped intimidating you.
In life, there was no way you could fit a monster like that inside you. In death? It took some harsh thrusts to force your body to stretch and accommodate him, on the rare occasion he desired to lay with anyone at all.
Climbing on the bed between your legs, he looked very much like a predator there to steal your life. He watched your walls squeeze the shadow inside you, trying to urge it to stroke you just right.
How long could he keep you perched on the edge? It had been well over an hour since he really started in on you. Hours since the teasing started initially. To the point where he wasn’t sure what you’d done to get on his nerves at first.
Could he keep you here all night? tied and on the edge of orgasm? Babbling pleas for him to let you cum? Would you sob? Would you pass out?
His twitching cock reminded him that now wasn’t the time to indulge in such explorations. He cold play with you another day. His rut was too close for such extended activities.
Right now, what he needed to do was deposit his seed inside you, breed you. He knew it wouldn’t stick. Hell, he didn’t even want it to stick. But the need to try was starting to cloud his mind, mixing with the glasses of whiskey.
Breed now, before the season drove him mad with the need of it.
The shadow inside your aching pussy faded. It didn’t withdraw, but just dematerialized slowly, letting your walls close. Alastor’s face drew near, admiring the way your pussy was slightly gaped for him, twitching. Slick glistened over your skin.
The stiff rod of your clit twitched in front of his eyes.
Would you cum if he ran his tongue over it? If he bit it? If he blew on it? How close were you, really?
“Please, Alastor?” Your plea came out shattered, broken. Just how Alastor liked you best. “I’ll be good. Please?”
He was fairly certain you didn’t know how to be good, as he climbed up your body, hooking his arms under your spread thighs. He lifted them slightly, letting his knees slot under. It wasn’t the most comfortable for you with how the shadows pulling your legs down and out pushed the fat and muscle into his thigh but he didn’t mind in the slightest if you had sore bruises come morning.
You whimpered, trembling at such simple touches.
He loved how he owned your body, enslaved it to him in that moment.
His cock twitched in his hand as he brought the head to your weeping opening. The tapered head pushed inside, not facing much resistance at first. Once he was a third of the way in, he could feel your walls gripping his cock, struggling to accommodate him.
He didn’t stop until it felt like he could push no more inside. You whimpered at the stretch, a sweet sound full of need that burned in his ears, demanding him take action.
He down at your tear stained face as his stilled.
“Please?” You were still crying for more, unable to be satisfied until something touched your clit.
Who was he to tell you no?
Alastor’s hips snapped forward. The quick, forceful thrust split you in half. It felt like he was ripping you in half as he did so. Your head fell back, your mouth opening to let out a scream of pleasure mixed with pain as his pubic bone pressed into your sensitive clit, only for shadows given form to fill your mouth, thrusting into the back of your throat.
It wouldn’t do for you to worry Charlie, Alastor decided as he began to fuck your throat with the shadow, taking up a punishing pace. Each tendrils inside you matched the force and speed of his thrusts into your sopping wet pussy.
Sloppy, wet sounds filled his room. The bed creaked as weight shifted. Your body gave way, letting him chase his pleasure without resistance.
And Hell help him, it felt good. You felt good. Sinfully good.
“Do you think you’re been a good enough girl for me?” Alastor asked, panting breath stealing the radio filter from his voice.
You struggled to nod, unable to do much to plead your case.
All you wanted was to cum.
All you could think of was to cum.
Satan knew it would feel amazing to cum on his cock.
You needed it.
“Hmmm,” Alastor tried to sound unbothered as he rose up, placing a hand by your head as he fucked into you harder. Shadows reached down between your body, allowing him to move through them as he chased his release, to caress your clit. It pulled at it, teasingly. Icy cold air surrounded the burning nub, pushing you over with such force the world itself exploded around you.
White hot pleasure stole everything. You couldn’t see Alastor above you. The bugs in the bayou were lost to your ears. You couldn’t even say if you were breathing or if you were suffocating on shadows as your body trembled, muscles contracting around him as he still fucked you.
Alastor’s ears twitched as the wetness between your thighs grew sloppier. Hotter. Slicker.
His antlers grew, stretching out over him, casting harsh shadows over you as he thrust wildly. You could feel his cock reaching deep into your body, forcing you to take every bit of his length.
Claws dug into your waist as he held you firm, as if it was possible for you to slip away. His cock twitched, fighting your clenching muscles as he swelled inside you. Shadows danced, climbing up the walls and stealing the light from the room as he his pace grew stuttered. And then he slammed into your twitching walls with painful force, locking his hips against yours as he painted your insides with his seed, demanding you take every drop.
He roared as he came, leaning forward to capture a nipple between his pointed teeth in an attempt to silence his cry of pleasure. You choked on his shadow, moaning through the aftershocks of your own orgasm. Seed and slick poured out of you, breaching the seal your tired opening created around his thick cock.
“Are you satisfied now?” Alastor asked, rocking his hips against yours, stirring your seed covered walls.
You couldn’t answer him with words, settling for a weak moan.
“Good,” he chuckle as he pulled back from you, admiring the way white rivers of seed rushed down your ass with his absence. And then he was flipping you over, wrapping shadows around your waist and arms, holding you bent over at the waist and suspended as he placed the head of his cock at your opening again. “I however am just getting started.”
You moaned as he pushed in, knowing that you were likely not going to leave this room for at least a few days.
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Pairings: Alastor x Reader.
Tags/Warning: Established Relationship, Racism, Fluff, Human! Alastor
Summary: There's a certain type of confidence in your steps that never fades, and Alastor find acceptance in your own.
A/N: Here's a tiny little drabble(?) one-shot(?). Just something I had sitting in the depths of my WIP-files. You can have it, if you're ready for it.
|Masterlist|
It’s an automatic response.
The sun shines with that afternoon brightness, sticking Alastor’s clothes to his skin with sweat. Still, he’s careful to shield his face with a hand, blocking the rays that hit his skin with the back of his palm. It’s always the same reaction, stepping into the shadows to hide away, to keep from tanning further.
The automatic response to hide behind the shades of light poles or buildings or trees . . . that automatic response to take the long but shaded way.
Yet, it’s really funny.
Those fingers of yours tighten around his hand, and pull him into the sun with a smile that’s brighter. There’s that itch to release your hold, and hide into the shadows, but Alastor watches your confidence, and maybe, just this once, Alastor could walk next to you.
You’re quite the enigma, someone who is a bit too comfortable that it’s almost admirable.
There’s a small habit that Alastor forgot he owned, but you never seem to do. It’s just a small habit really, just a few pinches of his nose here and there.
An old wife’s tale that’s been ingrained into him, never mind if it actually sharpens the bones and cartilage underneath. It’s just . . . a habit. A habit from where? Well, who knows?
There’s a smile every time you pull his hands away from his face, trapping it with your fingers with a small kiss. The press of your lips goes on him next, and somewhere down the line, Alastor forgets his habit.
There’s always this hesitancy about food that Alastor has. The ingredients aren’t very . . . typical.
So, he nods when the topic comes around, when talk of a pot-lock takes over the conversation. Of course, there’s that shine in your eyes when you talk about the way he cooks, the dishes he’s prepared for you and only you. It’s almost flattering to hear the way you talk about the sourness that isn’t conventional, the way he mixes sweetness with savory.
Alastor waits for eyes to turn, but there are fingers tracing his own, and Alastor forgets to think about those who don’t matter.
So, it’s not really a surprise when one night, you glance at him, and say, “I want to hear you.”
“I wasn’t aware you stopped listening to me.” Alastor tilts his head all the way to the side with a smile that’s almost teasing. “All my words wasted on someone who doesn’t even listen. You wound me, cher.”
You brush a strand of his hair, playing with the thick strands before Alastor could unintentionally slick it back. It’s always . . . . He doesn’t know, but the way you gaze at his hair compels him to lean even closer towards you.
“I get tired of your announcer voice,” you say. “I hear it all day when you’re in that radio booth and all day when you’re outside talking.”
Alastor laughs at you. “All I’m hearing is you listen to my show.”
“Of course, I do.” You lean on your palm, settling even closer to him. “But I want to hear you.”
Alastor considers this for a moment.
It’s more than automatic now to hide that accent of his. It’s just how it’s become now, to morph the muscles of his tongue to enunciate phrases, even if it feels so foreign in his tongue.
There’s something natural to keep a list of phrases that most won’t understand, to code-switch between what is natural to him and what is ‘natural’ to the world.
But you’re holding his hand, pressing a kiss between his fingers. Maybe, just this once, Alastor could borrow a little of your confidence.
Title from Eraserheads’ “Ang Huling El Bimbo”:
Our hands are holding
And unconsciously,
you taught my heart
how to love truly
Will it really be a fic from me if I don't reference a song?
