fokrilove

[fokrilove]

Oh god... Even better? 😅

Please, somebody match my freak 🥲

A new and updated Blitzø bingo!!! I felt like my previous one was a bit too basic, especially after the latest episodes. Reblog with your answers if you want, I'm nosy 🤭

Find my other Helluva Boss bingos here!

[fokrilove]

Haha! Four at once! Yes!

Can somebody match my freak, please?

A new and updated Blitzø bingo!!! I felt like my previous one was a bit too basic, especially after the latest episodes. Reblog with your answers if you want, I'm nosy 🤭

Find my other Helluva Boss bingos here!

[fokrilove]

⋆       DANGEROUSLY YOURS

       human.alastor x reader

⋆ synopsis ; originally being hired by the police to catch a serial killer by making the lead suspect fall for you, you realize that the only thing you caught was feelings for the man—which led you into a state of denial as the man attempts to comfort you by affirming his feelings for you.

⋆ warnings : romance, petnames, blood, mentions of murder, guns, reader is female, bits of angst, and comfort at the end.

⋆ missive ; it's lovely to be back on the air after quite a while with lack of motivation, as well as me working on other projects, and I do hope you all enjoy this broadcast! i'm airing this to inquire that if i were to make a full broadcast dedicated to this plotline, would you all tune in? i was wondering if you all would enjoy me making this into a big thing i can broadcast on ao3 or whatnot! enjoy!

now airing ; cigarettes out the window - tv girl

it wasn't common to hear word about a local serial killer in your town.

the man was famous for his ruthless kills—the victims barely being found as the police couldn't track down each person that was assumed to have been killed.

it was well known that a serial killer was on the loose when many people were reported missing, or when calls would spread through the station like wildfire as each caller deemed to have seen someone being killed.

of course, the people only ever called. they never tried to save the person.

so, by the time the police arrived, the only sign of death was the blood marks on the sidewalk that led to the forest.

you never bothered to indulge in the conversations dedicated to this killer, for you simply had better things to do. you were a busy person at the station, and when you're busy, it doesn't leave much time for anything else. especially thoughts.

despite your attempts to ignore the constant discussions about this serial killer, you found yourself looped into the conspiracies as you were pulled into an office one day.

you were informed that there was a lead suspect for who the killer may be—the name 'alastor hartfelt' printed in bold as his records were as dashing as his photo.

you had to admit—you had never seen a record as clean as his.

the radio host apparently was loved by the town, which would make sense why nobody would ever suspect him if he were to kill anyone, but he didn't seem like the type to do so. he was just the town's radio host.

which is why it stunned you when you were told that you would have to make him fall in love with you as an attempt to get him to admit to his crimes.

you found the idea idiotic.

but the rest of the station deemed it perfect.

so, within a few days, you found yourself attempting to flatter this man by any means.

you'd note him grabbing a coffee, so you would accidentally bump shoulders with him as you spewed out apologies.

oddly enough, alastor didn't seem to mind. he just fixed the wrinkle in his suit jacket before grabbing his coffee from the barista, and he gently grasped your hand with his free one before placing a kiss on your skin.

was it weird that to this day, you could still recall the feeling of his lips on your hand?

was it odd that you could still recall his words?

"it's quite alright, my dear! accidents happen, no?"

the way his words flicked off his tongue like a melody had you shocked, and you snapped out of your daze as soon as he let go of your hand.

you wanted to speak, but your words got stuck in your throat. each and every verb, noun, and adjective piled up until you were finally able to spew out a word.

"yes."

you couldn't even hear yourself say it—your ears filled with the sound of your heartbeat banging against your chest as if a butterfly was flying around, yet it all went silent once alastor let out a chuckle.

"are you alright? you look like a dear stunned by headlights..."

all you could do was nod.

just as you thought your mission had been a complete fail, you brightened up as soon as alastor offered for you to go to his station with him so you could freshen up—his words stating that his station was right across the street so you wouldn't have to walk far.

how thoughtful of him—surely he couldn't be the killer. a killer would be cold, arrogant, and secretive.

but this man was as charming as the sunrise during winter—the light that gleamed off the snow with the final moments of brightness that would soon fade.

the days you thought would end in him ignoring you turned into weeks of his attention practically praising you, and the sight of those mahogany eyes on you each day made the little flutters in your chest grow.

nothing could make them stop, and you had become fine with that until one night.

you had left the station in hopes of meeting up with him—in hopes of feeling your heart prosper in a giddy sensation you could only gain when seeing something more beautiful than anything you've ever imagined. your imagination was creative, sure—brewing up an image of the perfect lover—but alastor was the one who burned those thoughts into something better. a perfect image that you never believed you would see.

it was like viewing a painting no one else had.

a painting that was sketched with the most charming colours, and dried with the light of dusk.

but that painting soon turned into a blur when you walked into his home—the sight of blood trailing across the clean wooden floors of his home making your heart stop for the first time in three weeks.

for the first time, you could hear your own thoughts.

and hell, did you loathe it.

your eyes shakily trailed up to meet that adoring gaze you never wanted to break away from.

a knife was present in his grasp—crimson leaking from the sharp curve and onto the floor you and him had originally danced on before.

"my dear..." his voice quivered as it broke the silence you had grown accustomed to, yet his words trailed as soon as you took a step back—the floor creaking under your step.

"cher—"

"do not call me that when you've told so many lies on your lips..." you seethed as he took a step towards you, and he faltered his movements once you pulled out your handgun.

it was one you never thought to bring near alastor, for the only reason you brought it tonight was due to the fact you were walking alone outside when a serial killer was loose.

if only you had known that the serial killer was the one you had been with for the past few weeks.

alastor froze at the sight of your gun, yet he didn't appear worried. instead, he kept a smile on his face—the smile softening despite the situation he was in.

you could shoot that grin off of his face if you wished, and you knew that he was aware of it. he was a smart man, after all.

"lies? my dear, you must listen to me—"

"why should i listen to you? did-did you just call me all those words so you could kill me?"

your words were rambled as alastor lightly chuckled, and it only made you grip your gun tighter. "don't you dare laugh, you bastard! i could end your life right this second if i wished to..."

"but do you wish to?" alastor questioned as he took a step towards you, and you felt your throat run dry. "do you wish to end my life?" alastor reworded his question as he continued to walk towards you.

the sound of his knife clanging on the floor made your eye twitch, yet you didn't move your gape away from his.

"do you wish to end the life i've longed to dedicate to you? the life i spent spewing lies off my tongue just for a moment of privacy with you?"

"the only lies you speak are ones of loving me, and being an innocent man—" you seethed back at him, and soon enough, he was right in front of you.

the gun was pointed at his face until he placed a finger on the barrel, and he slowly pushed it down until the tip was pressed against his chest. "i never once said i was an innocent man, dear...and who said i was lying about loving you?"

"you lied to me about the man you were!"

"as did you, my dear..." he hummed once you fell silent, and he raised his hands as if admitting defeat. "you know nothing about me..." you quietly mumbled, "you've only known me three weeks."

"that can't be the case—i've known you my whole life." alastor spoke as if his words were just fact, and the look in his eyes as you peered up at him made you press the gun harder against him. "all your life..."

your sentence was laced with hurt and lividness, but alastor didn't wince at it. he didn't even react to it. he just allowed your breaths to ring out in the room before he spoke in a whisper.

"it's true." alastor stated, "i've viewed you in a thousand plays—read you in as many books...my dear, i've broadcasted music and truly knew, 'she'd like that'. i've heard jokes and knew, 'she'd laugh at those'."

"alastor bastard, you are a child...a fool." you insulted him, but again, he didn't seem to mind your childish insults. your words bounced off of him as if they were nothing. "you know nothing about me...how can you think such things?"

"because i trust you." his words were as blunt as the previous sight of him holding that knife, "because i trust that you are who i think you are."

his eyes bored into yours with such devotion that you felt sick at the idea that he was faking, and you found yourself tearing up as you bit the inside of your cheek.

"stop...just stop." you softly pleaded.

"stop what, my dear?"

"stop looking at me with those eyes—stop placing ideals onto me i can not fulfill! i am not that woman, alastor. maybe on the day we first met, and maybe a few minutes ago, but now? i am not. you can not trust me."

alastor tilted his head, and as soon as a tear fell from your eye, he cautiously moved a hand over to wipe it away.

those same hands felt sickly familiar as you forced down the idea to lean against his touch, and instead, you moved out of his hold. "why should i not trust you? are you telling me you're that set on getting me to admit on what you've already seen?

your stomach dropped at his words, and your grasp on the gun faltered for a minute before you pursed your lips. "what on earth do you mean?"

"i've known all along, cher..." he answered as he lifted his hand to fix the round glasses that had started to fall off the bridge of his nose, and his voice rang with affirmation. "i had caught sight of you at the station days before we had met—i recognized you as soon as you stared up at me with those eyes..."

your lip quivered as you pressed your lips together so it would stop, but alastor's shoulders only slumped at the sight. "and—" you paused as your voice cracked, "and it didn't make a difference?"

"not at all...you see, i trust you." alastor spoke as he leaned in closer towards you, and the gun pressed against the fabric of his suit. "you spoke to me with the mission of betraying me, and yet if you did so, you would betray yourself. you spoke to me and ended up falling in love with me—as i fell in love with you as well..."

"i could shoot you right now—you're determined to die with a lie on your lips?" you spoke, yet alastor only chucked again.

"i'm determined to die with nothing but the truth on my lips, and hopefully yours as well if you'll give me that honour..." he mumbled as the gun slowly left his chest.

"if i do not betray you, i betray my town...my town is very dear to me."

"dearer than i?" alastor remarked as one of his hands cupped your cheek—in which his hands skimmed your skin as you shook your head.

"no," you spoke as you leaned into him, "not dearer than you."

the gun left your grasp as you dropped it to the floor, and alastor gently kicked it away while you stared at him.

you didn't know what you assumed was going to occur—it was possible that you would die from simply falling for his charm yet again. he might let you leave, but that would only mean he would continue his sprees of homicide.

yet, you found yourself leaning into him more as soon as his lips hovered over your ear. "i love you, my dear."

your eyes widened as you turned your head to meet his gaze—searching for any signs of deception or mischief. instead, you were met with a gleam of pure love resting in his gaze—something you never thought a serial killer could have.

there was no coldness, arrogance, or secrets.

his eyes were as warm as summer—the gape appearing meek as it gifted you every thought he's ever had about you.

the complete opposite of what you had thought a killer would be like.

"i love you..." he softly muttered again before pressing his lips against yours, and you froze.

the same flutter returned, and once again, you could not hear your thoughts.

only the sound of a low hum leaving alastor's throat rang in your ears as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and his hands met your waist as you were pulled impossibly closer to him.

your lips moved against his in a remorseful dance as one of your hands laced itself into his hair, and the other trailed to cup the side of his neck until you felt a hand leave your hip.

it placed itself over the hand you had pressed against his neck, and the kiss was broken as alastor brought your hand to his lips.

soft pecks were littered across your palm as he never once broke his gaze away from yours—your back slowly pressing against the chilled wall as alastor moved your hand back onto his neck.

"i love you." he spoke yet again as if you hadn't heard him the other times, or it sounded like he was reassuring you. deep down, guilt flared up in you as you tried to keep down the flame—only for alastor to extinguish it as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"i love you, too..." you mumbled in a quiet reply, yet no remorse grasped your words. instead, it was pure adoration as alastor pressed his lips against yours once more.

and you knew that it wouldn't be last.

word count ; 2,440

©SIGNEDREALITY

🍃        reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

listeners : @simpingoncarmensandiego @ari-hatake24 @heartfeltcherie

[fokrilove]

i can see you

chapter two pairing: alastor/reader rating: explicit words: 26.8k (42.3k total)

When tragedy strikes and turns your life upside-down, you take it upon yourself to repair an antique radio you purchased while you were drunk out of your mind.

Then, when things feel as though they can't get any worse, the radio starts talking to you and it's all downhill from there.

read on ao3 || start from the beginning

[fokrilove]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐢𝐫 - Part 2

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairings: Alastor x female reader, Angel Dust x female reader (platonic) Summary: You tried to distract yourself on the dancefloor after Alastor caught you with Selena, but the memory still clings to your mind. Feeling both embarrassed and guilty, you find yourself at the bar again, reflecting on your complicated relationship with the Radio Demon while seeking advice from Angel. Warnings/Tags: female reader, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, reader is bisexual, jealous Alastor, comfort, deep talk with Angel Dust, frustrated reader, doctor Angel gives you advice Wordcount: 3.8k A/N: As promised, here is Part 2! I have to admit, though, that I made a slight change to the plan. While I initially said the story would be split into two parts, it has now expanded to three. I did this for the sake of the plot and to make you all squirm. Everyone who’s been tagged in this part will automatically be tagged in the next. If you aren’t part of the tag list for this story but want to be added, let me know in the comments! Part three will be online in September. Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Masterlist

   You sat at the bar with another drink in your hands. It was your second since you left Alastor alone in the hallway and returned to the party. You had tried to enjoy the rest of the evening, danced and threw yourself into the music in a way that belied your inner turmoil but despite all the effort you couldn’t shake off the unease that’s been following you around ever since. The moment Alastor caught you and Selena making out replayed over and over again in your head, and you couldn’t even tell what was worse: that he was the one who caught you, or his extremely weird behavior towards you. It was obvious he was tense. He died in the 1930’s, so he probably found it extremely uncomfortable to be witness to such an intimate moment. But besides his discomfort he radiated something else you couldn’t quite decipher. He’s always been someone who liked to tease others and pushed their boundaries for his own amusement. Yet, this time, it felt different. Personal. Maybe it was just your twisted and lovestruck mind that made you see things that weren’t actually there but you could swear that he appeared bitter. Almost… jealous…?

   No. Alastor? Jealous? Never, you thought and let out a dismissive huff before taking another sip from your drink, this time a much larger one than before. Alastor kept everyone at a respectable distance, ensuring he never got too close to others, especially on a personal level. Alastor couldn’t be jealous. What a laughable idea. Yet, there was still that perplexing push and pull between you two – those fleeting moments of tenderness when he seemed to open up, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual, his touch almost soft and delicate. His words, laced with teasing, could be taken as either jokes or flirtations, only for him to push you away again an hour or a day later. It was depressing, nerve-wrecking and most of all, infuriating. Why did he always have to be such an enigma? Could it be that he didn’t understand his own feelings? Why was he so complicated, so emotionally incompetent, so… sadistic…?!

   You would’ve screamed if you weren’t surrounded by a huge crowd of dancing and laughing people. That goddamn Radio Demon left you a complete mess, and you couldn’t even tell if he did that on purpose or if he was just oblivious. He was unpredictable and that made it even harder for you to comprehend the situation and his odd reaction to finding you in a stranger’s embrace.

   A tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see Angel, his face etched with concern as he looked at you.

   “Hey, toots, you’ve been away for quite some time and ya look anythin’ but happy. Is everythin’ alright?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together. His usual teasing tone was replaced by one that was soft and genuinely concerned.

   You forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yes, I’m fine… Just needed a drink,” you explained with a quick glance at the cocktail in your hands before you looked back at Angel who raised an eyebrow, not buying a single one of the words you just uttered. He shook his head and clicked his tongue repeatedly against the roof of his mouth, emitting a sound you barely registered.

   “You’ve always been a bad liar, toots,” he responded and wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders. “Come on, tell doctor Angel what’s wrong.”

   You snickered at his antics and shook your head in amusement, your hair brushing lightly against your skin. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar redhead with antlers and possibly the fluffiest ears in the entire Pride Ring, just to ensure he wasn’t within earshot. When you didn’t spot him, you let out a deep sigh, your smile fading to match the heaviness you felt inside. “Well, it’s just that–”

   “Wait, let me get a drink first!” Angel interrupted you and turned towards the barkeeper.

   You chuckled and shook your head again, rolling your eyes in the process. Barely a minute later, Angel Dust spun back around, now holding a maxi cocktail in one of his four hands, a wide grin spreading across his face, showing off the golden tooth in his upper front row.

   “What?”, he exhaled, noticing the way you stared at his drink. “I must be prepared for whatever ya ‘bout to tell me!”

   “You’re unbelievable…” you snickered with a wide grin, your heart feeling much lighter than just seconds before. It was a mystery how Angel managed to lift your spirits within seconds just by being himself, but you certainly couldn’t complain.

   “Well, come on. Spill!” Angel exclaimed with a flourish of his arms, almost knocking out another guest with his drink.

   Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for a brief moment before finally beginning to share your troubles with him, “You know, I met this girl today. Selena is her name.”

   “Ah, that dark-haired knockout, huh? I saw ya two getting pretty cozy on the dance floor,” Angel quipped with a mischievous grin, taking a playful sip from his cocktail. "Ya two were practically makin' out with your eyes! Can’t blame ya, though,” he added before you could continue your story. “If I was into chicks, I'd be all over that action myself. But you, darlin’ Y/N, sure know how to pick 'em!”

   “Angel!” you exclaimed with an aghast expression and jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow, feeling your cheeks flush with heat almost immediately.

   “Hey, don’t play coy with me. I know you way too well to fall for any of your lame excuses!”

   A sigh slipped from your lips as you took a few sips, your expression shifting to one of resignation. “You’re right,” you mumbled, twirling the straw with your finger while your gaze fixed on an invisible point in the distance. Finally, you admitted with a weak voice, “Honestly, that’s exactly where this story is headed…”

   “Now you’ve got me intrigued!” Angel chimed in with a mischievous grin. Despite sneaking a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you chose to ignore his playful curiosity.

   “Well, let’s just say we had a good time…” You continued nervously twirling the straw in your drink. “And before you ask, yes, we made out,” you added, glancing back at Angel and noticing his sly grin widening almost devilishly. “Right over there in the hallway!” You pointed toward the door leading to the dimly lit corridor separating the main floor from the bathrooms and outdoor area.

   Angel laughed suggestively. “I knew you had it in ya,” he teased you, nudging your side with his lower elbow two times. “Did you just kiss or did you also…”

   You immediately raised your hands and interrupted Angel with a harsh ‘No’ before he could finish his sentence.

   The spider demon let out a disappointed huff and raised his glass to his lips again.

   “Alastor caught us before anything could turn serious,” you deadpanned, your voice tinged with bitterness. While a deep shadow crossed your expression, and your cheeks flushed a bright red as the memory replayed, Angel choked on his drink. His eyes widened in surprise as he began to cough violently. He leaned forward, desperately pounding his chest fluff with his fists in a frantic attempt to dislodge the liquid from the wrong pipe. The commotion drew curious glances from those nearby, and you turned to face him, a mix of amusement and concern etched across your face. The scene was both entertaining and troubling, as you watched him struggle, trying not to burst into laughter while simultaneously wincing at the memory that had caused this reaction. The recollection hung over you like a heavy fog, each detail feeling as vivid and mortifying as the moment it occurred.

   Angel took a moment to steady himself, his breathing finally returning to normal. Once he felt composed, he raised his glass and took a long, deliberate sip from his cocktail, as though he hadn’t just nearly choked on it in a hilariously awkward fashion. With a wry smile, he remarked, “Damn, I can see why that’s a real mood killer.”

   “A mood killer?!” you retorted with disbelief, squeezing your eyebrows together. “That was absolutely embarrassing! The absolute most mortifying experience I’ve had in the last ten years! And now I can’t stop thinking about it…” The blush on your cheeks got even redder, almost rivalring the dancefloor’s RGB lights.

   Angel Dust placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Alastor’s a big boy. He can handle it. Besides, he's probably more upset about ya makin’ out with someone else than the actual scene.”

   You looked up at him, tilting your head before your eyes widened as his words sank in. Did Angel just confirm the very same assumption you dismissed only mere minutes ago? Unsure whether you understood him correctly, you asked, “What do you mean?”

   Angel rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon now, toots. It’s obvious ya have a crush on him and from what I’ve seen, he’s definitely got a thing for ya too. He’s just too much of a stick in the mud to admit it.”

   You held your breath, your heart skipping a beat, but instead of showing hope, you furrowed your brows. “And what makes you think that?”

   “It’s the way he looks at ya,” Angel said, raising an eyebrow. “He’s been starin’ at ya all night – and not just tonight, but for a while now. Ya seriously tellin’ me ya never noticed? His gaze is like daggers. Ya can’t miss it. Also, ya never noticed the way he handles ya? Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots. That guy’s all over you. And you never noticed?!”

   “No! I mean– yes! Urgh, I don’t know–,” you stumbled over your words, overwhelmed by Angel’s blunt confirmation, your inner turmoil, and that humiliating encounter in the hallway. “He’s sending mixed signals, Angel, and it’s driving me crazy!” you finally blurted out, hiding your flushed face behind your free hand. Slightly hunched forward like an embarrassed shrimp, you grabbed the straw of your drink with your lips and took a long sip, draining the glass almost completely except for a few ice cubes and the slices of lemon floating at the bottom.

   “He’s a jerk, Y/N. Probs in denial ‘cause of his o’ so scary reputation,” Angel said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and pulled you into his chest. The proximity of your friend immediately eased your nerves, and after a moment, you lowered your hand, glaring up at the spider demon. Angel might come off as a bit of a clown, but he’s always been a good friend to you. He offered invaluable advice whenever you needed it and comforted you in a way no one else could.

   “And what do you suggest I should do?” you asked, a surge of sadness suddenly welling up inside of you.

   Angel noticed the change in your demeanor and hummed, the sound vibrating in his chest and soothing you like a purring cat. “I think it’s time for the both of ya to stop dancin’ around each other and get into some action.”

   “Funny…” you growled, disappointment lacing your voice, but Angel didn’t seem affected by your frustration. He simply sipped his drink nonchalantly.

   “Hey, I wasn’t jokin’, kitten,” he shot back, his eyes scanning the club as if searching for something. Spotting the lounge area, he grinned and added, “I’ve been watchin’ ya and Mister All-Creepy flirtin’ for what feels like forever. It’s gettin' unbearable. Not that I don’t enjoy the show, but seriously, why don’t ya just get a room already?”

   You followed Angel's gaze and immediately regretted it. There was Alastor, seated cross-legged on the same couch he’d occupied earlier, his smile tight and strained. He must’ve returned to his seat during your conversation with Angel.

   You bit your lip so hard it nearly drew blood, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart at the sight of him. Despite your discomfort, you kept your gaze fixed on him and exhaled a long, deep breath. “Because he’s fucking complicated,” you muttered, fidgeting with the straw of your empty drink, pushing the ice cubes and lemon slices back and forth.

   “We’re in hell,” Angel clarified, “Everything’s complicated.”

   “Yeah, but Alastor’s a whole other level of complicated,” you said, letting the words hang in the air. You lifted your glass, swallowed some ice cubes, and pulled out the lemon slices to munch on. After a moment of contemplation, you continued, “He seemed tense when he caught us. Acted really off – cracked jokes just to make me uncomfortable once Selena fled the scene.”

   “Sounds like somethin’ Smiles would do,” Angel shrugged.

   You huffed, frustration clear in your voice. “I know, but… either he’s been playing games with me, or maybe you’re onto something and he is jealous.”

   “What’s wrong with both?” Angel raised an eyebrow.

   You tilted your head, averting your gaze from Alastor and glancing at Angel. The spider demon, however, kept his eyes locked on the deer demon as he continued, “What I mean is, I’m pretty sure he’s been testin’ ya limits. Rilin’ ya up to distract himself from the betrayal he must’ve felt when he saw you and Selena together.”

   You just hummed, your mind occupied with a whirlwind of thoughts, your emotions running into complicated territory. After a moment of silence you asked, your voice filled with desperation, “Please just tell me what I’m supposed to do. I can’t just march up to him and lay it all out there like ‘Hey, Al, you know, I’m in love with you. Would be cool if you reciprocated my feelings.’” You roll your eyes, your voice tinged with sarcasm. “That sounds like a one-way ticket to heartbreak.”

   “I know this ain’t easy, toots. But sometimes ya gotta take a leap. If you’re tired of the games and the mixed signals, it’s time to confront it head-on. It might not fix everything, but at least you’ll get some answers.”

   “I’m pretty sure he'll reject me even if he might reciprocate my feelings. I mean, you know how he is.”

   “Then it’s his loss. He doesn’t deserve you if he can’t see your value.”

   You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, still unsure about this advice though deep down you knew that Angel was right and that there was no other way for you to get clarity than confronting Alastor head on. That smiling bastard definitely wouldn’t come at you first. He was way too… well, Alastor, for this.

   With a groan you buried your face in your hand, massaging your temples with your thumb and index. “Why me.. why him…? Why out of all of Hell’s denizens him, Angel…” you whined quietly, cursing yourself for falling for a sociopathic serial killer. This couldn’t end well. This wouldn’t end well. Yet, there was nothing else you could do. It was either jumping right into the cold water or getting burned alive by that damn uncertain feeling in your chest. “You know, I wanted him to come with us in hopes I could resolve things between us. Get closer and spend some time with him. But instead I didn’t give him any attention and made everything worse. What if he’s angry at me for dragging him here? What if– wha–”

   “Now you’re overthinkin’, toots,” Angel interrupted you and placed one of his hands on your head, slowly caressing your hair in a soothing manner. “The alcohol is makin’ ya emotional. Maybe ya should wait a few more days before ya talk to him,” he suggested with a soft voice, the motion of his hand in your hair calming you down a little, your breathing slowly got less ragged and more composed. “Let me make one thing clear,” Angel continued, stopping his petting of your head and instead lifting your chin with two of his furry fingers to make you look at him.

   You held your breath as you looked up at him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and waited for him to continue with a forced smile on your lips.

   “Al would’ve never agreed to join if he doesn’t care about you.”

   You stayed silent, only the bass of the loud music pulsing in your ears. He was right. Alastor was very stubborn and selfish. So the fact alone that you managed to convince him – which was surprisingly easy – had to mean something. Biting your lip you let your gaze return to the red demon in the back of the club, your eyes lingering on him for a moment in which you contemplated your next move. A deep breath, then you looked back at Angel. “I think I need to get some fresh air,” you said, your voice suddenly tinged with exhaustion.

   “Would ya like my company?” Angel asked but you shook your head.

   “No. I need a few minutes just for myself.”

   With that, you left Angel at the bar and made your way across the grand room, heading toward the very same door that led to the cursed hallway. As you weaved through the crowd, careful not to bump into anyone, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The unsettling sensation of being watched sent a shiver down your spine and you didn’t need to look up to know exactly whose gaze was following you. Ignoring his stare, you left the room and stepped into the outdoor area. The fresh breeze of Hell’s night air enveloped you with a soothing embrace. You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall and closing your eyes, allowing the calm of the night to settle over you. The music from the party was barely audible; only the deep bass vibrated through the closed door, a distant reminder of the revelry still going on inside, though the songs themselves were almost indecipherable.

   You didn’t know how long you'd been standing there, focusing on your breath and ignoring the few people around you, but a presence stepped into your field of vision and you looked up, your gaze meeting Selena who met you with a kind smile.

   “Hey,” she greeted you, breaking the comforting silence. “I’m really sorry for leaving you like that. It’s just… I was really embarrassed when he caught us and knowing he’s the Radio Demon made me very nervous and my flight instincts kicked in…” she explained herself with a soft voice, regret visible on her face as she met you with a weak but apologetic smile. “It was egoistic. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”

   You just shrugged your shoulders. “It’s okay,” you retorted genuinely, “I understand you. Alastor can be very intimidating. Especially if you don’t know him.” 

   Selena hummed and fell silent for a brief moment, before she continued, “I didn’t know you’re acquainted with him.” Her words sounded more like a question than a statement, and a slight hue of red spread across your cheeks. “I was confused that you know each other. I mean, he’s a much-feared overlord…”

   "Yeah, his reputation precedes him," you retorted, glancing at the door thoughtfully, as if he stood right behind it.

   Selena nodded, though her expression still held a hint of confusion.

   You continued, "We work together at the hotel. Honestly, he's not that bad once you get to know him personally."

   Selena raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

   You nodded, a small smile forming. "He's actually quite the charming gentleman and can be really funny at times. If you don’t mind his… well, complicated personality."

   Another moment of silence lingered between you in which Selena visibly processed your words. Then she asked, with a curious tone, “Are you close?”

You turned your gaze back to her, caught off guard by her sudden questions. A heavy feeling tugged at your heart and twisted your insides, but you pushed the discomfort aside. For a few seconds, you pondered whether to reveal the complications you were having with Alastor, carefully weighing what information to share and what to keep to yourself. Though something told you that Selena might be trustworthy, you had only known her for a few hours. Maybe one day you'd open up more, but for tonight, it was better to keep things brief.

   “Let’s just say we are quite close, but it’s… complicated. He… well, he’s complicated. It’s something between a loose friendship and professional coworkership,” you explained, keeping the romantic details out of it. Even if you told Selena, you were not in the mood for additional advice. Angel Dust’s words had been helpful, but you still felt unsure and, to be honest, terrified about what to do next.

   You swallowed hard, your shoulders tensing as you recalled Angel Dust’s advice to talk to Alastor but avoid doing it today. He had said that the alcohol made you too emotional – which was true; everything felt more intense and overwhelming than it probably was. Yet, you worried you might not find the courage to confront him another day. You were already intoxicated, had embarrassed yourself in front of him, and were struggling with inner turmoil that left you frustrated and somewhat angry. Given all this, you sarcastically questioned what a little more heartbreak could possibly add.

   “You really care about him, huh?” Selena suddenly broke your train of thoughts and pulled you back into reality.

   Shit, you thought. Was it that obvious? Maybe you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

   “Guess I do,” you responded with a deep sigh, giving in, and Selena’s eyes softened with understanding, as she offered you a heartwarming smile.

   “Well, he can consider himself lucky to have someone like you in his afterlife,” she retorted, her voice laced with genuine admiration. There was something reassuring in her words, a reflection of kindness that you hadn’t expected.

   “Thank you, Selena…” you said, your voice carrying a tone of heartfelt gratitude. “This really means a lot to me.”

   “Well, I think I’m heading home for tonight,” Selena changed the topic, her expression shifting to one of thoughtful weariness. “I’m pretty wasted and need a good amount of sleep to keep my hangover from being too brutal. You have my number, right?”

   You nodded, and Selena’s smile turned into a satisfied grin, as if she was pleased with the connection you had made.

   “Perfect. Just send me a text when you’re home,” she instructed, her tone friendly and casual. “We should definitely meet up again sometime. There’s a lovely little café not far from here that I think you’d enjoy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to reach out.” She gave you a reassuring wink before finishing her drink.

   You returned her smile and nodded. “Sounds great.”

   As Selena made her way out, you felt a small but comforting spark of hope. Maybe, despite the chaos of the night, you had found a new friend. And with that newfound strength, you decided it was time to step out of your shadow and confront Alastor. Better to do it tonight than to keep waiting. After all, you asked yourself again, what could a little more heartbreak possibly add to the drama?

Part three will be out in September!

Everyone who’s been tagged in this part will automatically be tagged in the next. If you aren’t part of the tag list of this story but want to be added, let me know in the comments!

*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@diffidentphantom, @notsoaverageguy-1997, @the-autistic-moth, @n0tmentallystable, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @alastorsgirl48, @ratsematary, @night-lol, @divineknightmare, @musiclover059, @bitter-rabittt, @milkissesx, @florist-of-the-valley, @fantasyhopperhea

[fokrilove]

Sleepyhead, part four

the plot is: you fall ill and alsator takes care of you, you find out your new powers and test them on someone who hasn't slept for several days

part one, part two, part three, part four

warnings: none

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

“Look there!” Whispered Angel to Husk, waving his hand in the farthest side of the room, in the direction where the Radio Demon sat on the sofa with you lying on his laps. His one hand held a book and the other one found its comfort somewhere in your hair. He scratched your scalp and played with your soft locks, twirling your curls around his digit and then let them go. In your afterlife you had the most enviable curls in all seven rings. They never tangled and were as soft as silk. They actually looked like a cloud, referencing your favourite activity from your life — having your head in the clouds.

Alastor adored playing with your hair.

Husk looked up in your direction, and Angel continued, “Is this fuckin’ normal?!”

“Absolutely not.”

They were talking in an undertone, for Alastor banned everyone from making noise in the room where you were sleeping, so since your arrival to the Hotel, this place became much quieter. Mostly part of the day some rooms of the Hotel were submerged only with sleepy silence and low voices or whispers.

Angel took a sip from his glass, still staring at you both. Alastor didn't take his hand from your hair, as his shadow turned the page. His palm went lower to caress the side of your head with his thumb and then came back to your crown. From their places Angel and Husk couldn't see how sweet you smiled in your dream.

Angel turned to the bartender again. The expression on his face was hardly understandable: he was frowning yet smiling with some shade of mockery.

“I tell ya, there must be somethin’ more than jus' sleepin’ on his lap. There's no way I believe that Smiles lets her do it for free.” His golden fang glittered in the smirk, “And I mean not a hell-overlord way.”

Husk was drying the glasses until they squeaked, but his gaze was still focused at your tiny figure on Alastor's legs. Surely it was incredible, almost unnaturally, that his boss let you not just touch him, but even rest your head on his lap and embrace him. And not only during your sleep Alastor let you invite his personal space. He was a real sucker for your presence and all the physical signs of it, so he allowed you to hold his hand, embrace him from his back, you shared your mugs and…

But before Husk remembered other sights of attention, you and Alastor showed each other, he looked at Angel, “What do you mean?”

“You see, Whiskers,” Angel leaned forward, so the fur on his chest pressed against the bar counter. He lowered his voice, so his secretive whisper was barely heard even by his interlocutor, “I saw her sneakin’ to his room! At night! With a pillow!”

Husk wasn't impressed with this statement, making Angel throw his four hands in the air and exclaim in loud whisper,

“Do ya’ think it's okay?! She sleeps all fuckin’ day long, she can't do the same thing in his bedroom at night!”

“She had a pillow.” Husk answered in deadpan.

“So what, Kitty? There's a lot more to a pillow than just sleeping on it," He said with a suggestive smile.

Suddenly the radio on the counter turned on, filling the space with the loud crackle of interference. The radio dial didn’t point to any particular wave, and an acute sound of an untuned transmission broke out from the speakers. From surprise Angel covered his ears, and Husk twitched when the crackling became louder. It seemed that the sound was creeping into their heads, intending to deafen them from the inside. As harshly as it started the sound lowered, and only the quiet static remained, crackling displeased and irritated. And then they heard a voice,

“Gentelmen, if you value your peaceful sleep at night, I can assure you that another little whisper from your side may put an end to this.”

And then a merry piano melody played from the radio.

Husk frowned at Alastor, who had put aside the book and held his microphone cane near his lips now with a satisfied grin.

Angel raised his head with a low moan and uncovered his ears. He gave Husk even more crooked smirk, as it was saying “See? I tell ya! The man wouldn’t be so obsessed without a good ho-”

But his silent suggestive statement was interrupted when Husk rolled his eyes, as if he said, “I really don't fuckin’ care and, palese, shut up.”

Angel's wide smile spoke, “Trust me, I sense such things a mile away.”

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

You'd just changed your pyjamas and sat at the edge of Alastor's bed. Your bed. You watched how Alastor prepared himself for the overlord meeting. It was later than usual, and you were upset that this night you would meet alone. Alastor adjusted his suit, tied a bowtie, and with a wave of his hand appeared his cane which he thuted against the floor.

“Will you come back?” You pronounced downcast.

Alastor gave you a bemused look, “Dear, I will definitely come back.” He headed for bed, stopping in front of you.

“When will you come back? At what time? That was what I meant.” You cringed slightly, understanding how desperately and hopelessly sounded your first question.

Alastor smirked kindly, coming closer to you. “You don't have to wait for me, my little star. You can go to bed whenever you want to.” His thumb drew tenderly the circles around the flashing stars on your cheek. You closed your eyes, like every time when Alastor touched your face. The feeling, you dreamt about in your life and never had, had become reality in your afterlife.

“I don't want to sleep without you,” You mumbled and stifled a yawn, “You know, when I was alive I had pleasant dreams, but since I've been here my dreams have changed.” Alastor tilted his head, awaiting till you continue, because at the end of your sentence you couldn't stifle another yawn. “Aaahh. Sorry.” He softly chuckled, sitting down next to you. “So. Since I've been here I dream about reality. I see what is happening around me while I'm asleep. I see everything and feel everything as if I was awake. But it’s also like a movie… I see everything from the outside, in a third person view, you know.” You tried to find more similes to convey your experiences more clearly. You smiled when Alastor nodded his head understandingly and you continued, “So when we sleep I see us. So it's simply not interesting to sleep without you. I mean, what will I see? Myself?”

You scoffed at your last statement, but you didn't overlooked how Alastor's gaze softened at the word ‘us’. He leaned forward then, closer to you, and a wistful smile covered his lips at your last words.

“I understand, dear,” His hand reached to your head and petted you. You knew Alastor loved to own others’ personal space just to piss people off, but it was evident that with you there was something different. He just couldn't keep his hands behind his back, craving to touch you more and more, and every touch was softer and gentler than previous.

“But don't force yourself, dearest.” He placed a sweet kiss on your forehead and held his gaze on your face, admiring all the new bright stars shining after his touch. “I'll be back as soon as possible."

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

When the door closed and you heard Alastor's steps echoing in the corridor, a deep sigh escaped your lips. Your heart gripped strong when you heard the last muffed steps, and you fell on your back on bed.

What to do now?

Not many ideas ran through your drowsy mind: read that book, listen to the records, sleep, bayou, movie night with Angel, sleep, go to the bar to Husk, sleep, sleep, sleep…

You harshly sat up, shaking your head and chasing your slumber away. No sleep.

You sat in silence, staring at the bright flame in the fireplace.

What was that thought?

You turned your head to the left and looked at the bayou.

The large tall trees silhouetted in the dark blue shadows of the night. The mist covered the ground in thin feather-like clouds, seeming cold and soft to the touch. Small golden lights swirled above the grass, illuminating the dark landscape, turning the uncanny scenery into something almost fairy-tale. A cool breeze fanned your whole body, bringing the night sounds of the forest to your hearing.

For a long time you wanted to explore that forest, but Alastor didn't recommend you do it. Especially alone. To satisfy your curiosity you had dinner there together and made strolls, but never went too deep into the woods. Alastor said it was dangerous, but when you objected, weren’t you safe next to him, Alastor said, physically it was, but mentally it was unlikely.

In the bayou dwelled the things that were not meant for your eyes. He didn't want you to see the creatures there, to face the powers piercing through the air. And you believed him, especially after the night when you were woken up from a bloodcurdling growl which seemed was coming from the depth of the forest. It took Alastor hundreds of words of reassurance that the noise was just your bad dream, and not a something from the woods, from which even a fence, let alone a wall didn't protect you. Did you believe him then? Hardly. But weighting your thoughts you decided to trust him, that nothing could cross the line of the parquet and hurt you. Moreover Alastor's arms embraced you so tight they felt like aegis.

You stood up, put on your slippers and came to the edge of the quarters you shared with Alastor only at night. The wind blew again, taking you in its cold embrace and making you shiver. You glanced back in search of something warm you could take with you.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

The toes of your slippers sank in the wet grass, but when the wind attacked you again you didn't even frown, just wrapped yourself tighter in Alastor's dressing gown. Raising your hands hidden in long sleeves, you inhaled his scent. Alastor left his dressing gown on the armchair in front of the fireplace, so it took all the warmth and smell it could only take. The smell of burnt woods, fur, and his specific scent. You breathed it all in your lungs, making a step into the bayou.

With slow steps you moved forward, embracing yourself by your shoulders and stroking the maroon velvet of the dressing gown. You were not afraid or scared, but you were a tad confused with a strange feeling that led you ahead. You looked up and saw the night sky, the real night sky of dark blue colour. The little stars were barely seen through the long branches of conifers, although you still didn't came to the trees.

Time after time you glanced back to be sure you hadn't lost sight of the room. Your dwelling quaintly stood out against the dark landscape, illuminating the nearest area with soft orange light of candles and the fireplace. It looked cozy, welcoming, benign. The empty bed held your gaze, but you turned away and headed for the cypresses again, stepping out of the light of the room.

A long yawn. The coolness of the night made you more sleepy.

Now you reached the first trees, and the room seemed smaller now, but still visible and bright. You could go further.

Carefully watching under your feet to avoid puddles and roots, you edged your way somewhere when you suddenly froze.

You went deep enough into the woods to be embraced by the blue shadows of the night. The yellow shape of the bedroom shining behind your back turned up very small, but it didn't bother you. Now only you and the night existed. You stood in the glade, with your feet sunk in the moist grass and your head thrown back. You admired the sky. The dark blue vault of heaven seemed like a velvet studded with diamonds which were the stars.

You threw your head back to see more of the sky and suddenly felt like something pushed you back. You took a step behind and looked back, but there was nobody. Maybe you threw your head back too much and lost the balance. You looked in the sky again.

The stars slightly quivered but were bright and big, and you could see how the new stars lit up just before your eyes. So it wasn't a mirage? Not just a trick of Alastor's magic? This sky was real. It was like something that could exist in the real world, something from the living world. As if Alastor put out his memories like a filmstrip and put them into a projector to reminisce about his past life, back to the time when he enjoyed life and the night sky of Louisiana.

He still enjoyed it, for this sky, the roof of his home, was still here.

Suddenly something touched your shoulders. Somebody's cold light arms fell on your shoulders and slipped down, squeezing your palms. They isappeared.

Then somebody quickly embraced you from the left, but it disappeared as fast as it came.

And then you saw a shadow in front of you. The black blot stood out against the befogged blue background ten feet from you. It began to come closer, but you didn't move, feeling yourself hypnotized. When the shadow swam up closer, you saw that it had a trembling white outline around itself, and you finally recognized the figure.

Charlie?

As soon as you discerned the shadow it moved faster to you and hung heavily on your neck, making you sit at the stones near you. You felt tiredness. Another pair of hands touched you, this time from your back. You felt they caressing your back, and then saw another black and white silhouette beside you. Its four arms squeezed you tight.

New shadows with familiar shapes appeared around you and every one of them folded its arms around you, making your eyelids heavier and clearing your mind from thoughts.

Your body was getting heavier, you wanted to lie down, surrender to these shadows and the night, fall asleep forever in this coolness and in these arms.

A new silhouette glimpsed before your eyes and its touch to your cheek felt the warmest.

The world sunk into the darkness…

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

During the meeting Alastor had a feeling that something had happened in the bayou. A cold vibrant wave ran through his body that told him that something affected his magic. Something interacted with him. Something from the woods. Had something happened to you? What if you revealed your powers and couldn't manage with them? For Alastor knew you had them. Otherwise how could he explain that intoxicating slumber, that even he couldn't overcome, that occupied the Hotel since your coming?

The fleetingness of the premonition, the way it faded as quickly as it arose, calmed him down a little. But he was still worried. So the moment when the last concluding remarks slipped from Carmila's tongue, Alastor quickly said goodbye to Rosie and vanished in the shadows.

When Alastor appeared through the shadows in the bedroom it was empty. No sight of you in the bed or in the armchair. He checked the bathroom, but it was empty too. He glanced at the bayou.

“What a naughty girl.” He pronounced with a thin sharp-toothed smile, approaching the forest. He still couldn't see even a silhouette of you, but the feeling of someone's presence was strong, and he moved forward, “Didn't I tell her not to go deep?”

When Alastor came up to the glade, the farthest safe area, from which it was barely possible to distinguish the light pouring from the bedroom through the dark tree trunks, he thought out all the possible punishments for a self-willed girl like you. Perhaps, he had to acquaint you with the beast from the swamp, from a distance of course. Or to lead you into that cave with a bloodthirsty creature and let you listen to its gloomy song. Maybe then you would learn to listen to him?

Alastor leaned over your lying figure on the stones. You lay on your belly, arms outstretched forward, as if you tried to embrace the hard surface. Moss served you as your pillow, and several green pieces stuck in your hair. Your slippers almost slid down, and your bare feet buried in the wet grass.

“Oh, darling,” Alastor frowned, understanding in what state you'd find yourself the next day after sleeping on those stones on a chilly night. He had no doubt you could catch a cold, so without hesitation he wrapped you better in his robe and hoisted you.

His eyes didn't leave your face when he was making his way through the forest back to the bedroom. You were in a very deep sleep, your head lay limp on your chest, and uncharacteristically for you your hands didn't even try to embrace Alastor. You didn't murmur anything, didn't press yourself closer to him, didn't smile. You seemed dead, and only the way your chest fell and rose heavily gave away your breath and life. Alastor pressed you closer to him, so your nose bumped against his cheek, and he hoped that the heat of his body could warm you.

Alastor put you in bed on the side that was further from the bayou. He took off the dressing gown, which was damp because of the mist (how long had you been there?), and took off your slippers. Your feet were terribly cold, and Alastor hesitated to find warm socks for you. Then he removed the stuck moss from your hair, wrapped you in a blanket and lay nearby, covering both of you with another blanket.

You lay like in a cocoon, and Alastor held you close to him. In the morning he would ask you what had happened in the bayou, why you had gone so deep in the woods, why you had chosen stones as your bed, and what you had dreamt about. He pushed the hair out of your face, and remained his palm on your crown. The stars on your face were not as bright as usual.

Tomorrow. Everything would become clear tomorrow.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Your head was heavy, as if your skull was filled with stones, your limbs ached, and you felt heat and cold at the same time. You tried to swallow and twitched, as if you tried to swallow glass.

You fell ill.

You slowly raised your heavy eyelids and blinked several times to see something through the blurred vision. The familiar outline of a man with red hair and big fluffy ears leaned over you, and you felt your cheek was caressed.

“Morning, dear. How do you feel?” You heard the crackling of a static superimposed on a low voice. Finally your vision went back to normal, and you saw a pair of crimson worried eyes peering at you. “Darling?”

“I'm hot… ” You mumbled in a weak voice and wanted to tell about your headache, but the ached in your throat was merciless.

“Well, I’ll remove this duvet, but the blanket must remain,” Answered Alastor, pushing away the soft comforter on the other side of the bed. Then he looked at you, “Perhaps, we should settle you more comfy? Let me, dear.” He adjusted your pillow, so you could sit, leaning against the headboard. “Is it better now?”

You nodded. His eyes scanned your tired face.

“Ohh, such a poor thing,” He said in feignes pitiful tone, “And she’s paying double for not obeying me.”

Suffering expression appeared on your face. You were absolutely not ready to listen to his reproof, when all you wanted was death sleep. But you didn't have time to reply him as he continued,

“But we shall discuss it when you recover, my dear. For now you need rest.”

The words didn't sound scoffing and he looked at you with softness, with sympathy.

Your whole body felt broken, breathing became a burden with a stuffy nose, every swallow seemed a torture, and even your eyes, too watery, we're aching.

“What is my temperature?”

Alastor leaned forward, pressing to your cheek and gently cupping your face. Your cheeks touched and for the first time his skin felt colder than yours. His breath tickled the skin near your ear when he whispered,

“It's pretty high, dear, but nothing serious.” He said, leaning back, “I believe with proper care you'll be great just in a few days! Of course if you follow my recommendations and comply with bed rest.” He said with a playful smile and you couldn't hold your smile back.

“Guess it won't be a problem for me.”

“Splendid!” Alastor threw up his hands causing a chuckle from you. “Well, darling, how about breakfast?”

You winced at the thought of putting something in your mouth, chewing it and swallowing, letting it be inside of your exhausted body.

“Now now my dear, don't grimace at me like that, I won't feed you forcedly.” He chuckled and took a mug from the bedside table. “Drink it for a start. Darling, don't frown at me,” He almost sang these words, “ This will make you feel better, I promise.”

Alastor brought the mug to your lips and you took the first sip. The warm and tasty broth somehow made you feel a little bit better. Alastor let you drink it slowly and just as much as you could take. You thanked him when you drank a half of the mug. Alastor rewarded you with a soft smile and a satisfied “Mmm, it's a pleasure to me to feed you, dearest."

Alastor tucked the blanket around you and stilled, leaning over you. His eyes glowed with the soft red light on you, and you wondered again how rude and how wrong were other residents calling him a monster, when this man showed you his solicitude so many times and in so many ways.

“Now, my little star, close your eyes and sleep. It is the best medicine for you now.” Your eyelids drooped, and you felt a tender touch to your cheek. His thumb made circles around your temple, causing a pleasant trembling through all your body. “Sleep well.”

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

During your sickness you slept more than usual, if that was even possible. Your ‘dreaming’ vision came back to you, and you saw all the care and all the attention given to you. Alastor didn't trust anyone to take care of you, so he was the only one who cooked for you, wiped off your sweat with a cold towel, brought you medicines. Alastor preferred the old way of treating and wanted to cure you just how his dear mother cured him, but you and Charlie insisted that pills wouldn't make you feel worse, but speed up the healing process, so he had to give in.

Every time you opened your eyes, you saw Alastor sitting on the chair near your bed. He fed you porridge with forest berries in the morning, broth for lunch and in the evening you drank your favourite bilberry tea whilst Alastor drank his coffee, telling you about his earth life and his mother, for he knew how much you enjoyed his voice and how much you liked these stories. The tea warmed your body and soothed your aching throat . Thanks to the medicine that Charlie gave you you were able to breathe again, so you slowly breathed into your lungs the sweet scent of bilberry that always made you feel a tad more sleepy. And when your eyelids drooped and you fell asleep, listening to the dear crackling of statics, you still saw Alastor watching you. He never left you when you were awake, caring to fulfill your every desire, measuring your temperature with the touch of his palm or lips against your forehead, heartening you and himself that with everyday you looked stronger and healthier.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

“I think I’m healthy.” You said on the sixth day of bed rest.

“Is it so, darling?” Alastor put the book he read on his lap and touched your cheek with the back of his palm, then it slowly followed to your forehead. His palm stayed on your head for several seconds, and then he cupped your face again, pressing his lips to your forehead. With a soft smile he said, “It's almost fine. I believe tomorrow you will be tiptop.”

You were still for a while. Alastor returned to the book. Finally you said, “I want to tell you something.” His eyes fixed on your face again. “It's about the bayou.”

“Ahh, dear, I would be happy to listen to you, although I have some thoughts on this matter.”

“Really? Um, okay. Honestly, I don't know why I went there, I felt like something was beckoning me. Maybe it was the night, I don't know.” You looked at Alastor, remembering how real the sky was,” This forest is from the living world, right?”

Alastor nodded his head, “Yes, my dear, it is. The landscape, the firmament, even the weather, all of these are straight from where I grew up.”

“Louisiana.” You said with a smile, and Alastor nodded in response, answering you with a melancholic smile,

“Indeed, darling. Louisiana.”

You couldn’t help but be surprised and envy how devoted he was to his home — a feeling completely unfamiliar to you. But his stories about that place, several local tales and legends he told you while you were sick, made you feel like it was your home too. Alastor could tell you about the things dear to him with such love, that you began to feel the same even though you never had them. You loved his hometown, loved his mother, loved his radio broadcast. He gave you a home that you never had when you were alive.

“Well. When I looked at the sky, the very beautiful sky, I felt like I was embraced. I looked around but nobody was near, and then I felt it again. I saw shadows, they circled around me, appearing and disappearing again and again. But I know whose shadows these were.” You drew a circle in the air with your forefinger,” All the people from the hotel. And then those shadows just fell on me, still holding me in their arms. And it seemed that they did they same that all of you do when I sleep. Like caressing me, embracing, playing with my hair,” You glanced at Alastor with a sly smile, “But that feeling was so… I don't even know. The feeling was so strong, I passed out. Oh, and during that sleep I didn't see anything, didn't even feel. For the first time my eyes were closed, and all I saw was darkness.”

Alastor tapped his chin with his forefinger, considering your words. You sat in silence, waiting for his response.

“As I presumed, my dear, your powers have awakened. It always seemed to me that you are able to do more than just seeing what is happening around you during sleep and making others drowsy. Perhaps you can even deliberately make others sleepy and control the depth of their sleep, hmm? We should look into this.”

“As for the bayou, I believe my vigour and yours collided there, causing a small but powerful interaction between our magical powers. I can control shadows, in fact I have hundreds of them under my command, and you, apparently, can not only put yourself and others to sleep, but you also can endow your memories with your powers by embodying them, in a literal sense.”

“So, you summoned the phantom of our princess from your memories, and a shadow from my control immediately appeared, which took on its shape and became tangible. Then you transferred your vigour of putting to sleep to this phantom, and it repeated the same actions that were kept in your memory.”

“It wasn't just the collision and the subsequent unification of our powers that caused your faint. This was your first experience of using such powerful sorcery and of course you got tired, moreover you used your own soporific spells on yourself. That's why you fell into such a deep sleep right where you were, on the stones.”

You blinked. And blinked again, digesting his words. After two minutes of silence, during which Alastor stared at you, you said, “Okaaay. Guess, it's the right diagnosis.”

“Darling,” Alastor said with a reproachfully look, “I’ve been studying magic since I was alive, so I'm quite an expert at this-”

“I have no doubt!” You interrupted him, understanding that your words sounded not like you wanted to, “I believe you, Alastor, I didn't want my words to sound sarcastic. I trust you. It's just so strange to… have powers. And such strange powers.”

“As strange as it is, it's also potent.” He said with a tilt of his head and a mischievous toothy smile. You thought that he could be actually interested in your new found powers. “But don't worry about it now, darling!”

He stood up and turned off the lamp on your bedside table, so the fireplace was the only source of light, excluding his gleaming eyes. “It's time to sleep, my dear.”

“Wait, where are you going?” You exclaimed when Alastor turned back to you and headed for the door. He turned his head to you. “During my sickness I didn't see you sleeping. Never. “

“My darling, I can decide by myself how much sleep I need. For the moment I don't feel any need, but I do have some business that must be done. Don't worry, my little star.” He bent down and left a kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight.” And then you were left alone.

Of course Alastor could talk about this nonsense of never-feeling-need-of-sleep, but the shadows under his eyes were darker than usual, and his posture wasn't as straight as always.

He supposed you could advisedly make others sleepy and even control the depth of their sleep. In fact you always did it but never knowingly. Maybe you could try?..

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

When Alastor returned it was the dead of night, and the fire in the fireplace had gone out long ago, so only the reddish coals hardly shone. You were awake but kept your eyes closed. You didn't see Alastor and could rely only on the noisy static which followed him whenever he went. The sound crossed the room and stopped at the left side of the bed. You heard a sigh, and the static became louder for a second. Keeping your eyes closed in the darkness without falling asleep was extremely hard for a sleepyhead like you, but keeping your breathe slowly and deep as an asleep person was even harder.

You heard a rustling sound and a quiet ‘click’, after which the darkness behind your eyelids took a dark reddish hue. Alastor probably lit the fireplace. Why did he always sleep with an alight fire?

You heard the blanket lifting and felt the weight on the other side of bed. Some more rustling, as Alastor tried to make himself more comfortable. You whispered something unintelligible, imitating yourself sleeping, and felt the gaze. Alastor was the only one whose eyes on you you could actually feel. Sometimes studying, sometimes intent, sometimes disapproving and sometimes thrilling. Now it was concerning.

You didn't move.

Suddenly you felt his arms embracing you and pressing you closer to him. His chin rested on the crown of your head and you could feel his breath in your hair. Did he finally decide to have a rest?

His arms held yours, fingers intertwined. You could feel with your back how his chest slowly went up and down with every breath. His one leg lay between yours, and with your bare foot you could feel the fur on his shin. Every time Alastor embraced you during the sleep, you couldn't help but think that sometimes he held you like a child holding his plush toy.

Even if he really decided to listen to you, you wanted to be sure that his sleep would be good.

You concentrated on your own breath, on your thoughts to vanish every one of them, and eventually you controlled the somnolence souring in the air.

Alastor's body relaxed and you opened your eyes, understanding that he actually fell asleep. And you did this.

You slightly gasped when his grasp tightened, and Alastor pressed you even closer to his chest, hiding his face in the curve between your shoulder and neck. Yes, just like a plush toy.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

When you woke up Alastor still held you close and tight. His one hand was on your hip and the other one, which you used as a pillow, held your palm. A pleasant wave of vibration ran through your body, caused by Alastor's breath with statics. You woke up earlier than him for the first time in your afterlife. You wondered what time was it?

Alastor breathed deep and calm, but you knew it was just because of your spell. You would remove it, but only when he'd get enough sleep and when you would wash yourself up. But when you tried to remove his hands from your hip, his palm slipped higher to your waist and pulled you closer to him. His other hand let go of your wrist, and now two of his hands held you so ever firm by your sides.

Well, maybe a few more minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt?

But when you closed your eyes and stayed in your lying position for a little more, you understood that you didn't feel drowsy. Not at all.

You glanced at the clock, maybe it was the time to wake Alastor and get out of bed? But the clock hands shocked you even more than your lack of drowsiness.

5:05 am.

You had doubts whether you'd even seen such a time on the clocks in your life. Could you had enough sleep during the period of your sickness and now you didn't feel any urge to sleep? Improbably. Then maybe it was a side effect of your spell?

Maybe it was another question you need to discuss with Alastor. For now you wanted to go to the bathroom and not disturb Alastor's sleep. But how to make him let you go without awakening him? He held you so firmly.

Maybe with another spell?

The strong hands loosened their grip and relaxed, when you made Alastor's sleep deeper. You quickly and quietly left bed and disappeared behind the door of the bathroom.

When you returned to the bedroom you were astonished by what you saw. The bright sun from the bayou poured the room with pale yellowish light. Its rays already reached the bed and now illuminated the one who slept there. The sun coloured Alastor's bhair in ruby red, slightly pinkish, and his expression looked uncharacteristically soft with that small lip-closed smile. He lay across the bed, bringing his legs close to his belly. His head lay on the place where you were lying several minutes ago, and his ears twitched from time to time. He outstretched his arms forward, as if he was trying to find something to hold, but all his hands could squeeze was an edge of the blanket.

Your heart melted at this sight. He looked so innocent with that soft sunlight on his face and knees pressing to his stomach. He looked like a young deer lying in the glade and basking in the sun.

You sat on the edge of bed and ran your fingers through his soft hair. You touched the velvet of his antlers and went higher to his ears. You removed your spell and you could actually see how his expression changed into something more familiar. You kept scratching his ears and you needed all your strength to stifle your chuckle, when he smiled wider and turned over on his back, lifting one of his hoofed legs. If he only had a tail, you were sure, it would wag against the sheets right now.

Two hours passed; you had read the book just to where Alastor left off and was looking at him. The sight was too sweet and you wondered if he felt the same, watching you sleep. But it was the time Alastor usually got up (if he went to bed) and maybe even a little later. The spell was long forgotten, and it was his natural sleep, the one he needed so long and refused even longer.

You gently touched his cheek, the gesture which his mother used to wake him up, and you saw his eyelids trembling. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times. You didn't take your hand away, waiting until he woke up completely. And only when his gaze traced to your face, you lifted your hand to his antlers to gently tap them.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” You whispered, giving him your softest smile.

Alastor stared at you and slowly half-rose, leaning against the headboard. Your hand fell on his shoulder. Alastor rubbed his eyes and said, turning his head to you, “Sleepyhead?”

You chuckled and answered, “I woke up earlier than you, now it's your name hahaha!”

“Ha ha ha” He mimicked your laughter. The innocence of just waking up fawn vanished, being replaced with the stubbornness of a sarcastic deer, “I don't actually remember if I asked you lulling me to sleep.”

His peering look didn't frightened you even for a moment as you quickly repulsed his attack, “Maybe you didn't asked to, but you needed it, Alastor. And don't argue with me, this morning is just lovely.”

After a few seconds of silence Alastor said, “Well then,” He put his head on your shoulder, admiring the bright stars on your face, “Should I thank you?”

“It would be nice.”

“Thank you.” A kiss on your neck. And then another one under your ear. And one more on your temple. And then he whispered softly in your ear, “But never do this again without my permission, dear.”

He grinned widely at you, and you swallowed, saying, “Okay.”

“Good girl,” He left a peck on your crown, making the already bright stars shone even brighter, “Now, my early-bird,” He exclaimed cheerfully, “Others might have been waiting for us, don't you think?”

“It's still too early,” You yawned widely and loudly.

“My my, is it my lovely sleepyhead returned?”

You wanted to joke that it was all his fault, because before he woke up you were absolutely fine, but another yawn attacked your mouth and you were forced to cover it with your palm, your other hand waved him something with irritation.

Alastor laughed and pulled you to him, so your head bumped into his chest. His palm appeared on the top of your head and he stroked your hair. You felt warmth flowing through all your limbs, and you felt yourself the same star demon, that always eagered to sleep, and that always found her comfort in somebody's arms.

“Did I wish you ‘goodnight’?” Alastor asked with a chuckle as you leaned closer to Alastor, listening to his heartbeat and soft crackle of statics.

“No. But you didn't say ‘good morning’ either.” You mumbled. The sleep was so close to you. Were you really going to go back to sleep two hours after waking up?

“My apologies, darling. Good morning.”

Well, in these arms why not fall asleep?

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

@dollupofdaisy2019 @girl-nahh-two @christinebloodwrittings @serapinaxx @millierose2010

[fokrilove]

Devilish deal

“Are you ready for our wedding night, my lovely wife?”

Your blood turned to ice as you stared at the Radio Demon, who merely chuckled at your expression and scramble to the top of the bed.

“Come now, what did you think was going to happen, hmm?”

You knew Alastor was the traditional type, what with carrying you over the threshold not even an hour ago and his insistence on an actual wedding. That said, the thought of the wedding night happening so soon was a little too much for you, and you squeaked as he advanced on your quivering form on the bed, licking his chops like a cougar who’d lucked out and found a particularly delicious prey animal.

“I…” you paused, shuffling back from him as he moved to sit before you, taking your hands in his and rubbing over your trembling hands with a surprising gentleness that you hadn’t expected from such claw-tipped hands, having seen firsthand the damage that those taloned fingers could do; shredding demons into ribbons like a hot knife through butter… But Alastor had never hurt you with those claws.

His hand gently came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he leaned in, lips brushing your earlobe as he spoke.

“What are you so afraid of, sweetness?”

You buried your face into his neck, feeling his chest rumble as he chuckled, lifting your hand and pressing kisses to your palm.

This man is going to be the death of me.

“I’m- I’ve never…” You trailed off, hoping he’d get the hint, and he hummed, pressing a kiss on the side of your head.

“I understand that you’re scared, little wife, but I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

His lips came to nip at your throat before he paused to inhale the scent of your skin, then grazing your pulse with sharp teeth.

“I’ll be gentle until you beg me for more,” the soft grazing turned to nips before the demon sucked a bruising hickey to your throat, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

You’d never been with anyone before, and while your curious fingers had cautiously explored your body, nothing had ever prepared you for the feeling of heat curling in your belly, and you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together for friction as your new husband made a mess of your neck, his own moans staining your cheeks scarlet.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, all heavy-lidded and crimson eyes ablaze with desire as he regarded you, sinful gaze burning as he turned his attention to your inner thighs. “Looks like you’re excited too, sweet thing.”

You only huffed in response, not trusting your voice or knowing what to respond with.

“As I said, I’ll be gentle… until you’re begging me to fuck you, that is.”

“Alastor!” you yelped, smacking his broad shoulder, but he only chuckled, beginning to stroke your thigh tenderly.

“And I know you’ll taste even more delicious than you smell right now, so will you allow me to fulfil my husbandly duties?”

Your stomach twisted with dread at the title, but your apparent lust for the demon seemed to push it away, focused only on pleasure.

You nodded, but Alastor’s grin turned sinister, “No, no, my sweet. I’m not going to do anything until you tell me to.”

Your hands covered your blushing face as another squeak left your lips, but the demon only laughed, clearly enjoying this as he parted your legs, clawed digits sweeping over your skin to play with the hem of your panties.

“I…” you exhaled slowly, lowering your hands to look at the infernal demon resting his head on your thigh. A smug smirk played at his lips as he watched you grapple with voicing your desires. “I want you to…”

“Yes, my sweet little wife?”

You twitched at the nickname and exhaled, trying with all your might to steel yourself and tell the damn demon what you wanted, but it was so hard. You weren’t a prude, but there were certain things you’d never voiced aloud, your sexual desires being one of them, and it was clearly coming to bite you. Alastor seemed more than willing to entertain your desires, but why couldn’t you say it?

You’d survived emerging in Hell and being fought over like the last slice of pizza before finding sanctuary in this pit. Surely you could tell your new husband that you wanted your-

“Aww, pretty crybaby,” his voice cooed out. You hadn’t realised you were crying from frustration until now, and Alastor had moved to sit up and delicately began lapping at your tears with a sinful tongue. “Is my precious girl having trouble with her words?”

You sniffed, wiping away the remnants of your tears, staring balefully at the redhead who seemed to take immense pleasure in your struggle. He only cooed at you in response, probably finding your glare adorable as he cupped your face in his hands.

“I’ll tell you what, sweetling,” he pecked your nose, and you scrunched your nose in distaste, but Alastor didn’t seem to mind. “Just this once, I’ll hold off on the teasing, but next time, I expect you to fully voice your desires. Understand, baby?”

You nodded meekly, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, “Good. Now let’s begin.”

A yelp escaped your lips as he pushed you down to rest on the mountain of pillows; though you didn’t have time to scold him, his teeth grazing at your inner thighs was reason enough to stop the air in your lungs.

The Radio Demon set a pattern of gentle bites and nips along your inner thighs, punctuating them with soothing licks when your legs jolted a little harsher than normal. You didn’t know what to do with yourself right now; you couldn’t look away from the redhead nestled between your thighs as his ministrations made your core pulse with need and your pussy moisten in anticipation and excitement as he moved closer to his goal.

Soon enough, he was nosing at your pussy through your panties, inhaling your scent salaciously through the thin fabric.

“If you want me to stop, tell me now, or I won’t be able to hold back.” His voice was husky, dripping with need that sent sparks of arousal to your loins and crimson to colour your cheeks again at the sight of such a usually well-put-together man addled with lust without having tasted you yet.

Though a part of you would never admit it, seeing what your body did to such a powerful demon sent a thrill coursing through your body.

You nodded your assent timidly, and the demon’s ever-present grin turned lecherous as he returned to his focus.

His claws shredded the only barrier between your most sacred place and his lecherous gaze, and you tensed as he inhaled your scent.

“Perhaps I shall say grace just this once,” he growled, and you squeaked at the unholy thought. Alastor didn’t seem too bothered by a verbal response or reaction, merely dipping his head and beginning to press kisses and lap at your opening. You slowly let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

His sinful tongue probed at your folds, waking your pussy up and lapping at your juices, moaning into your pussy at the taste. You’d jolted a few times, almost kicking Alastor in the dick once, which led to shadowy tendrils loosely holding your legs down, not tying you down firmly, but loose enough that you didn’t feel constricted but also didn’t risk hurting Alastor when you inevitably jolted again.

The room was silent save for your shaky breathing and the obscene noises that escaped the demon as he opened you up, tongue and teeth making a mess of your pussy that was dripping with arousal that Alastor was more than eager to lap up.

You didn’t know how long had passed since Alastor had started, but he was taking it slow for your sake. However, that sinful tongue was talented enough to make you whimper, and despite being in uncharted territory, you knew something had to give – crying out when his tongue, at last, breached your inner walls.

Your hands scrambled for purchase – needing something, anything, to hold onto as the demon devoured you like you were his last meal. You blindly grasped at the base of his enlarged antlers and tried to breathe.

He paused momentarily, the talented muscle buried inside stilling for the first time since he began, and you feared he’d pull away. Luckily, he resumed his efforts, moaning into you as your fingers curled around his sturdy antlers, your hips moving instinctively to rock against his face.

His fingers were tracing some sort of design into your thighs, but your mind was so clouded with lust that you couldn’t focus, and every attempt to parse out what he was tracing was thrown away by the movements of his tongue. That was a mystery for later because right now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, what with the Radio Demon practically devouring you from your pussy up.

You wouldn’t last long. You knew you couldn’t. Your defences had been lowered and practically stripped bare. Now here Alastor was, practically tongue fucking you as you babbled inane strings of words, too overcome with pleasure to form coherent sentences. Something had to give.

A shadowy tendril materialised to toy with your clit, circling the bundle of nerves and gently teasing it, making your breath hitch, fingers buried in tendrils of silky hair as tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes at such pleasurable sensations.

You were done for.

There was no way you could handle this for much longer.

Alastor’s tongue twisted and turned, practically making love to your walls while the tendril played with your clit, both coaxing you into the first orgasm of the night, a cry ripping from your throat as your thighs clamped around the Radio Demon’s head as you came on his tongue.

Your vision swam with stars, and you couldn’t hear clearly, almost as if you were underwater as the pleasurable tingles swept through your body, your hips bucking uselessly as you rode out your orgasm, Alastor's tongue continuing to lap at and coax your pussy into another rippling orgasm, your juices gushing onto his tongue.

Eventually, you came down from your high, releasing the demon from the almost constrictive grasp your thighs had on him as you fought to catch your breath. Alastor didn’t seem to mind too much, resting his head on your thigh and pressing soothing kisses to the nips and bites he’d left littered on your inner thighs, grinning up at you with remnants of your juices running down his chin.

That was so hot.

He moved to hover above you, pressing a sinful kiss to your lips, tenderly cupping your jaw as you parted your lips at his gentle probing, his tongue immediately invading your mouth and dancing with yours, making you taste your release on his talented tongue. You dripped at the taste and the sinful act of this sticky, cum-filled kiss.

Reluctantly, you pulled away, gasping and clutching onto him like a lifeline, your head swimming with what had just happened and all these new sensations, though Alastor didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed a little too smug at having been the first to give you an orgasm, and such a stellar one at that.

“Well, I’d say you enjoyed that as much as I did,” he hummed out, and you made a noise of agreement, too dazed to properly answer him. “Are you ready for the main event, sweetling?”

You looked up at him, seeing only lust and desire swimming in his darkened eyes, and timidly nodded.

He gently pushed you down, moving back to admire you, and it was only then that you noticed the tent in his trousers, with a wet patch staining the front. Had this man truly cum at the taste of you? You were too concerned with other matters to think more, your eyes fixed fearfully on his bulge that was straining against the expensive fabric of his trousers.

Alastor didn’t seem to notice your concern as he stripped, and you swallowed nervously, only now registering how tall he was. Not only did he overpower you with his immense shadow and tower over you like a giant of myth, but his throbbing length pulsed with need, and you knew he wasn’t going to fit.

Alastor was humming as he rubbed his cock, coating it with his precum and seemingly not noticing your concern.

“Al… I don’t think you’re going to fit,” you uttered your concerns in a near whisper. The twitch of the fluffy deer ears atop his head let you know he had heard you, and he chuckled, smugness tinging his laughter. You flushed, not having intended to complement him or stroke his inflated ego.

“It will, my lovely little wife. I’ll make it fit,” he soothed, large hands smoothing up and down your sides comfortingly, “I swore I wouldn’t hurt you, and I don’t intend to do so, especially not on our wedding night. What kind of a husband would I be if I did such a thing?”

His question was rhetorical, but it did quell your concerns a little, and he directed your attention away from his member to his eyes, “I want your eyes on me. Focus on me, sweetness.”

Swallowing nervously, you kept your eyes focused on him, letting him draw you in close to nip at your throat before moving to your lips, humming softly. He was kissing you now, softly and slowly, clawed hands sliding up and down your sides, shadowy tendrils coming to peel away at the little slip you’d put on earlier, tossing it to the other side of the room with no care.

Part of you cringed at such expensive silk being treated that way, though all concerns were thrown away when he palmed your heavy breast and played with the peak, fondling it. At the same time, his lips pulled away from yours as he traced a path of bruising kisses and bites to your other breast, lavishing it with licks and kisses before taking it into his mouth, almost devouring it. Meanwhile, shadowy tendrils toyed with your clit, sending a tremor through you as arousal dripped between your thighs.

Almost reluctantly, he pulled away, red eyes cloudy with lust as he admired the bitemarks and light bruising on your breasts. His gaze met yours, a silent question of “Are you ready?” in his eyes, and you nodded, allowing him to push you back down.

Your fingers grasped the silken sheets below you, eyes closing as you braced yourself, already feeling the heat emanating from his cock as the Radio Demon guided himself between your legs.

It was a good thing that Alastor had prepared you beforehand; otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to take his length, gasping and instinctively digging your nails into his back, eliciting a hiss from him as tears trickled from your eyes at the foreign feeling of being entered.

Alastor was moving slowly, alternating between hushed praises at how well you were taking him and hisses of how fucking tight you were against your throat as he continued.

“Almost there, my sweet,” he murmured, sharp teeth grazing the juncture between your shoulder and neck, and your fingers tangled in those crimson strands as you held on for dear life while the demon pressed kisses to your throat in an attempt to distract you from the pain. “You’re doing so well.”

His teeth made another appearance by your neck, pressing in and biting down hard, eliciting a cry from you and a moan from him as your sweet blood filled his mouth, eagerly drinking it down and lapping at your wound like some sort of vampire.

What you hadn’t realised was that his bite only distracted you from him bottoming out inside of you, and you stared down at the point where both your body became one, your mind unable to comprehend what had happened.

God damn, he really had made it fit.

Alastor turned your attention back to him as he lapped at your tears, cooing out, “Pretty cry-baby,” as he did so, his cock twitching deep within you. Was he really getting off on your tears?

You didn’t have time to form a smart reply when Alastor rolled his hips, eliciting a moan from you, which you shamefully covered your mouth at, flushing crimson.

“Ah, ah!” he crooned, pulling your hands away from your mouth, “I want to hear every sound from that pretty little mouth of yours. Understand me, sweetling?”

You nodded mutely, making him purr at your compliance, “Shall I begin, my wife?”

“Yes.”

He started slowly, most likely to get you used to his size and these new sensations, which you were very thankful for; his pace only increased when you nodded your assent.

“You’re gorgeous, my little wife,” he praised, gazing down at you with lidded eyes, leaning in to hiss his next few words, “but next time, you won’t be so lucky. I’m going to cover your pretty skin with bites and bruises. Just you wait.”

That sent fire down to your loins, but you wouldn’t let his challenge lay unanswered.

Pulling him in, you nipped at his throat this time, “Who says I won’t be the one to leave you covered in my marks?” you punctuated your “threat” with your own bite to his neck, sending a full-body shudder through the demon as his eyes rolled up in pure pleasure.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetling,” he punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that left you gasping, his shadowy tendrils coming out to fondle and tease your breasts, making your nipples stiffen under their ministrations, while another came to play with your clit once more.

You didn’t bother verbally responding to him, opting to leave another bitemark at the juncture between his shoulder and neck before sucking a bruising hickey on his throat. You’d never done this before but figured that mimicking what Alastor had done earlier was good enough. You seemed to be doing a good job of it since the demon above you moaned wantonly under your ministrations, and his pace increased, practically hammering into your pussy.

At the same time, his tendrils squeezed and kneaded your breasts, and his teeth left more bites on your smooth skin, the sharp pain only enhancing your pleasure as babbles left your lips, your brain once again unable to form a coherent sentence from the pleasure.

“You naughty thing,” he hissed as you left another bite and hickey on his chest, and your mischievous giggles turned to gasps of pleasure when more tendrils attacked your clit, a molten feeling coiling within your belly.

“Al…” you gasped, digging your nails into his back, making him growl, “Al, I think I’m close, I can’t hold on-”

“Then let go, sweet wife, I’ll catch you.”

Despite the roughness of his tendrils practically torturing your clit and breasts and his cock battering your pussy, the gentleness and sincerity of his words were what sent you over the edge, and you bit down on his shoulder as you came again that night; your walls clamping down around his cock.

Alastor fucked you through your orgasm, spurring another out of you as he rammed your oversensitive pussy, making you cry out, gushing around him. It seemed that your orgasms spurred on his own as he relentlessly pounded into you, antlers growing in size before he finally sheathed himself inside you with a groan. A torrent of hot cum painted your insides white, which only spurred on yet another orgasm from your wrecked pussy.

The room was silent, apart from laboured breathing from the two of you as you fought to catch your breath and recover from what had just happened.

Your nails had been raking down his back, but now, you were content to play with the silky strands of his hair as you caught your breath, pouting when he pulled away to lie beside you, slowly removing his cock from your pussy so as not to hurt you in any way.

Your breath hitched in your throat again, seeing his creamy cum ooze from your pussy after he removed himself, his cock seeming to act as a seal to keep it within you, and the demon purred smugly as he watched his release exit your body slowly.

“Well, I think we should both get cleaned up now-”

Alastor moved to leave the bed, but something possessed you to latch onto his wrist, pouting up at him to stay, which he softened at, lying back down, pulling you into his arms and peppering your face with soft kisses.

“You were marvellous, little wife. I hope that I was just as good to you as you were to me.”

Sensing an opportunity to tease him, you shrugged, adopting a bored expression, “You were okay.”

Alastor mock gasped, lightly flicking your nose and making you giggle, “Such rude behaviour… Though if what you say is true, perhaps I should make it up to you with another round later?”

You giggled, lightly swatting at his shoulder, “I’m kidding! You were the best.”

Alastor purred at your praise, chuckling as you yawned, exhaustion suddenly setting in for the first time that night, “you should rest, sweetness. I’ll be here in the morning,”

You hummed, closing your eyes and burying your face into his chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as you listened to his heartbeat.

It was strange to think that Alastor had a heartbeat, but you were glad he did. The rhythmic beats lulled you into a deep sleep as the demon raised your hand to press a kiss to your hand and then to the ring that circled your finger.

His whisper of “Sleep well, my little wife” was the last thing you heard as you fell asleep as his clawed hands stroked through your hair.

.

You had long since fallen asleep, face buried in his chest and legs tangled with his. Bruises and bitemarks began to show up against the colour of your skin, and Alastor took a moment to admire his handiwork.

Your delicate throat, shoulders, thighs, and breasts all had signs of his love bites and nibbles, not to mention the bruising that dappled your skin like delicate splashes of watercolours on a clean canvas.

You were the perfect canvas, and Alastor would forever be your loving artist.

You nuzzled into him, sighing softly in your sleep, and his smile softened. You were so precious, clinging onto him like a favoured plushie, utterly unaware of the darkness belied by his dazzling smile and cheerful demeanour.

Oh, how could he not love you? How could he not adore you? How could he not relish in such a beautiful creature bearing the title of his beloved wife?

Humming, he began to stroke your hair, sinful claws carding through silken tresses while shadowy tendrils dampened a rag and began cleaning the both of you up. It seems that you were quite the cuddler, especially when tired, and who was Alastor to deny you your wants?

What a dreadful husband he’d be to leave you all alone in your marital bed while fetching a damp rag to clean up. No, he was more than willing to put aside his notions of cleanliness and order to hold you all night if you so wished, and by the way you were clinging onto him, it seemed that you did indeed want to cuddle the night away.

Absolutely precious.

Your soft nature only reaffirmed that his actions were correct. You’d be devoured in an instant if he hadn’t been there to protect you, guide you, and corral you into his arms. Such an innocent soul as yours was a commodity in Hell, but you were unique. None had seen such a pure soul down below, and Alastor doubted there would ever be such a heavenly soul like yours in Hell again.

Indeed, it was an easy decision to pursue you, just like other Demons did – each tempting you with treats and wealth and power in exchange for your soul, in exchange for ownership of you, or outright trying to kidnap you from whatever sanctuary you’d managed to find and parade you around as the star of their menagerie or empire, a crowning jewel even…

Alastor didn’t blame the others; you were a diamond in the rough, and his blackened heart quickly fell for you after observing you through his shadows. You were too sweet, soft, and innocent, a true prize primed and ready to be plucked.

Oh, but he’d gotten there first.

The Radio Demon couldn’t help but smirk, twirling locks of your soft hair around deft digits and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Alastor hadn’t needed to demand your soul in exchange for protection; he was much more gentlemanly than the other brutes who lusted after you, offering subpar protection for your soul. But Alastor was the right choice; he offered his protection in exchange for your hand in marriage, and while you were… resistant to his efforts and proposal, a quick visit to a jinn under his control dealt with that, prompting your mind to be less resistant to his advances.

Oh, but you fought. He’d seen the tears in your eyes under your pretty veil, the pause in your vows, the slow pace down the aisle… but Alastor finally had you.

And what a pretty bride and prize you made!

All his.

Glancing down, his smirk widened at the scratches he’d left on your thighs while eating you out; the word “Mine” scratched into your pretty skin, but you were too preoccupied to notice it, and he really couldn’t help himself! Yes, you might give him the silent treatment, pout, or throw things when you eventually saw it, but Alastor knew you’d come around.

After all, you were his pretty little wife, and he had all of eternity to coax you into forgiving him.

.

.

A/N: this was originally posted on my ao3 account but I'm putting it here too to get some traction - FYI you need an account to read my works

idk if it's clear or not, but Alastor went to a Jinni under his control to use it's magic to make you less resistant to him and the idea of marrying him, but your original feelings kept showing and you kept fighting back, such as the pause during your vows etc. that Alastor mentioned, and why you were warming up to him during and after the NSFW. I think that's the scariest and most yandere thing Yandere!Alastor could do - to use magic to alter/change your mind to be more accepting to him bc initially you were like HELL NAW and mans wasn't about to leave empty handed

I also almost kneed my tattoo artist in the face so that inspired a lil bit of this ejfisgdgejfisgdg0

Lmk what you think!!

Tagging @shade-pup-cub 👀

[fokrilove]

Devotion - Nun!Alastor x (fem)Reader

WC: approx. 16.7k

Be warned this one’s a fattie of a fic!

Warnings/ tags:

NSFW, soft dom Alastor (well the soft part is more of a guise), kind of an emotional rollercoaster if I do say so myself, Attempted sexual assault (not by Alastor), crude language, probably a toxic relationship, choking (in several scenes), biting, reader slowly loses her sanity, heavy sexual tension/ reader being cockblocked by Alastor, eventual smut (a bit of a slow burn… for a one-shot), sacrilege (Note: this has heavily religious themes, but absolutely does not represent actual Catholicism in any way. It’ll become clear later on that they are still in Hell for a reason), Alastor’s manipulative as usual, SISTER ALASTOR!!! I might regret writing this one day Probably not though

Teaser:

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.” Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly.  Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it. His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks. “I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.” 

.

.

.

.

.

You thought you were going to Heaven. And, if you were going to Hell, lust would’ve been the last possible sin you’d pin the blame on. You had been a good daughter, and a good spouse.

This had to be a mistake.

When you fell, you simply laid there, back as bruised as your ego; you had barely a minute to register the deep red Hell called a sky before you snapped to your senses and realized you were naked as the day you were born. All your bravado and fine silk dress had been stripped from your body.

You felt like a lowly offender. Nude and shivering, hot and cold and numb at the same time as you watched twisted winged demons you previously thought only existed in your nightmares surround you, their black eyes gleaming with eagerness at the thought of devouring a fresh spawn in hell.

“Stay back!” You had not a single thing on you to utilize as a weapon, not even the sharp edge of a diamond ring. “Don’t you dare bite me!” 

Your muscles had frozen from the shock of the fall, leaving you unable to even attempt crawling away. All you could do was choke out cries, pleading with the hungry monsters to spare you. But why would they? Even you knew your shouts were nothing but the useless attempt of a stubborn caught prey, calling out for the near impossible chance of being saved. 

Pointed fangs stop half an inch from your face. You inhale sharply at the sudden movement, as the creature’s pupils slit in surprise at being caught; then its head explodes, and you clenched your eyes shut as the sound of flesh squelching pierces the air, a warm viscous liquid blasting onto your face. You strain against the rigid weight of your body, attempting to lift your hand from the invisible chains that bound it; just enough to shakily wipe at the sticky fluid coating your skin. 

You blink once, twice, trying to adjust your sight to the feeling of stinging salt and bloody red. Around you lay the monsters’ bodies, their corpses still so fresh from their second death that their limbs were still twitching. Your eyes dart around, searching for your savior - then you hear the soft clearing of a throat and crackle of radio static.

The first thing you noticed, with a startle, was their costume; what was a nun doing in Hell, of all places? Or perhaps this wasn’t Hell after all, and your initial deduction - that you remembered dying, the sky was crimson, and savage creatures roamed everywhere, so this must mean you’ve fallen from grace - had been incorrect.

You let hope spark in your heart. Maybe you really hadn’t done anything wrong. You were good, and the figure had come to send you to your proper place in Heaven. You curl up into yourself as you suddenly become aware of your nudity- and the scrutiny of their gaze. You felt dirty, and inferior, to the figure of chastity looming above you, their black veil gracing over your shoulders as they examined you up close, concealing you from the predatory eyes of filthy sinners. 

They turn your head left and right, up and down - you shiver at the feeling of firm hands through soft suede gloves, afraid to look directly at them lest you accidentally think something depraved. 

“I can’t imagine what a lovely dame such as yourself is doing in Hell!” 

You blink, surprised at the masculine voice sounding from underneath the delicate cloth framing their head. Then you look up, finally meeting the gaze of your unexpected hero. And you wish you hadn’t, because the crimson in his eyes was piercing, the sharp line of his jaw dangerous, and you curl further into yourself, heart palpitating rapidly as you scramble for words. 

You nervously smile in response to his own, unsettlingly wide grin. “Oh, I uh, a-actually just got here.” You pause. “And, I don’t…exactly know why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Every demon here has earned their place in Hell’s wicked fire by their sin.” He extends a hand for you to hold, which you take gratefully. The air hits your naked body, and you cover your breasts with your free arm, attempting to make yourself smaller in your vulnerability. But you had no room to ask him for a spare change in clothes as he relentlessly rambles on, seemingly not at all concerned over your nudity. Was this normal in Hell?

“You don’t think that maybe it’s a mistake?” You hunch your shoulders, trying to partially obscure your skin with the length of your hair. “That maybe the angels up in Heaven overlooked something?”

He laughs, the rambunctious noise vibrating sinfully against your frame. “Oh no! I’ve been here for quite many years and Heaven has yet to make a mistake in their judgment.”  

Your heart falls, gaze turning downcast. He tucks a clawed finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his widely grinning face. “But don’t distress yourself, dear sinner! Under my direction, you are sure to find the cause for your sin.”

You peer at him, whose ebony headpiece draped over his devilish face so angelically. “May I ask why you’re in Hell? You… you’re a nun, aren’t you?”

A sharp noise wooshes by your ear, and you yelp as his pointed nails curl around your bare waist, pulling you into his side just in time to avoid the savage onslaught of humanoid demons racing past you to get to… your stomach curdles as you spot the creatures tearing into the remains of the bird-like monsters the nun had just defeated a few moments prior. To your horror, you spot a heart in one creature’s hand, the organ just as ordinarily shaped and red as any living human’s heart, despite its abhorrent outer appearance. 

“What a wretched sight those sinners are.” 

You’re once again startled at the closeness of his voice - then you catch yourself. This was a nun, for God’s sake (literally)! Just because you were in pain, died, went to Hell, and lost all your possessions and material value, doesn’t mean you need to toss away your decorum as well. Don’t think anything of that nature.

“Yeah.” You nod, eyes wide as you nod slowly to stabilize your reaction. “I don’t think I can get used to this place.” Your breath quickens at an alarming rate, and you grip tightly onto the lanky, but well-defined arm of the nameless nun beside you. 

“I really think it was a mistake,” you whisper.

He presses two gloved thumbs to your cheeks, pulling them into an upward crescent; though you felt its corners drooping downward, straining against his effort. “What a pitiful sight you are,” he starts, playing with the flesh of your face. 

“You must be miserable, thinking that the Heavens have forsaken you!” He starts walking again, guiding your stiff body down the street. You latch onto his voice, which feels akin to a stable blanket that shields you from Hell’s barbaric residents. “You’re absolutely lost!”

A sniffle escapes you, and you realize you’ve begun to cry. The nun croons at you, swiping at a tear sympathetically as you cling to his form pathetically, letting his words fuel the pessimism already rotting your brain. “What do I do now? I’ve lost everything!” 

You think of yourself just a minute before death, still smiling brightly at the glistening diamond on your digit. You think of, with bitter regret, how the yacht you rode on was far too away from shore on a much too windy day. And you remember how your salty tears melted into the waters around you, sacrificing themselves to the sea, as your last thought becomes your elderly father still at home waiting for his next payment. Waiting for his only daughter, whom he would never see again, not even after death, where you would be wrongfully cast to Hell for the rest of eternity. 

Misery, despair, and self-pity feed into one another, spinning and bubbling higher and higher until they reach a climax at the back of your throat, expelling in the form of another choked sob between your parted lips.

“I don’t want to be here forever. I-In this awful place. With awful monsters.” You mop at your tears with your arm, peering up at him through your wet lashes. His gaze is steady on your face, the soft hum of static somewhat comforting; making you want to lean on him, depend on him despite the low buzz of warning in the back of your mind. 

“Now who says this place has to be awful?” His hand feels dangerously like lava on your shoulder. He taps the tip of your nose. “You are merely at the beginning of a very long journey, dear sinner! Some souls are indeed not made to ever find the light, and those are the ones who find themselves sinking deeper into debauchery until the day they drown in their own filth.” 

Your heart squirms a little at the word drown, your own demise still clear as spring water in your mind. But you surely were not part of the some mentioned. “And others…?”

His grin stretches, face falling into shadow as you turn a corner. His half-lidded eyes glow scarlet in the partial darkness. “Yet still, some others find themselves changed after death, no longer concurring with the sins they partook in when they were alive. Those sinners work tirelessly to erase their wrongdoing…”

You gulp as his voice deepens, shamefully pushing at the thoughts prodding heavily at the barrier you built in your mind.    

“…, so that one day, they might even find themselves capable of…” He pulls you in now, dramatically pausing before announcing, “... redemption!”

“Redemption,” you whisper, mainly to yourself. Then, to him, who twinkled expectantly at you; “And how can demons, who have defied the Heavens, be redeemed?”

His head tilts sideways, so that the shadows completely obscured his face, leaving only the wicked outline of his sharp nose and Cheshire grin. You leave your ears unguarded, eagerly leaning on your toes for his response. 

The noise, which you previously had thought to be his laughter, was in fact static, which had risen from a low purr to a roaring buzz. Your forgotten nudity suddenly felt painfully evident.

“They pray.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sister Alastor. That had been the name he introduced himself, the Mother Superior, with when he brought you into the cloister he resided in, where several other nuns - you counted at least 20 other heads - were under his care. 

It was only your second week in Hell when he would save you yet again. 

You’ve slowly accepted that day he found you, that there was nothing much you could do but move on, regardless of the abruptness of your death and the regrets you left unsolved. Instead, you had done your best to adjust; but if you were to be honest, a large part of that effort was due to a certain nun. You had spent a majority of the tour he took you on hanging off of every word, letting him inspire you into faith, afraid that if you were to let go, you might lose your belief altogether. 

Never did you think there would be a colossal, gothic cathedral in the very place that repelled the divine. You had to crane your neck to see the very top when the two of you neared its imposing entrance. Even as an appreciator of the luxurious when you were alive, you had never witnessed something so…grand. Such architecture would’ve taken humans centuries, perhaps longer, to build. 

“Lucifer himself oversees the church.” You had torn your gaze away from the massive building, eyes landing on crimson pupils, which squinted schemingly at you. “He thought it would be a good idea to introduce the damned to prayer. To enlighten their ruined minds, and make them just a bit more bearable to manage.”

He was humming an unfamiliar tune. There was an old-timey quality to the nun’s voice, one that made you feel as though you were on the phone with a soul who had died long before you; vintage, as the people of your time would call it. 

 In spite of its awe-inspiring beauty, there were strange details that caught your eye; such as the fact that the benches were filled with scratches, from smaller scores to longer, more offensive gashes. The ceiling seemed to be some Biblical painting, but you could not decipher the angel’s faces; upon closer inspection, you realized that their likeness had been carved out. The only face that remained intact was the tragically fair face of a winged man, brows furrowed in rejection as a lonesome tear wept from his cerulean eye. 

Lucifer’s fall from Heaven; you remembered seeing such a painting while alive, and looking at it in Hell felt strange. It made everything you ever saw on earth feel like a simple prelude to what was to come, a mere teaser for the full-length film you weren’t aware of.

Ornamental windows line the length of the room, color reflecting off its surface so purely, so clean, that you would have mistaken the blood-red sky for blue if you didn’t know you were still in Hell. Rows of pews stretched so far that you could barely see the altar from your position in the back.  

For the entire week, you would follow the sisters into the cathedral and watch as they prayed. It was an interesting sight, watching the nuns gather around Sister Alastor, who led the prayer; as though they were praying to him rather than with him. You weren’t familiar with the practice, so you had no comparison to draw it to. All you knew was that you longed to appease him, to earn his grace somehow so that you might also earn your place beneath him, feel the firmness of his crimson gaze hold you down. 

You frown. Have you always been so pathetic? Your memories were already starting to fuzz. 

Now you sit on your borrowed bed, with nothing much to do but play with the skin of your hand and think of ebony cloth, red eyes, and sharp smiles. 

Perhaps you could get up and see what the others are doing. They had all been polite, albeit distant; you’re familiar with the way people formed cliques, and it was clear there was some sort of history you weren’t aware of. Only one seemed to be particularly not fond of you. The one with a TV for a head, whose headpiece strained comically over his screen - Sister Vox. You recall the way you stood awkwardly next to Sister Alastor, in nothing but your own flesh as he sneered at you from across the room; seemingly already angry with you despite you having done nothing.

You exhale, brushing your fingers through tangled hair as you propel yourself onto your tired feet. In a way, the greatest Hell was not your punishment, but rather the realization that there would never be rest, even after death.

You pop the door open gently and decide to do some exploring, not sure of where to start looking. The halls were empty, so you pushed open the brass door at the end of it, stepping out into a carefully arranged garden, the many rows of fruits somewhat difficult to identify from Hell’s red light casting onto their surfaces. 

“Oooh! A lady!”

You lower your stare to the tiny one-eyed girl tending to the plants, the resident cleaner, gardener, and… bug-enthusiast. All the sisters were tidy and cleaned well, but Niffty was particularly active in ensuring the place was several steps beyond spotless. You snort, somewhat amused that she forgot your identity yet again. 

“Hey Niffty. It’s me, remember? I was just helping you with the garden yesterday.”

Her single eye widens, pupil dilating like a cat’s. “Ohhhh right. You’re the new lady!” The impish girl giggles.

“That’s right! Mind if I joined you for a while?”

“Ok! I’m just going to catch some BUGS!!” She kneels, manically pulling at an earthworm stuck in the garden’s dirt. “Come. On. Get out. Get out!”

You smile, watching as she tries in vain to tug out the little wriggling creature. Nifty was the only resident you could somewhat converse with, as she didn’t have the same strange distance the others seemed to hold around them. Perhaps because she wasn’t a sister at all. When you asked her what she was, if not a nun, she had replied that she was working here simply because she wanted to. 

You knelt beside her, picking up her task of watering the tomatoes while she was distracted. In life, you had been a chatterbug, riding on the waves of attention you got from your designer clothes, hooked on the arm of a wealthy man you didn’t love. You trace a finger on a velvet leaf, admiring the way it snapped back to position the moment you let go. But in death… you found the quiet so welcoming, that you wondered why you never stopped to enjoy it. 

You mindlessly pluck at a weed. 

“If it isn’t our guest! What are you doing on the floor?” You look up, to see Sister Vox grinning down at you. 

“She’s helping me!” You’re surprised when it’s Niffty who pipes up, having expected her to already forget what you were there for. 

He ignores her, holding out a hand.

After some initial suspicion, you hesitantly take it, dusting off your borrowed clothes. 

He lets go of you before you can fully stand, distaste clear in his eyes at having to make contact with you. You stumble a bit but manage to catch yourself, shooting a half-confused, half-annoyed look in his direction. 

“What are you doing here in the garden? Could I… help you?”

Despite his religious clothing, the cat-like tilt of his eyes and sleek grin felt more like the practiced expression of a conniving businessman than that of a genuine sister. You didn’t trust him. And you also had no idea what he was here for, when none of the sisters had initiated any conversation with you. 

“I was working on the garden with Niffty, like she just said.”

“Right, right.” 

“So no, I don’t need help. Do you need help with something…?” 

His grin turns sly. “That’s alright. I was just thinking, we haven’t gotten to know each other at all, hmm?” 

You unconsciously lean away from him. “Yeah. I figured you and the others weren’t interested in getting to know me.” You briefly smile for the sake of manners, before making a path to his left and attempting to side-step him; but he grabs your arm, with enough strength to make you yelp in slight pain. 

“Hey! Bad man!” Niffty interrupts your exchange, raising her shovel to stab at his ankle; but he dodges her, plucking the tiny girl off his leg and tossing her aside. 

Any hope you had of her success ends when he points toward a distant patch of dirt, exclaiming, “Looks like there’s a lot of bugs in there!,” which sends the tiny girl scurrying, screaming “Where?”

He turns his attention back on you. “Back to what I was saying! You’re new, aren’t you? You must be wondering all about this place.”

“Sister Alastor has been helpful in providing me with information.” 

He laughs, waving his hand in the air. “Of course he has! But as I’m sure you noticed, there are plenty of secrets about this place. Sister Alastor doesn’t allow electronics, you know. And I get to work around that rule because my head has a search engine.”

“That’s… uh, good for you, I guess. I’m fine, though.” You tug at your arm again, attempting to loosen it from his hold.

“I insist! Trust me, I have all the information you could possibly need.” He sneaks a hand to your lower back, turning you around while you’re distracted by his words. “Aren't you curious about what sort of things he’s hiding from you?”

…Yes. But not from this guy.  

“So what do you say? You could ask me anything at all.”

He was asking you for permission, though the still firm grasp on your arm told you there was no real choice. You sigh, trying not to appear too displeased. “...Alright…wait, where are we going?” 

Sister Vox had resumed walking, turning heel and making his way back down the way you came from. “It’s best if we talk in a more private space. I wouldn’t want anything here interrupting. You know how the demons in Hell are.” 

You think of how crude the sinners who first attacked you were, and wonder if the others in Sister Alastor’s convent were also capable of such degeneracy. “Ok… not for long, though. I still want to help Niffty with the garden.” You say that more to yourself than him, trying to calm your instincts that were rapidly firing off red flags.

“Naturally, I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time.” 

He’s a nun, after all, he should’ve taken vows, he wouldn’t hurt you. 

The walk from the garden to the nuns’ cloister felt horribly wrong. As does the entire place, you think, stepping cautiously after him. Their weirdly mysterious schedules felt wrong, the prayers they sang were pure in a mechanical sense, as though nobody believed the words they were singing; the cathedral looked wrong cast in red, and, now that you thought of it, the sisters’ kinship was more of a cult than a clique. 

The only thing that didn’t feel wrong - or rather, did feel wrong, but felt equal parts right - was the figure at the center of it all, the nun whose promises you truly did want to believe in. When you peer off the center, to the ones worshiping below, your gut only burns with wariness.

The two of you stop before a room - his, you presumed. “After you then.” He gestures to the open doorway. 

You pause for only a moment, out of some remnant of self-preservation; until, ironically, his impatient glare is what sends you scurrying inside. Any questions you might’ve had were long gone, you just wanted to ask him whatever to get it over with.

I should’ve called for Sister Alastor, you think with slight panic as you hear the noise of the door clicking shut. Something in your chest whines at the thought of his reaction, his lips stretched into a grin as his eyes stare down at you with disappointment. 

The sound of Sister Vox’s footsteps near behind you is the equivalent of a shark circling its prey on land. You rack your brain for any question at all. 

“How long have you been a nun?” 

“Fifty years.” 

“O-Oh that’s a long time.”

He closes the curtain, keeping an eye on you the whole time. You’re left in darkness, cautiously watching his flickering screen of a head, the only source of light in the room. 

You swallow. “How did you get to know Sister Alast-.”

Your sentence gets cut off as a palm roughly pushes at your back, forcing you to land on scuffed knees. Before you could even attempt to comprehend what had happened, you felt a hand encircle your neck, cutting off your breath while furious laughter rang behind you. 

“You’re even dumber than you look.”   

“What are you do-?” His hand tightens on your neck, and your voice trails off into a squashed squeal.

“Let me make one thing clear to you.” He hisses. You could feel the heat emanating from his screen this close. “Whatever you feel for Sister Alastor, forget about it.” 

He twists you around, leaning closer until the surface of his screen is pressed angrily against your own rather feverish skin. “I know what you think! You’re new to Hell, all lost and disoriented, and here comes a nun who promises to guide your corrupt soul to salvation.”

You gag heavily, bits of spit hitting the edges of your lips as he grips your neck with such vigor, that your eyes reflexively become vitreous with a sheen of tears. You could see nothing but his glaring blue screen between bouts of blackness in vision. 

“You think he cares for you? That he’s interested in anything else but raising his own status? Ah, yes, Sister Alastor, the sweet altruistic nun who’s just so interested in the problems of an ordinary, lowly sinner.” He’s speaking eagerly now, the sharpness of his teeth nicking against your nose with every other syllable. “That’s what you are!”

Out of self-defense, you align the hard part of your knee with his crotch, and jerk it up, hard. 

He screams, the noise surprisingly girlish; though you couldn’t tell if that was part of the ringing in your ears. 

“U-urg–h-. What the fuck?” Your voice comes out awfully scratchy. 

You clamber sloppily to the door then, not waiting a second to get out of there. Sister Alastor - you had to find him, let him know that one of his nuns was crazy! 

You didn’t even get two steps forward when his claw encircled your ankle, dragging you down onto the ground with him. “Let me go, you’re insa-!”

“NO!” You’re taken aback at the utter desperation tainting his voice, whipping your head to see his screen glitching at an alarming rate, all sorts of expressions flickering on his face. 

“You’ve no idea how FUCKING LONG it took, for ME to get HIM-.” Pixelated hearts dot his screen, each one of them cracking in two as they fall to the bottom. “TO NOTICE ME! To just FUCKING LOOK AT ME!” 

He grabs at your neck again, before you can dodge his advances, and shimmies your face right up to his. “You think I’m gonna let you stay here and take what’s mine?” 

You refuse to fall unconscious now, weakly tugging at his arms with your hands, digging your nails into his skin. He’s absolutely unrelenting in his assault. Finally, as you gather enough spit to expel at his screen, his grip loosens enough for you to speak - “I’m not here to take anything!”

“LIAR!”

“I’m not lying!” You’re raising your voice now as well, although nowhere as loud as his. “I just met him today! I-I can’t leave, I don’t know where else to go! He’s going to help cleanse me of my sins, that’s all!” 

“Oh yeah? You want to be relieved of your ‘sins’ so badly?” He’s grinning like a lunatic. No, he is a lunatic! “Why don’t I help you instead of Sister Alastor?” 

What?

A rough sensation encompassing your breast made you realize, with horror, that he was groping them. “I’ll relieve you of your sins if you promise to leave this place, and never come back.”

You were growing faint from his chokehold, and this time, you weren’t sure you would stay conscious. Something heated and slimy licks its way up your face, and an all-consuming nausea grips you from the inside, as your heart palpitates faster and faster, trying to outrun a reaper you felt destined to lose to. 

You’re horrified as you realize you might have no choice but to endure his assault, your hands falling listless to your side as they pointlessly brush at his insulting limbs, unable to lessen his savage grip. A sheen of humidity coats your neck where his breath hovers and you shrink in revulsion, imagining something infesting your skin where he touched it.

“...Trust me, you’ll never get what you’re looking for from him.” 

What is he even saying?  

His head had turned double in your vision, his smile mocking you.

Please, don’t. You struggle pointlessly against his hold, as pathetic tears pooled in your eyes for the second time since you landed in Hell. This is Hell, you realized. Where every moving thing was a potential hazard, regardless of their appearance. You had no way of finding out what kind of cruel fiend they had been when alive. 

There is no need for the dead to breathe, but your mind still concludes that you’re suffocating. What a strange way to die a second time; a reaction to some missing mechanism you didn’t technically need to exist. 

Was there nobody you could depend on? 

“That looks like a no to me!” 

Sister Vox carelessly releases you, and you immediately gulp in big breaths of air. From the corner of your still-recuperating vision, you spot a slim figure clothed in black towering over your fallen form. You’ve been saved, yet again.  

The room sways, and you feel as though you’re floating; the need to find an anchor has never been so strong. You whimper, dragging yourself by your nails toward the figure, who seems to be in the middle of scolding the other, though you find it difficult to focus on their words. You put one distorted palm in front of the other, and the other…

“.....lastor She’s filthy! I could see the way she looked at you, she can’t be in a holy place like this! Wh…” 

If you had two hands, then what were the other four limbs moving alongside your body? You poke at one, and it moves away from you like a ghostly apparition.

“...when I looked at you that way, it was ‘disgusting,’ but when SHE does it’s ok? WHY? Have you ever thought, that maybe I…” 

After what seemed like a lifetime of effort, you finally made it to the figure, who stood a ways from Sister Vox. You reach out, making a rough estimation of where his legs are, and throw your arms around them, curling the rest of your phantasmal body around his solid form. 

The effect is immediate; you feel as though you’ve been sedated, in a pleasant way. The room felt a little less shaky when you were holding onto him. You shut your eyelids to help settle your stomach, then breathe in deep - you’re hit with the soft, mildly spicy scent of hyacinths, then as you sink your face further into the cotton ebony material, a deep, musky scent of wood. It deeply pleases your restless soul, and you settle there, feeling safe in the touch of your savior. 

Something vibrates against your cheek; and you realize it’s his voice - Sister Alastor’s - that thrummed all the way down from his chest to your body. 

“Look what you’ve done to the poor girl! Now Sister Vox, this is hardly a new topic of discussion between us. Haven’t I warned you plenty of times before to keep your temper in check?”

You nearly purr as a large hand comes down to caress your head, gentle but firm. The other nun’s voice, Sister Vox, is noisy and irksome in comparison. He sounds distressed. “I-I know Sister Alastor, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I just- I really- I lov-.”

Oh, I see.

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that!”

“No-.”

“You made a vow of celibacy, Sister Vox. And of obedience, and kindness toward others, though it seems you failed to follow through with any pledge. You know what that means, don’t you?” The air pops with static, the noise threatening, like the hiss of a viper preparing to strike; but you only snuggle closer to its source, which was still petting you reassuringly as though nothing had happened. You were safe. The target of his poison wasn’t you. 

“You don’t mean that, do you?” He laughs in disbelief. “It’s true, I have f-screwed up many times, but you’ve always forgiven me! What’s changed this time? It’s her, isn’t it? Sister Alastor, don’t tell me… you actually favor this thing?” 

“Ha! Don’t be ridiculous, Sister Vox. I am a creature of celibacy, just as you are supposed to be. You dug your own grave by failing to adhere to your sacred vows. Do not try to blame your own incompetence on an innocent passerby, if you have any remaining respect for your role as a Sister.” But…  you wanted to be favored by him. Perhaps one day. 

“Ok, I get it! I’m wrong! Sister Alastor, please…” Was that a sniffle you heard? His voice cracked, as though he were expecting something horrid to come. “Please. I should’ve obeyed my vows. I shouldn’t have done that to her!”

“I have turned a blind eye to your wrongdoing enough times. Rest well tonight, and know that by tomorrow, I will have you transferred to Sister Rosie’s convent.” 

Slender limbs swoop down to collect your crumpled frame into a hard chest. Your heart quickens embarrassingly fast, the odd blend of his motherly yet masculine scent sending your thoughts spiraling. “I’ll tend to our guest now-.” He cups your cheek in his hand. “-You gave her quite the fright there.” 

“Alastor! Please. I beg you. Please don’t do this to me.” 

You had half a mind to feel bad for the sister who had fallen to the floor on his knees, having lost all his dignity and bravado, reduced to nothing but a desperate beggar. You lean your cheek into Sister Alastor’s hand, notice his stance; and you feel powerful, wrongfully so. Powerful because a nun was lowered in prayer to a being he revered, while you laid elevated in that being’s arms. Wrong, because that might’ve been the very feeling that led you into Hell. 

You look away. 

“Sister Vox, I implore you to not take it personally! You have come here to devote yourself to the cathedral, not me.”. 

He truly left the room then, his long steps creating a rather soothing rhythm that swayed you side to side. Much like a lullaby, though the childhood innocence of that melody had been replaced with a much more sinister tune. Sister Vox’s sobs echo down the halls of the cloister, until they grow distant enough to be nothing more than a small buzz in your ear. You tune the remaining noise out.

Sister Alastor’s steps felt more like gliding. The only sign he was indeed walking was the force each step sent to your body, each jolt sending a shiver up your spine. You let yourself relax into him, as you tried to make pressing your face into the cloth of his habit look like an accident.

“Well that must’ve been terrible! On your first day in Hell too. It’s unfortunate, but some demons truly cannot be redeemed, no matter how long they’ve prayed.” His voice disrupts the steady flow of static humming in his throat, and you momentarily turn your face to peer at him. 

“How did you know to come find me?” You let yourself hope, for a second, that it was somewhat like destiny; how nice it would be, to have somebody tethered to you so deeply they would always get you when danger came and shrouded you with that despicable helpless feeling. How nice it would be to have Sister Alastor protect you forever.

“One of the sisters warned me of a loud scream coming from Sister Vox’s room, which embarrassingly occurs more often than you’d expect,” he casually explains.

…Oh.

“Does he find it difficult to control his temper?”

He laughs, brow quirking as though entertained by your question. “Something of that sort! Some demons were originally not so terrible, then went searching for redemption and lost sight of their purpose.” 

“Is that… What's happening with Sister Vox?”

“Indeed! Smart girl.” He taps your head with two sharp claws, eyelids lowering as his gleaming grin relaxes into more of a soft smile. The touch from his nail makes your scalp buzz, sending a bolt of heat down from your scalp to your body. “But don’t let his progress deter you! Just as many sinners have cleansed themselves of filth through repeated prayer, and have become genuinely devoted to their cause!”

He gestures in front of you, and you realize that he’s arrived at your door. You reluctantly let yourself down from his hold, immediately missing the warmth of his arms.

“Then I bid you goodnight for now, dear sinner.” 

You’re unable to look away, gaze stuck on his unreadable expression, longing to grasp onto him and do something absolutely humiliating, such as begging him to stay the night. He might agree. Before you could, he turned around, the bottom of his dress swishing. 

“Go on now, you must rest before the morning!” 

You shut the door, finally collapsing on the mattress way too firm for your liking. But it’ll do, for a body as exhausted as yours. You shut your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

…Except it doesn’t. You groan in frustration, being well-acquainted with insomnia and its way of keeping your mind wide awake while your body aches to rest. For the next hour, you roll around, adjusting any part of your environment that bothered you - tearing off your borrowed dress, moving your pillow aside, sleeping on your left then your right. 

Then at last you give up on adjusting your surroundings, admitting that it was the thoughts whirling in your mind that kept you up.

You weren’t a believer whilst alive, you didn’t put your faith in any God. Some turned to religion in times of desperation, and chose to put their fate in the hands of the almighty; but you turned to material possessions instead, and firmly thought there was no problem too great that money couldn’t solve. And now, while you haven’t exactly changed your mind, you find your thoughts relentlessly drifting back to him, twice now having stood tall over your folded body, the crackles in his voice a siren's call you couldn’t not hear.

Your eyes couldn’t find physical proof of the divine, and your mind couldn’t process your abrupt shift in value; but your body tucked into itself obediently, as though it instinctively knew it wanted to worship him.

…It was ridiculous. Disrespectful, how your wretched mind polluted such an act of purity.

Still, you toss and turn, unable to rid yourself of the urge.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s difficult to describe the atmosphere in Hell. The airflow is practically nonexistent, although you do not feel suffocated. In fact, as a reminder from your close encounter with Sister Vox, you don't need to breathe at all; but you could, if you so choose to, still inhale and exhale - almost as though time had frozen everywhere, but each individual element of the landscape could still move about as they normally would. 

So you don’t feel cold when you tiptoe out of your room, avoiding the telltale bumps of creaky floorboards as you make your way to the exit; but you shiver anyway, perhaps purely from the memory of sleepless nights you spent walking the streets from when you were still alive.

And now you’re dead, but your muscles still strain with the effort to not be heard, your eyes still dart about to check for signs of danger possibly lurking around the building, your heart still quickens in anxiety at the thought of being caught, though you weren’t trying to hide from anybody in particular… were you?

You briefly wonder whether those automated bodily functions would eventually come to fade when you’ve become accustomed to death. 

This part of Hell was surprisingly quiet, in contrast to the nightmare you first landed in. You find yourself lost in its silence, which feels neither peaceful nor safe; but you relax into it anyway, for lack of a better source of comfort. 

You snap out of your inner thoughts when you hear the soft, haunting melody of a choir; you lift your head, and you’re met with the familiar sight of the cathedral.

The stone doors loom over you expectantly, luring you to grip onto its handle. There are still others awake at this hour?, you think as you tug with your whole body’s strength to get the heavy door moving. The hinges make a despaired screeching noise as they release from their frame. The choir rises in volume when you open the door, though eerily enough, you find nobody singing inside.

Your footsteps start as a soft ping on the tile floor, then blow up tenfold from the sheer size of the room. They sound like lonely drums to the suspenseful invisible choir, melancholic but enigmatic. You walk down the aisle, closing your eyes to savor the haunting tune until…

…Your face stings, as though somebody’s stare was burning you. You look up to find Lucifer’s teary eye pointing down, and you follow his gaze to the altar, where an isolated figure kneels on the top step. Red light shimmered through the multicolored windows, casting a halo around him. His back was turned, but his bent elbows signified that he must be clasping his palms in prayer. 

It seems you were mistaken, and there was a source for the beautiful melody after all. Up close, bits and pieces of the song he hummed audibly glitched, as though the phantom extra voices in his choir were composed of several radios playing simultaneously, with him at the core. He must’ve heard you come in by now. But what was he doing up so late? Come to think of it, you’ve never seen him head to his room, when bedtime came and all the other sisters went to sleep. 

“Sister Alastor?” Your voice comes out hushed, afraid to disrupt the almost divine sight in front of you. 

He doesn’t reply, and you stand quietly to the side, simply admiring the sharp angle of his face. You should look away, but you don’t. You were afraid of being scolded, but some part of you felt compelled to stare at him until he opened his lidded eyes, which would narrow down at you to reprimand, but ultimately be forgiving. 

Indeed, you wanted the sweetness of redemption that could only be savored as the after-meal dessert to a heaping plate of bitter punishment. 

It takes you a moment that he really is peering back at you now, and not as part of your fantasy. His grin is as sharp as ever when he stands, slowly making his way to your figure at the bottom of the steps. 

“Were you unable to sleep, dear sinner?” 

You swallow to ease the dryness of your throat. “Yeah. I was just taking a walk, to clear my thoughts.” 

Up close, his gaze is too intense to hold, and you find yourself staring at his chest instead. “And what sort of sinful thoughts could be torturing your mind at this hour of the night?”

“I don’t know, just thoughts. Thoughts of the whole fiasco with Sister Vox, I guess. And…” Your face flushes further. “And just about why I got into Hell. I’ve been wondering what type of sin I committed.” 

“Hmmm, and you can’t think of a single wrongdoing you’ve done?” You jolt, heart racing as his voice buzzes right beside your ear. “Not a single crime you might’ve committed?”

You pause in contemplation. The answer was right at your tongue, yet… a lump forms in your throat, but you push, determined to get your words across. “Well I’ve never done anything wrong outright. But I guess… I might’ve been too greedy in life.” 

“Oh?” His voice tastes just like a purr. “Do tell me, what sort of dreadful pleasure was a modest little thing like you greedy for?” 

“I was greedy for wealth. E-Especially new clothes, jewelry, shoes. I didn’t mean to.” The syllables were rushing out of you now, and you hurried forward, determined to keep speaking until you expelled the one truth you genuinely wanted to say. “I was born into a poor family. My mother was gone by the time I turned 12, and my father soon grew ill. I had no choice but to make money for the both of us, and I did, but it wasn’t enough. And I was getting tired.” 

“How pitiful!” 

Even while his words stung, you still wanted to hear more. So you kept going. “There was a wealthy man who showed up to my college campus. He complimented my eyes. How cliche, right? I didn’t like him from the start. But I was tired, and I thought he was a good opportunity. And once I got some, I wanted more. I became greedy. I-I stopped talking to my father, aside from the monthly payment I’d lend him. Because I was too busy spending.”

You lift your head to look at him, heart pulsing faster as you realize that his gaze is as steady as ever. “That must be my sin, right? I was a greedy, horrible daughter.” 

You eagerly search his face for signs of praise, a hint that you have answered correctly. Instead, his eyes slit further, his mouth closing into a closed-lip grin; he was amused at your attempt, but you weren’t entirely there. 

“Something tells me that wasn’t your only sin!” His voice turns singsongy as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as he gesticulates with his other hand. “There must be something else, something that is so shameful you are unable to even admit to yourself. Try again, dear sinner.” 

You rummage through your brain, pausing and scrutinizing every possible mistake you’ve ever made. “Once when I was 12, I rode my bike over a squirrel. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t see it.” 

“Surely you can think of something more depraved?” He examines his nails, looking bored at your attempts. You begin to grow frustrated. 

“I picked my neighbor’s lock when I was 7. I just wanted to try it out since I read how to do so in a book. I screamed at my mother sometimes. I stole a pencil from my high school once.” He looks at you expectantly. You inhale, already out of ideas. “I don’t know! I really don’t! I just want to be rid of it, whatever my great sin is!” You continue, riding on the momentum of your exasperation. “I want to pray beside you, Sister Alastor. I want to put my faith in God.”

The fidgety motion of his nails comes to a stop. “You wish to pray beside me? How noble of you!” You hold your breath as he cups your chin, the tip of his claw scratching a nerve pleasurably, causing your eyes to water as you attempt to keep your stare on him. His palm flashes cold and hot on your feverish chin. 

“For sinners, worship holds an entirely different meaning! We have all come to this place because in one way or another, knowingly or not, we’ve disobeyed the word of God.” 

He’s guided you away from the altar now, headed toward some place you couldn’t bother to pay attention to. “Some of us choose to pray for forgiveness, and do indeed want to redeem ourselves in the eyes of God. Others of us no longer want to put our faith in God, but rather come here simply to pray to something.”

Your legs weaken again, your head lightening at an alarming pace at the seemingly consistent dizzying effect he had on you. “And why do you think that is?” You croak out your words.

“Why would any sinner pray for anything? For the pure fulfillment of thinking they aren’t alone in their wickedness! That somewhere, there is still something that will receive their decrepit prayer.” 

He steps behind you. 

“That there is still something above them…” A sharp-tipped finger knocks at the underside of your chin, forcing your eyes onto him, the one above. “...Something they can surrender themselves to, and still be accepted as they are.” A small, submissive, choke leaves your lips. He’s not at all deterred, as though he already knew your filthy thoughts and was expecting them. “So that they can continue sinning, all while believing somebody will answer their prayers regardless of the wretched grime that they are.”

You're fully shivering now, desperately pushing yourself against him to feel something, anything, answer the prayer that ached between your thighs. He laughs, the sound echoing across the empty space of the church and infiltrating your innards.

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.”

Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly. 

Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired at this point that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it.

His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks.

“I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.” 

He licks lazily at the pulse on your neck. It thrums erratically, as he begins to answer your unspoken question. “It’s obvious in your appearance, though you try to hide it. There’s a way those burdened by lust walk, all clenched tight. It’s in the way they talk, as though they’ve lost their rationality in favor of the all-consuming desire…”

The sharp teeth of his grin ghosts over your skin. “...to fuck.”

You’re caught off guard as the nun utters that dirty word, an open-mouthed moan leaving your lips before you can stop it. His nails graze your hardened nipples through the sheer fabric of your nightgown, that he had personally lent to you. He continues. “I can smell it too! But why settle for that when I could choose to taste it?” 

There’s no amount of mental preparation you can do for the feeling of his teeth slicing through your neck easy as butter, the odd angle making you lax like a prey in the jaws of a hunter, having fallen for his irresistible trap of allurement. You let out a defeated whimper, wounded and small. A whisper of a growl rumbles at his throat (add more, smth about how you shamelessly push into him) - but all too quickly, he’s pulled away. What - no! Come back!

You hopelessly thumb the place where his teeth were, already aching for his mouth again.  Impatient frustration brews in your gut. “What-where are you going?” Your desire overrides embarrassment, driving you to tug at the cloth of his habit. “I thought you were going to relieve me of my sin?”

He laughs once, the sound sharp - and humiliating, even more so when he rejects your touch and pushes your hand off his clothing. “Now, now, I hope you weren’t expecting anything when you went wandering out at night, lost and seeking warmth like a little doe.”

Was it a trick? You could’ve sworn that you heard his breath hitch when he held you from the back and that as you pressed yourself onto him, there was evidence that he, too, wanted you. No, he wouldn’t trick you. 

“Remember dear, good things come to those who wait!” He hums sweetly at your expression, which must’ve been confused and crestfallen. “And such a heavy sin takes time to resolve!” 

Or was it that you misread the situation? Ah, that must be it. Of course, you had! He was a nun! Just as you’ve been reminding yourself since the beginning! Why would he be thinking of such a thing in the first place? You must be more affected by your sin than you originally thought, to think such a dirty thing while in the arms of holiness. 

And just like that, the bubble bursts, leaving you scrambled, completely out of breath, and outrageously needy while Sister Alastor walks toward the double doors, the perfect image of sacred composure. 

You breathe deeply, smearing the sweat of your palms on your clothing, trying to gather yourself. This couldn’t go on. You must cleanse your sins so that you can stand properly below him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks into your new life in Hell, the dreams began. 

Ever since Sister Alastor enlightened you on your sin, you’ve been actively avoiding it. 

Lust. 

You still recall how sinful the word sounded on his lips, how you had gone back to bed that night all too hot and bothered. And how you laid awake for hours, afraid to go to sleep lest you betray his words and dream of something lustful. 

You managed to ward off sleep for two weeks, given that the dead really didn’t need sleep. But keeping up with the rest of the sisters’ rigorous schedule, and the fact that each interaction with Sister Alastor sent your entire body into overdrive, was wearing on your energy. You didn’t need sleep, but you were tired. And the only way you knew to rid yourself of tiredness was to sleep. 

So it was inevitable that one day you would lay down to rest, heavy head sunken into your pillow as you promised yourself not to fall asleep - you were only going to close your eyes a few moments for the reprieve. Then you were lost to your dreams, which does indeed end in debauchery. 

It begins innocently enough, taking place in the very same room you fell asleep so that you couldn’t even tell your reality had shifted to imagination. You were staring up at your ceiling, reflecting upon your newly found cause of sin, when there was a knock at your door. 

You dragged yourself off the bed to answer the door. Sister Alastor stood on the other side, grinning down at you as he gestured for you to step out. 

 “Come now, you’ll be late to the ceremony!” He starts walking down the hallway, and you hurry after him, almost tripping over the length of your nightgown as you race to catch up to his long legs. 

“What ceremony?” You rub the sleep from your eyes, glad that somebody had interrupted you before you could fall asleep (oh if only you knew). 

“To our ceremony, of course!” 

“Huh? We’re getting married?” Well, he was a nun so that was out of the question, but really you couldn’t fathom what else he meant by our ceremony.

He laughs. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, dear sinner! Rather, today is the day we finally ease you of your sins. You’ve been eager for it, I’m sure.” 

You nod, more awake than ever now. “Yes! Yes, Sister Alastor, I want to be pure.” You breathe a sigh of relief; all the weeks in Hell questioning your reason for being there, feeling dirty next to the untainted sisters, would finally end. Today was the day your sin of Lust would be lifted, allowing you to stand beside Sister Alastor without those sorts of thoughts. 

He led you to the doors of the cathedral, which truly was becoming familiar to you at this point. Inside, you walk down the aisle, trying to control your pace. You don’t want to appear too eager, just because you intuitively worry that might bother him. 

He steps up to the altar, and, to your surprise, stretches out a hand as though to invite you up with him. Ah, that’s right, he had said our ceremony. You beam, excitedly offering up your hand, which he takes firmly and pulls next to him. 

And that was the line where the innocence of your dream ended, while its true corrupted nature showed itself. 

You can’t tear your eyes away as he trails his lengthy fingers over the top of his headpiece, moving to unfasten it. Oh my. Oh my…whoever. Panic starts to rise as the veil is loosened from his head, revealing a mess of crimson hair that starts in black at its bottom, and ends in two pointed ears at the top; ears that you could see the silhouette of through his headpiece - but you had no idea they were the same alluring red as the rest of his hair. You want, badly, to tug on them. He continues speaking, casually, as though he weren’t a nun stripping his clothes in front of a tainted sinner with a deeply perverted mind. 

“Poor girl, you must’ve been waiting a long time.” 

The nuns around you had their heads bowed in prayer, not a single one daring to peer at the two of you. He scoops you up, and you revel in the delightful feeling of weightlessness, of having to carry no burden, for everything that was heavy had been lifted by him. 

Half of your mind thought it was strange, that he might perform a forbidden act with pride in public, while the other half convinced you that this was the normal you were kept from all along. He rests his veil on the floor with one hand, the other helping lean your body against the altar.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hands on the sides of your nightgown, pushing up the material inch by inch. This was not an act of perversion, but an artful performance. He, the subject of your mind’s masterpiece, tilts closer; this was a different kind of art, where the painting had taken control of the artist.

His nails drag across the divots of your body as he tugs the nightgown up and over your head. You were bare as the day you were born, bare as the day he found you, vulnerable and about to be eaten alive. But he saved you then, he saved you from Sister Vox, and he’s going to save you now, by relieving your lust once and for all. 

A soft noise catches your attention then; and without even looking, you become aware that the nuns beneath you had started singing. The sound of violins pierce the air, along with the hiss of static. The orchestra is coming from the radios, you realize. Just like that night when you found him alone in the cathedral. Finally, he was going to give you what you needed. 

Lust crawls up your body like a snake, whispering something ugly in your ear. Your eyes close, feeling the heat of his breath near, his gloved hands brushing over your hardened nipples… then past, across your back. You crack your eyes open to see a very real snake coiled around your neck, and your mouth part in a half-moan half-scream. He shushes you, a lithe finger pressing against your soft lips. It’s then that you notice how strangely his pupils glinted. They were a ruby blood red as usual, but the blurred circumference of an orange circle reflected across them. Your head tilts back as he licks a trail across your chest and over the snake cutting off your airflow, until your gaze is parallel with… did Hell always have a sun? 

“...Darling, your hand.” 

You refocus your attention on him, who clutches your smaller hand gently, so delicately that you don’t notice where he's taking it until your fingers are right beneath the jaw of the snake. You widen your eyes nervously, but his stable composure relaxes you. Perhaps this was part of the ceremony. The snake hooks its fangs onto your ring finger, and bites. 

The bite was soft, and painless. Sister Alastor widens his grin, as though saying, I told you it would be fine! 

Then his hands grope at the skin of your thighs, parting them so that he could insert himself at your center. You feel your hole clench, lifting your hips to meet his thrust. 

“Are you ready, my dear?”

Then before you could fearfully whisper yes, let your breath brush over the snake which was choking you increasingly hard with regained vigor from your blood, and look up to see his expression - would he appear pleasured? Or would he look composed, the same as always, lowering himself to the sexual act only for the sake of saving you from it?

You had no chance to find out when your eyes snapped open, the scene dissipating as you shifted back to reality. The touch of his firm grip still echoed on your body, the stinging scales of the snake shaping a ring of ghostly pain around your neck. 

You’re horribly disappointed at first; then you snap to your senses, panicking, as you push yourself into a seated position and give a quick comb through your hair before running to the door to answer the very real knocks. Thank goodness the knocks had woken you up! Who knows what other perverted things you would’ve dreamt of? 

You opened the door to find Sister Maria, the nun residing in the room next to yours. “It’s time for supper,” she courteously informs you.

This wouldn’t happen again, you promised yourself as you followed her to the garden, where a table of hot meals was already set out. You were going to stay awake as long as possible, until you’ve fully ensured your purity.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months into your afterlife, and you had dreamt a similar scenario many times, one where a guileless beginning would turn to an ending where Sister Alastor would embrace you sinfully, his hardness buried deep into your wanton walls. Then you would awaken, inner thighs uncomfortably sticky with the evidence of your depravity, as you shamefully make your way to clean up so that you could get dressed, and greet the sisters in the cathedral to pray alongside them, your mind burdened with guilt; every word you spoke, every note you sang felt an impure lie.

You’ve begun to avoid him; after every prayer, song, and meal, you would make excuses to hurry back to your room. You’d say you were tired, that you were still adjusting to the pace they lived at. Not that any of them would notice. In fact, it was just the opposite, and they were all too happy you were leaving early. 

But you could feel the weight of his stare as you left, its gaze so intense you had half a mind to check for red stains on your back. You wanted to turn around and collapse back into his arms, to show him all your sins and hear his forgiveness, if not for the crushing fear of rejection weighing densely in your mind.

It was an accident, the day you finally spoke to him. 

All of the sisters had left early that day, for the excuse of preparing some extravagant meal. You hurry back with them, engaging in conversation with Sister Elaine, who you had practically never spoken to, in fear of Sister Alastor catching you free. It was an accident, because how were you to know that Sister Elaine had forgotten her readings at the cathedral? She had requested you go find it, because she was the main cook amongst all the sisters and had to get to the cloister first. So you ran to the cathedral, chanting to yourself that all you were going to do was grab her readings, which you yourself had never read, and then run right back. If you were lucky, Sister Alastor wouldn’t be there at all.

To your luck, he was indeed gone - or so you thought. As you’re scouring your eyes over the benches, searching for a sign of her belongings; a familiar static-filled voice greets you from the back. 

“My dear sinner! Have you forgotten something?” 

Your heart skips a beat when he addresses you as his, though you forbid yourself from thinking further. “No, Sister Elaine forgot to take her readings.”

“Did she now? That’s certainly… not good.” 

“Yeah-.” 

You collide into his chest when you try to leave, making a little “oomph” sound. “I have to get the readings back to Sister Elaine.” You quickly mutter your excuse, but he doesn’t budge an inch. Anxiety starts wrapping its spindly fingers around your chest, threatening to squeeze when the seconds tick by and he still doesn't move. 

“What are you in such a hurry for? It’s been a while since we last conversed, hasn’t it?” He bends his head to your level, grinning knowingly like how an adult might scold a child for lying. “Could it be that you’re hiding something from me?”

Your will to resist weakens with each word he speaks, and you curse yourself for agreeing to retrieve Sister Elaine’s readings. “I-.” Fuck. You couldn’t lie. “I might be.” 

If feeling charitable was your first mistake, admitting that he might be right was your next. Now he was sure to ask another, then another, until you’ve entirely poured out your heart; then he would know every sinful dream you’ve had, every wrong way you’ve looked at him. Would it finally be too much for him to forgive? 

He scratches leisurely at your head, and if you could purr, you would. 

“It isn’t good to keep sinful thoughts to yourself, my dear!” His grin turns sly. “Disgrace grows much faster when left to ruminate in a single sinner’s mind.” 

His hand comes to rest on the side of your jaw. “Do tell me, what has been troubling you lately?”

And as usual, the ambiguous tone of his voice is so alluring, so full of promise that perhaps, he will be understanding; that you cave in and speak without meaning to. “I-I actually do have something to confess.” 

“Hmmmm?” His eyes tempt you to go on, and so you do.

“I’ve been having dirty thoughts.” Your face is a furnace as you continue. “And dreams. But I really didn’t mean to!” You bite your lip, unsure of how to continue.

“Dear, have you heard of confessing?” He notices the confusion in your eyes and carries on. “It is the idea that by admitting all your sins, that alone might lessen the burden inside you.” 

He walks to a bench, and then, seats himself on it. You were free to leave… but you couldn’t. He gestures at you with a single hooked digit, and your feet release from their glue-like bind to the tile floor, scurrying to sit beside him. The heat of his body reverberates into your side. His breath hits your head as he speaks. 

“Confess to me, dear sinner.” 

His presence was a metaphorical magnet, suctioning the words from your chest. “I dreamt of you… doing things to me.” You could practically see your blood pulsing before your eyes. “Bad things, that felt good. L-Like touching me. It felt so g-good.” 

“Oh dear!” 

You felt your dead heart stop, your next sentence stuck on your tongue. Then you look at him, compelled to say what can never be taken back. “I dreamt that you fucked me.” 

The sound of static breaking fills the air; and for what felt like an eternity, that was all you heard. Just crackles and pops and the sound of hissing, which was ordinarily hum drum, but now felt torturously suspenseful. You start to feel light-headed. Something flickered beneath his eyes; a living thing you couldn’t decipher. 

“I apologize. It seems I’ve underestimated how deep your sin truly runs.” His dark gaze never leaves yours as he draws a finger across the downward tilt of your lips, pressing them upward into a counterfeit smile. “That was my fault. How could I, a devout Sister of the cathedral, ignore such an obvious plea? Not to worry dear, I have just the idea to help ease the weight of your sin.” 

Like clockwork, tears pool in your sockets as you peer up at him, trembling in your seat on the bench. The wetness pricking your cheeks nagged at you, as it felt all too wrong, that you should cry so often under a being so sublime. But you couldn’t help it; his words provided only the promise of comfort, leaving you wondering whether you will ever have him how you want. The lump in your throat feels bruising. 

Sister Alastor caresses your cheek, swiping away a fallen tear with a finger; the slight cut from his claw replaces your sorrow with a bead of blood. 

“Come now, dear sinner, don’t weep.” 

The silver cross on his neck gleams with red, taunting you, mocking you, with its purity. 

He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it to rest on his own lap, then shifting you until your heat is slotted over the hard muscle of his lean thigh. Your eyes widen, shaking your head, your tears scattering with the motion, and you grip the cloth over his chest; you try to warn him, that you are dirty, that you shouldn’t be tainting his clothes.

But he merely croons at you, brushing your messy hair behind your ears as he begins to rock you back and forth on his thigh. “Let go, my dear. You’re alright now.” 

There’s a challenge in his eyes, as though he were watching, waiting for you to crack. For all his care and comfort, there was something equally demeaning in his expression. And for that, you summon up all your will not to melt all over his lap, clenching the muscles of your inner thighs to minimize the contact it had with your pulsing heat. Your hands loop over his neck, freezing as they clasp onto his veil, soaking the cloth with your sweat. You weren’t going to give in. You still wanted him to believe that you could be saved!

He hums, the noise vibrating directly into your sensitive chest. You harden your resolve, refusing to let it affect you. But how could you ignore something so all-consuming? You were unable to peer away from him, as the height of his figure blocked your view entirely; unable to stop the gratifying torment of his claws in your hips, grinding you down so deliciously on his thigh. Your breaths turn heavy as your muscles begin to weaken, threatening to collapse on him. Back, and forth. 

Back…, and forth. You cry out as your thighs unwillingly part, allowing his muscle to press directly onto your clothed pussy. With each motion, your mind grows more and more fuzzy, so that even if you desperately wanted to, you couldn’t cling onto your determination. Without the grounding pain of his claws, you would’ve surely melted into his body. Your mouth opens, stilted whimpers rushing out like a waterfall, when several bolts of heat jolt into your womb consecutively. Faithful as ever, you listen for his feedback; but the usually talkative nun has gone quiet, leaving behind only the low buzz of static. 

“Sister Alastor…” You grind through your teeth, needy for his voice. “Please-.” 

You squeeze the tears from your eyes, just enough so that you can see his still figure, entirely collected save for his clenched jaw and lidded eyes, which bore into your trembling body with the heat of magma. His grin is strained. Did he want this as well? You moan, shifting yourself further into his lap, closer to the spot you really wanted. But all you could find, in the depths of his cryptic eyes, was blatant cold condescension. 

His hands tighten around your hips, gyrating them down with increased force. Your pussy convulses at the same time your heart shatters, leaving you sobbing as you feel yourself coming to a climax. But your orgasm evades you, as each grind of his thigh only sends jolts of vibration into your heat, leaving your aching womb unfilled. Through the haze of your pleasure, you distantly hear what sounds like his breaths turning ragged. 

The static clips, glitching intensely in the background as you hear him speak up. “Are you going to release onto my thigh, dear sinner?” 

Your eyes fly open in shock when you realize that the radio filter has disappeared, leaving only the raw baritone of his voice. You catch his eyes, which narrowed deeply into your own, his usual wide grin erased into a closed-lipped smile - then it was over, your eyes lulling back into your head as you nearly screamed, feeling yourself spasm violently over his thigh. Your climax carried on for ages, your vision turning black as one wave rode into the next, the comforting buzz of broken static aiding you through your peak. Yet when you at last lowered your head, gasping forcibly while clutching onto his figure, your heat still ached to be filled, still wanting more.

You were still dirty, tainted with the expectations of a sinner. 

You gather yourself, thoughts racing rapidly as you try to comprehend what has just happened. Before you could lower your head in shame, or will yourself to climb off his lap to beg for forgiveness - his fingers tighten their hold over your hips, reminding you of their presence. Then, in one sharp unexpected move, you realize that he’s pulled you over his crotch. 

You shoot your gaze to him, who stares down at you with an indecipherable expression. Your heart beats so quickly it drowns out all noise around you, leaving only the sound of blood racing through your eardrums. Your eyes darted around his face, trying to get a sign, anything of what he was thinking. Strained grin, eyes slitted. The tiny handle of a radio dial ticks in his pupil, and you hang onto its movement, letting it guide you further into suspense. 

It becomes a game of who will look away first. You’re frozen, afraid that if you were to move, the moment would end. If only you could see clearly the murky creature slithering behind his eyes, which was normally dormant, obediently coiled up like his collectedness, but now wriggled freely like wildfire; unexpected and untethered.

Hunger. 

The realization that there was pure, unbridled voracity in his eyes sent your sinful heat clenching over his cock, which, you realize with a wanton moan, was painfully stiff beneath you. You realize at the same time as him, and before you could gyrate your hips down by instinct, the moment was over. He stands, settling your shaky figure onto the cold tile floor. 

“What a performance!” He lifts a finger to adjust the lens of his monocle, which is still steamy from your breaths. “Do you find your soul just a touch lighter, my dear?” 

You search like crazy for a break in his voice, a crack in his composure, anything to indicate that deep inside, he was as affected as you were. That you had somehow brought a creature of devotion down to your wretched level, that you had affected him with your perversion. 

But he only stood straight and tall as always, the only difference in his appearance was the wrinkled cloth where your palms had grasped so tightly. 

“I…” You barely make half an effort to find your words, still unable to compute your reality.

He adjusts the crumples in his clothing, smoothing his lengthy fingers over his lopsided headpiece. His grin is once again open and sharp-toothed, as he turns to face the doors of the cathedral. “Now dear, what have we learned from today?” 

Your knees wobble, only barely catching yourself in time on your feet. You were no longer listening to his words, only the delectable sound of his voice, which you desperately pleaded to come back to you - but nothing would come out of your lips, as you only huff out more breaths, eyes doe-like with their current wideness.

He chuckles. “Well there’s no hurry! You have an eternity to think, and I do expect a lovely little thing as devoted as you will come to an answer.”

Don’t leave. Your tears, which had only just stopped their flow, began to wet your cheeks yet again. Please wait for me! I can’t leave this place without you. I need you to save me from my sins! 

“Don’t leave me!” 

He was long gone when you voiced your plea. Your knees give out at last, as you sit sobbing pitifully; deserted in the enormous interior of the cathedral, with only the musky scent of his mouth still lingering on your quivering lip. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been several weeks since the incident, and life carried on the way it always did after death. You stopped sleeping at all because you knew that your dreams would hurt more than ever, given what had occurred between the two of you. 

The worst part of it all, was how unaffected he was by it all. How unchanged he was. You would’ve preferred it, in fact, if he had grown more distant. Because then at least, there would be a clear sign that your interference had an impact on him. 

Instead, it was only you who darted your eyes away a little quicker, only you who ached with the pain of uncertainty. At night, you warded sleep by pacing in your room, thoughts of him torturously plaguing your mind. Why wouldn’t he accept you? Hadn’t you shown your faith enough? If not, you could pray harder. You devised plans, of improving your cooking skills, doubling the times you prayed a day, of kneeling for him even when it was not required. 

Of devoting yourself only to him.

There was a boundary between the two of you, one you couldn’t find the bridge to. He had the power to give it to you, but he wouldn’t. Because without the bridge there would be no difference in your level. And you found yourself hopelessly grasping for him from below. 

Perhaps that was the true reason you couldn’t clear your sin. Perhaps that was what lust meant. Lust lured you, a lowly sinner, to try and set foot on the bridge connecting you to the heavenly. It gave you the nerve to long for the embrace of something that shouldn’t be touched. But you didn’t care anymore. If you couldn’t climb up to him, then you could at least pray for his mercy, so that he might consider coming down to you. At least once, you needed him to claim you. To fill the enormous emptiness inside you. 

A throat clears above you, while you’re kneeling in the dirt of the gardens. You don’t bother to look up, not until they bend next to you. It’s Sister Maria. 

“Hey.” That rouses your attention, because she speaks with the understanding voice of a friend, rather than her usual distant monotony. “I was just looking for you.” 

You stare at her, your glum contemplation fogging your clarity and slowing your response. A basic reply finds itself in your mouth. “What for?”

“We just wanted to talk.” A second voice sounds behind you, and you look to your right to find Sister Sofia. 

“So you had that kind of experience with Sister Alastor, huh?”

The gears of your rusted mind start turning, as your vision clears, becoming aware of what she was referencing. You begin to deny them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-.”

“You don’t have to lie. We can guess what happened.” 

Your face flushes with embarrassment. 

“If it makes you feel better, he never even touched any of us like that.” A sigh comes from your right. 

“Yeah, the most he ever did was entertain Sister Vox, although that was just to put him in place. And, he’s gone now.” 

You rest your head on your knee, peering at the sisters who each looked so forlorn, so down about his indifference that it made you wonder - why did they still revere him? You ask them just that. 

“Revere?” Sister Maria begins, a small smile growing on her face. Then she sighs, bunching her knees to her chest to mirror your position. “I guess we all still have some hope that he will return our affections one day. That our subservience is some sort of divine discipline we must master before he can acknowledge us.” 

“And… you stay here just because of that?” You speak slowly, their words a sudden bolt of enlightenment through your mind. 

Sister Sofia pipes up quietly, staring out the window at the red sky. “Yes. Just because of that.”

Seeing their reactions, it wasn’t too difficult to deduce that perhaps this was the secret you felt divided you from the rest of the sisters. Oh, you realize. All along, they had already been in reverence to him, devoted purely only to him. And I was the newcomer, who was still too fresh to understand the bond that forms only from a deep, shared admiration.

Sitting here now, in the garden with the rest of the sisters surrounding you, you felt a sudden kinship with your fellow devotees, who each prayed for the petting hand of a figure so far up he might be in a different realm entirely. 

“Do you think he’d cast me out? If I tried for his affection?” 

The sisters glance at one another. One worried, one indifferent. You glance back down at the still-wet dirt, thumbing through the thick brown paste absentmindedly. One of them speaks up. “Well, we wouldn’t recommend it. Sister Vox was particularly insistent on his attention, after all, and…”

“Sister Alastor was truly generous with him. He should’ve cast that fool out the first time he tried to touch him.” 

“Sister Sofia!” 

“It’s true. Look what he did at the end!”

Another pregnant pause. You feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“What we’re saying is, just be careful. I know what you want, because that’s what we all want. But you need to learn to control that desire. Learn to let it fuel your prayers, not destroy your faith.” 

“Exactly. You should stop, while you can.” 

You don’t hear anything they say, with the exception of what you thought was a chance. “So you say he was generous with Sister Vox…” You mumble to yourself, digging your fingers deeper into the dirt. 

Then you start smiling, and the world around starts lighting up with you. The garden suddenly felt that much more beautiful; oh, Niffty cared for the plants so well! Your smile grows to a grin, and you admire the pretty lining of dirt under your fingers. Jagged and unkempt, with a light sheen of moisture creating gentle red reflections on your nails. Hell looked celestial.

You grin even broader until you feel the edge of your dried lip cracking from the stretch; and it delights you, as you think of Sister Alastor’s eternal grin. So that’s why he’s always grinning!, you think excitedly. If I were able to see the world from such a divine view, I too would never stop feeling gleeful! You spring to your feet then, widened eyes searching for the lovely sisters beside you so that you can embrace their purified souls and share your newfound joy. 

They were gone. They left, but it’s no matter. They helped you understand! 

Your footsteps are light, and you start humming softly as you glide forward, enjoying the lift from your invisible wings. There would be time to relish in the feeling of flight later. Right now, you were set on finding Sister Alastor, eager to share your newfound revelation. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you reached the cathedral, where you would most likely find Sister Alastor, your hands had started quaking with the thrill of seeing him. 

You hadn’t blinked the whole way, afraid to miss a single second of the spectacle around you. And even the sting from the dryness of your eyes sent tremors of joy down your body, for the world had never felt so vivid. The stone doors had turned to paper, and you giggle at the thought of them flying away, clutching just a bit tighter onto its frame. 

You dart inside, and unlike every time before, you instantly spot his figure. Beautiful and alone, beside the altar. The carmine sky reflects off the jeweled cross he held in his palms, scattering a path of light pointing toward you. You follow each glowing dot with anticipation, the staticky sound of violins growing louder with each step, until you’re encased in the hypnotic instrument.

Up close, you notice for the first time his lashes; which lay petal-like over the grayish tint of his cheek, an intricate contrast to his domineering stature. His mouth twists into a demonic grin, made angelic by his serenity. That twinkling crescent mirrored onto your own lips, as though his whole body, and not just the cross he held, had turned into a gem. 

He’s beautiful, you think breathlessly. 

You smile, enchanted as you hold a hand up to him, one half of a prayer. You understood now, that all the pearls you pleaded for, all the diamond rings you held to your chest at night, in place of a loving body; none of that was sin. They were candy-colored stones that would one day lead you to a house of platinum. And all along, you were meant to step behind its doors, so that the lord might lift your sin of lust. So that he could take you, and let your wretchedness reflect onto its platinum walls.

“You’ve come to find me, dear sinner.” 

“I have.” 

His eyes are slitted; pupils contracted, glancing at you curiously, asking you a silent question: have you figured out the answer? You lean forward, keen to prove your knowledge. 

“Sister Alastor,” you begin, kneeling on the bottom step of the altar. “I think I’m ready for redemption.” 

“Oh? Pray tell, how am I to be sure of that?” It was a rhetorical question, a request for you to demonstrate your sincerity. 

So you beam up at him, your hands releasing from their prayer, and pressing against the ground to support your weight as you kiss at his ankle. And just as you suspected, instead of pulling away, he hums instead, keeping his body a statue for you to worship. 

  You daintily tuck your hands beneath the cloth of his habit, lifting it up while taking care to not tarnish the gossamer surface. Your fingers slide up the expanse of his legs, your eyes widening as you glimpse the chiffon fabric of black stockings that end around the hard muscle of his thigh. Your heart pulses faster, yearning to explore what was hidden from you up till now. You offer a kiss to his heated skin through the cloth, arching your back as you lean further into his legs. You lick a strip up his thigh, higher, and higher…

The sound of the violins has started breaking, though you no longer find worry in that. Rather the breaks were equally breathtaking, its existence creating a second, more primal song out of the purer first. You glance up to find his eyes sprung wide, pupils taking on the shape of radio dials, just like that day on the bench. But it wasn’t enough. You turn your attention back to his lower half, lifting his habit over his hips. Your smile brightens in delight to find him hardened beneath lacy black undergarments. 

You press your lips to the bulge there, wetting the cloth as you offer your mouth to him. You start to lick, flattening your tongue against his cock, hands finding purchase on the sides of his sharp, angled hips. You vary the flicks of your tongue; small kitten licks give way to longer strips, as you crane your neck, dedicating yourself to pleasing him. 

A sharp sound of static pierces the air as you encircle your lips around his clothed tip, creating a third song that is so erratic in tempo that the notes are hardly decipherable. Yet it too was beautiful, and you moan ecstatically onto his hardness as your pussy grinds down onto his suede shoes, the point hitting your nerves just right.

You lift your fingers to the band around his hips, ready to peel away the only cloth separating you and your object of devotion, only stopping the motion of your mouth so that you could-. A primal groan infiltrates your ears, and his clawed hand digs into your hair, yanking you away from your ministrations.

You take in a gasp of air, face flushed and hair lightly clinging to your forehead. 

“Sister Alastor…?” 

There are small cracks in his composure; a subtle, barely there flush to his cheeks, his sharp teeth gritting so tightly it looked like a zigzag across his mouth. His chest rises and falls, the distorted jumble of music and static mixing in with his breath. He tugs on your hair to lift you into a standing position, causing you to moan in surprise. 

Now you’re at eye level with his chest, though he tilts your head so that you can stare directly at the insatiable fire in his. His other hand squeezes around your jaw, the dampness of his sweat apparent through his gloves. You wait with bated breath. 

“That’s quite enough out of you, my dear.” Soft tufts of red hair had loosened from his headpiece, and they brushed heatedly against your cheeks as he bent down to ghost his teeth over your pulse. “Your prayer has been heard loud and clear.” 

Then he bites down, and color explodes before you like a kaleidoscope entirely composed of shades of red. He lifts you by your hips; and by now, you’ve lost track of where the ceiling and floor was, of what was beside you or within you. All you can feel is him, tearing into your skin as he ravaged the fluid from your neck, him throbbing fiercely between your legs, his sacred mouth stained with your dirty blood as he pulled away, a small, jagged piece of your skin on his lips.

You whimper, your dripping pussy glued to the outline of his cock, desperately trying to suction him in through his clothing as his eyes wildly drink in your reaction. In the distant background, you hear a laugh track start to play. Or was it screaming? Perhaps it was laughter, so maniacal that it mimicked screeching; or perhaps it was screaming, so in denial of negativity that it turned to laughter.

It blends in seamlessly with the nun above you, who had started laughing himself. “Ha ha! Are you feeling it now, dear sinner?” He forces his bloodied jaw onto yours, and you moan at the taste of your own blood, hot, salty, and sickeningly sweet, with the slightest hint of bitter. 

“The marvelous passion of salvation!”

Before you even have time to take a breath, he puts a pause to your prayer, gripping your thighs with the whole of his lengthy hand, ripping away the cloth of your underwear, and thrusting himself into your waiting hole in one go. 

You scream, throwing your head back as your walls flutter in shock at the sudden intrusion, the hissing of a thousand laughs encapsulating the two of you as he grunts into your ear, hips twitching with the effort to stay still. You throw your hands around his neck, tugging unceremoniously at his veil and digging your fingers into his hair, stroking over his folded ears. 

The ceiling’s mural is a blur of color before your pleasure-hazed eyes, and you note that even Lucifer’s teary face was grinning down at the two of you. Though you had no time to contemplate whether he was weeping from happiness, or grinning to conceal his tears as Sister Alastor slides your slickened pussy up his cock, then slams you down again. And again, and again. 

Your foggy mind couldn’t decide anymore; was he a sinner disguised as a nun, who used his saintly appearance to freely express his wicked nature? Or was he a nun, disguised as a sinner; a devout angel whose nefarious image had distracted you from his genuine desire to help? How could someone whose thick, satiating cock that snapped so deliciously against your own hips have cruel intentions underneath it all? Each thrust of his girth filled your womb just right, and this time when your eyes rolled back, Heaven was right there in front of you, glitching white-hot like lightning against the hellish red veins of your lids. 

“...N-nghh…Sister…A-Alastor!” 

His name is a stutter on your slobbering tongue, a screamed prayer from your upturned lips. Sweat runs down his ashen cheeks, dripping past his clenched teeth onto your whimpering mouth. 

You squirm in the firmness of his hold, your body a mere ragdoll in the hands of his faith. Why did you ever request him to help you find God, when all along you could find Heaven within one another?

“I-I'm s—orry!” A lousy strand of drool drips down your chin. You tangle your dirty fingers in him, your untarnished savior. Laughing as you at last confessed your wrongdoing. 

“-----so–rry, sorry for sinning—!”

He peers at you knowingly, the line of his wide grin wobbly with the effort of sex. His breath is ethereal, reverberating on your collarbone as he nips you there. “The Lord forgives you, dear sinner.” 

He flips you onto your stomach, cock rubbing languidly against the sensitive nub of flesh in your walls, pressing your wrists to the ground with his claws as he resumed fucking into your sobbing wet hole from behind. Then his larger frame collapses against yours, his chest pressing flush to the heated flesh of your arched back, and just like that you once again doubt his purity. For a man of Heaven wouldn’t grunt so depravedly into your ear, plunge himself so desperately into the womb of a sinner, as though he were afflicted by the very same sin himself. 

And he leaves you no room to feel betrayed, no time to reflect upon your basal desire of being rutted into, by a nun or a demon, or whether that was wrong, because the enormous head of filthy gratification pulsing inside you led you to believe that it could only be right. 

“I forgive you.”

The sound of his remission sends the top of your scalp bumping against his lowered chin as you throw your head back for the nth time, feeling something build inside you to an uncontrollable degree. He holds your head in place by the moist strands of your hair, grinning down at your contorted face. With each long drag of his cock against your walls, you feel yourself tighten harder around him, until he pants beside your ear, clamping his teeth into the sensitive divot beside your shoulder. And you howl with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the proverbial rubber band snap, sending your walls convulsing in waves around his cock, as though some biological part of you were trying to suction the cum out of him. 

“...Fuck.”  

Your eyes snap open to find him watching your expression, his own brows furrowed over his glowing eyes as he spoke the unfiltered curse word; the one syllable so filthy, yet so right coming from his virtuous lips that the band snaps a second time, drawing out the clenching of your walls around his cock, your smile giddy with hedonism. 

Your body sinks bonelessly into his hold, but there’s no time to recuperate as he relentlessly pounds into your womb, his grin pulling into more of a snarl as he approaches his own climax. You whimper weakly; the feelings were all too much - his cock squelching against the sponge of your heat, the pleasant sting of his bite marks, the knowledge that this saintly being was losing himself in the sinful depths of your body. You cry out, feeling yourself lose control of your muscles, the need to cum present, at the border between unreachable and occurring. 

His claws circle around your neck, squeezing you like a dog on a leash; and just like that, your beyond exhausted body resurrects itself, only for the sake of coming around him one last time as he stills, staticky sigh releasing from his lips while spilling inside you, painting your walls sticky white with his blessing. His hips stutter a few more times as he holds you against him.

You foolishly imagine that he doesn’t want to let you go. 

Then he’s getting up, and you blink, trying to recuperate your senses. Your hearing returns to normal first, noticing that the jumbled radio orchestra has quieted. Your sight and touch stabilize, and you take in your surroundings. 

You laid, spent, on the floor warmed by the passion of your bodies. Above you, Sister Alastor hums a tune, collecting his seed which spilled bountifully around your lips, and pushing it inside. Your hips twitch, still overstimulated, and you obediently clench your thighs to retain the gifted fluid. You peer up at him innocently, a smile still resting on your lips.

His grin is approving. He dabs a handkerchief at the dried blood around your wounds, readjusting your clothes. “Good job! I always knew you had potential.” The pat he places on your head feels affirming, good, and not condescending. 

Then he stands, but not before scooping your molten body into his arms, the tune he’s humming vibrating pleasantly against your body. The walk back to the cloister was light, warm, and carefree; you still felt as though you were floating, but the vibrant disco ball of colors around you had dulled down to a tranquil pool of softer hues. 

The sisters gasp as Sister Alastor walks into supper, his mouth still stained with your blood, your ruffled body tucked into his chest. You revel in their disbelief as he takes a seat, joining the rest of them for once instead of eating alone. Pride glitters in your chest, unafraid and free. 

Still, you know not to step too out of line, as you eat beside him, noting his gaze, which was once unreadable to you, fixed on your form. You know what he means; that you had successfully walked the bridge beneath you, but now you had to return to your rightful place beneath him. 

Until it comes time for your next prayer.     

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Starting your morning prayers so early, my dear?”

You grin around the base of his cock, eyes teary with appreciation. Your nod of agreement comes out as a bobbing of your head, which sends his smile straining in that enticing way you loved. 

It was still early in the day, as according to the clock Sister Alastor had made to circumvent Hell’s lack of a night and morning. The rest of the sisters should still be asleep, while you had rushed to serve him the moment you awoke next to him, who sat next to you with a book in his hands.

It made sense to you that he never slept, unlike the rest of you who, while you didn’t need sleep, still did so because your sinful minds needed a rest. The divine had no such needs. And you were happy to greet him in the mornings with a prayer, your throat gagging around his length as he gracefully pushed on your head. Sometimes, you would wake from a sinfully perverted dream to find your pussy already filled to the brim with his erection, as he grinned down at you, reassuring you that he was here to cleanse your body from your wicked sleep. 

Then you would laugh with him, letting your glee bounce into his body and then back to yours, so that you could wake up another day and do it all over again.

With time, the sight of your sisters’ betrayed faces no longer bothered you. Sister Vox’s pained cries as he was expelled, rejected from Sister Alastor’s care, became but a mere dent in your memory on the pristinely crafted image of your new God. Your fate was different from theirs, as long as you kept his eyes on you. As long as you tirelessly bent beneath him, praying to his body while he salvaged yours. 

Remaining, utterly and completely, for an uncertain fraction of infinity, devoted.

.

.

.

.

.

Then you ride his dick into the sunset THE END!

A/N:  Dear Grammarly, stop correcting "her heat" to "her heart" I MEAN HEAT WHEN I SAY IT IT'S A SYNONYM FOR PUSSY. Anyway if you got through this fic without thinking “Hey sisters!” once, congratulations! I did not have the same luxury LMAO. This fic was supposed to be a very quick snippet, that turned HUGE (as his cock). If any of you saw the poll, I was actually gonna post that relatively short fic on the same day I made it… but then something dangerous started happening. I started to feel POETIC. AAHHHHH I COULDN’T STOP MY CARPAL TUNNEL WRISTS FROM TYPING. It took over my mind this week :( and while I do type fast, it actually takes me forever to complete a fic because of one main reason: I always end up changing my mind 30002790372097 times on what the plot should be and what should go where then I have to edit out all the stuff I wrote previously that doesn’t work with the new stuff THEN THE CYCLE CONTINUES except when I actually do get the plot settled I'm too lazy to edit the final and it’s AMAZING but also it SUCKS cuz I still have the rest of my life to tend to. But whatever fuck the rest of my life. Does the rest of my life have Alastor in it? NO? THEN WHY IS IT THERE

Taglist: @angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight

Note: I'll make a master list sometime in the future & link it here, and if anybody wants to join the general taglist you can reply to that. For the time being though, if you wanna join (or be taken off) just reply beneath the post.

[fokrilove]

More of eepy Luci and his duck blanket and more radioapple (established relationship here) previous part

[fokrilove]

You've got me voodoo'd

prologue, chapter one, next chapters

You've always believed in magic, soul and true love, but the fate you've chosen is not what you need. Could you change the mistake? The moment his eyes found you, you knew who was your destiny. Black magic, murder, lie — nothing could stop you from being with the one who you've chosen as your new fate. The secrets darker than yours hidden behind his charming smile only lured you more.

warnings: a pretty dark story with explicit violent and sexual content

author's note: in this chapter there is a short scene that i marked with the sign || on both sides so you can miss it because it includes worms and maybe you just like me feel rather uncomfortable with these creatures and prefer miss every mention of them (nevertheless i've written this, yeah)

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

As soon as your husband went to work by car and you cleaned the dishes, you put on your coat and left the house. The house you lived in stood near a route through the forest in a little pine grove, surrounded by high trees and ferns. The house stood in the shadows, so it was always cold and damp around and inside. Just several hours a day the sun sent its goldish light in the windows of your living room, and the pines casted their long black shadows on the wooden floor of your dwelling. But after all, this place was perfect for your activity and your character, and you could like it more only if you didn't feel like a prisoner in a god-forsaken place, for it was an out-of-the-way place without any neighbours or entertainment. Without any witnesses.

You went down the route, reflecting: The way to the city would take about an hour by foot, then you had to find the radio station where Alastor worked, it could take about an hour too, for you weren't at the city centre very often and didn't know it well. Then you wanted to watch where he would go next, wanted to follow him to know something more about him, maybe to see where he lived or his favourite restaurant. And in the evening you had to come back home and have time to prepare dinner before your husband returned. This was your plan for today and you really hoped to not to mess it up.

The building you found was quite modern and pretty high, above the main entrance there was a white sign board with red flashing letters, saying that there was the radio studio. You sat at the edge of a high flower-bed on the opposite side of the road, slightly aside from the main entrance, so you wouldn't be noticed when he came out, and you took out a book from your bag. You could spend your time usefully, reading about poisonous plants in your area, while you were waiting until Alastor left his office.

There were pretty much poisonous plants, herbs and berries in Louisiana. Even a magnificent pink shrub with already half dead petals, under which you were sitting now, was a poisonous oleander, as dangerous as beautiful. Luckily other flowers beside you were harmless.

And what you considered even more fortune was the fact that a lot of poisonous plants inhabited the areas very similar to where you lived. Those deadly flowers avoided the sunlight and grew in wetness and darkness, they preferred swamps, bogs and roadsides to sunny fields. They kept their distance, obtaining their basilisk strength in the partly-shaded areas. Turning the pages and making notes with a pencil, you couldn’t help but think how your own self put down the roots to the moist and shady place where you lived. New Orleans wasn't your hometown, you removed here after your marriage, and honestly you liked this place, despite all the painful memories and bruises you were given here. After all, it wasn't the fault of the city that your husband was a total asshole. You liked the atmosphere hovering in the air: jazz sounding from every corner, old trees overgrown with Spanish moss, old creepy legends and ghost stories that made even your blood run cold, even those thunderstorms befalling time after time occupied a special place in your heart, as you were astonished with their blinding lightning and majestic thunder, making you believe in the primary and unbridled strength of Nature.

No venom ran through your veins, saturating your skin with toxins and turning every touch to you in a painful sting, but you'd rid this place of just a single soul to make this earth paradise better.

You made a list of the most dangerous flowers, the plants, one touch of which could cause an itchy burn, and one berry of which could cause nausea and/or hallucinations (the idea of causing a frightening hallucination to your husband made an evil smile spread your face, you wouldn’t be the only one afraid). Because of the lack of your chemistry knowledge you couldn't cook a deadly potion, but you could use fresh berries and leaves. So, you wrote down some attractive names: poison sumac, deadly nightshade, milkweed, poison ivy.

You didn't notice how time went by, and the white sun shone through thin rain clouds. Alastor walked out of the building, and with large and confident steps of his long legs he went to the right. You jumped off from the flower-bed, crossed the road, successfully avoiding the mad drivers, and took your place behind his back, staying in the necessary distance. You quickly moved your feet in your soft-heeled shoes, making every step silent. Alastor had a fast pace, but you didn't worry to lose his sight as his tall figure towered above everyone, whilst you easily hid behind the bodies of strangers. It was midday and people began to crowd the street. You looked at your wristwatches and made a mental note at what time Alastor got off work at least this day of the week.

You got used to your new pace, you adroitly swinged between men and women without taking your eyes from Alastor's back. Not once you stumbled or bumped into anyone on the crowded sidewalk, Alastor not once looked back. Everything was going perfect. It appeared easier than you thought.

Suddenly he turned to the right, and your legs moved to the opposite side of the pavement to keep you unnoticed to his eyes. You stopped around the corner of the building which he turned and leaned against the wall, watching as he got into the car and drove away through the alleyway. You were sure you saw a few free parking places right in front of his studio, why then he let his car here? And he didn't go out onto the main road, but went through smaller streets, less busy and noisy. For now you couldn't answer these questions. All you could do now was heading back to the house and draw up a new, better plan of knowing Alastor more.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

With the botanic book and your notebook in one hand and a little basket in the other one, you went through the woods in search of plants you’d chosen as a perfect last meal for your husband. But though you started your searches this morning, you weren't going to poison him tonight. You wished you murdered him today, right now. You had to wait. You had to prepare everything to become independent even after your husband's death. Better kill him tonight. And moreover, you thought about poisoning him gradually, adding a little of deadly leaves in his meal day by day, until he got sick with something strange and died slowly because of a disease. A peaceful, quiet death. Was it what you wanted for him?

No.

But you picked off the flowers, cut mushrooms, collected berries, throwing all these little life reapers in your basket. You protected your hands with your husband's gloves as you didn't have yours, but you weren't going to clean them later, smiling in foretaste of his little pain when he'd put them on and accidentally scratch his nose.

You went deeper and deeper into the woods, trying to find the most shaded and wet places filled with mortal flora. You even passed the small bog, the spot you never crossed before. It was beautiful in this part of the forest, where you'd never been earlier, but you weren't afraid to get lost, as you let small cuts on the trunks of the trees from the south side, the direction where your house stood. || You glanced in the basket and almost squeaked when you saw a worm crawling out from one of the toadstools. The basket immediately fell on the mossy ground, the contents spillet out at your feet. The worm-eaten mushroom poked at the toe of your shoe, with a grimace on your face you kicked it in the bushes.

“Disgusting.” You hissed through your clenched teeth.

With slightly trembling hands you picked your herbs again (leaving all the fungi lying on the ground) and turned around to return to your house. Some could find the idea of feeding your hateful husband with a wormy mushroom quite thrilling, but your disgust for some things was stronger than your hate. Maybe your hatred to insects, worms, caterpillars etc was the reason, maybe not a realising one, why you didn't partake herbalism as your hobby. The sign of blood and raw flesh was much more bearable for you than a terrifying swarming of oblong little bodies with too many or even without any limbs. ||

You went back to the bog when you noticed a pretty shrub not so far with smooth green leaves slightly reddened on the tips as if rusted with October and black glistening berries. Must be some kind of a black nightshade? But why then its branches were white as if covered with snow? You flicked your book through, noticed some similar illustrations of poisonous plants, but nothing exactly lust like the one before your eyes. Wrong shape of leaves and velvet on them, whilst your plant was absolutely smooth with light ribs on the green, the book described plants about five feet tall and yours barely reached your knees, it had a light sweet scent, and the book gave you no information about the fragrance. Perhaps, you should discover it yourself?

As you kneeled down to throw some black fruits and leaves in your basket, you noticed a shape of a building through the fence of slender pines. Brushing the dirt off your knees, you headed forward, eyes locked to the silhoutte.

There was a house on the glade. Looking out from behind the mossed trunks of the trees that surrounded the edge of the clearing, you hesitated to go forward. It was not too big a two-story wooden house with an attic. Several windows were shuttered, but those that remained open reflected the evening sun, blinding you with golden light, and you moved aside, hiding behind a tree, like a wild animal hiding from a man, too afraid to come closer but too curious to pretend like nothing had happened. There was no one around, and the house itself seemed quiet, although clearly inhabited, judging by the smoke coming out of the chimney. How cosy it must have been there... The house adjoined the forest, the porch faced north and through the trees you could see a grey strip of the roadway. It seemed that this house, just like the one you lived in, was built for people who loved solitude and nature, but didn’t want to completely shut themselves off from the world. You went a little further forward, the wet branches cracked dully under your feet; You looked closer and raised your leg to take a step forward, but instead stepped back. Your eyes widened in surprise. Parked at the porch was the same car Alastor had driven away a few hours earlier.

You ran home as fast as you could, jumped over the roots, avoided puddles, took shortcuts by leaving the paths and running across the glades. Your books were placed in the basket, which you pressed to your chest, some fruits were already crushed under their hard covers and some herbs flew out from the basket, but you didn't stop. The sun was steadily approaching the horizon.

Gosh, it was so late! You thought you watched the time carefully, but it appeared that you lost too much time just staring at Alastor's house, and when you realised it, you rushed away from the place, but in a hurry you got almost lost in unfamiliar territory, and you lost more precious minutes to finally find the right way. And, oh god, you remembered you hadn't prepared dinner for Oscar! You could get a real punishment from him, if he came back before you and found out that you'd just been floating around for the whole day.

You ran up the back steps, burst inside and listened. Silence. Deep sunset silence, but not an ominous silence. A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you quickly ran to the bedroom to change your dirtied dress and leave the stained coat in the bathroom.

The moment you entered the kitchen, you heard the click of the lock in the front door. The door opened and the heavy steps headed to the living room.

You casted your books into a hanging box, where you kept all your vials, instructions for spells and rituals, some bones and now some herbs too. You knew, your husband would never touch anything in the kitchen except a fork and a knife during his meal. The kitchen was a woman's place, and despite how humiliatingly and deprecatingly it was, you couldn't deny it played into your hands, as he had no interest in familiarising himself with something womanish.

You heard the steps turning to the direction of the kitchen, he headed for you, as you put on your apron and took a knife to cut the first thing that went to your hand. A carrot.

“You better hurry up, pet, you know?” Displeasure was heard in the tired voice behind your back. You could actually feel how he frowningly gazed at the vegetable in your palm. Your husband wasn't a big fan of vegetables, and honestly anything but meat, so for your own safety you wanted to assure him that there would be beef tonight, but you were afraid that your voice could fail you, as you still didn't catch your breath after a long race and cold fear squeezing your throat. So you just nodded.

“I can't hear you,” His grumble.

“Yes!” Your exclamation and mistake. That sounded more aggressive and irritated than you intended.

“So yelling at me, huh?” You were harshly grabbed by your hair, burning pain on your scalp, and next second your head met the surface of the hanging box. It was a single hit, but shocking and harsh enough to make tears forming in your eyes.

He left the room, ordering you that the food had to be prepared no later than fifteen minutes. With your weak hand you opened the box and took out a green leaf with sharpened edges, not paying attention you could hurt your fingertips with toxins. You felt a slight pricking at your fingertips. Perhaps tonight you could find out how this mysterious plant worked?

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

In the morning you prepared dinner in advance, this day bided fair to be busier than yesterday, and though you didn't want to waste even a second on your husband, you didn't want to get another hit, you already had a small bruise on your forehead. As soon as Oscar's car left your sight of view, you disappeared in the woods. Today was sunny and Oscar’s hounds didn't bark at you as you passed by, and you took it all as a good sign.

Yesterday's meal didn't affect your husband much, he experienced slight pains in his stomach but nothing more. It didn't upset you much though, maybe you were even happy that it turned that way. Now you ascertained that the herb wasn't edible, and now you could collect more of the glittering leaves, or even try to use its fruits. To your surprise Oscar didn't even think of blaming you or your food for the discomfort, and you found it delightfully helpful. The man trusted you. Ironically.

You got to the bog and turned to the left. You didn't leave cut marks here yesterday, for you were sure Alastor knew his territory as well as you knew yours, so every scratch, every footprint would be immediately noticed, and you didn’t want to rouse any suspicions in Alastor and to draw his attention. So you went from memory.

Soon you reached the little pine grove. The sun was still on the east side of the sky, telling you it was still early morning, but nevertheless you could feel how slightly cool air was getting warmer with every passing minute, making you loosen your scarf. The unexpected and pleasant Indian summer in the middle of October.

The house looked just like yesterday, except there was no smoke coming out of the chimney, and the car wasn't parked by the porch. It wasn't actually there at all. You sighed in relief and with a small smile on your lips you left the shade of the trees. The grass was still wet with dew somewhere and it glistened on your boots already covered with brown leaves. Crossing the glade, you tried to look into the windows, but saw nothing more than the silhouettes of furniture in the darkness.

You came up to the steps of the backdoor and took off your shoes one by one to take them in your hands. You couldn't leave dirty footsteps on his floor. Carefully you broke open the door and stepped inside.

The smell of wood and spices wrapped your nostrils, and you couldn't help but take a deeper breath to keep more of the scent inside your lungs. With your bare feet you trod through the narrow corridor; Some boards squeaked under your steps, making you believe it was an old house though nevertheless obviously good looked after.

The house was still plunged into semi-darkness, for the sunbeams hardly broke through the trees outside the window, but it felt much more peaceful and calm here than in your house. There was no dampness hardening your breath, the stink of alcohol didn't spoil the air, no barking from the outside or curses from the next room. So quietly. But there was something else. Solitude and secrecy, as if the inhabitant of the house kept something from the light of the day and was pround of his secret. The dusk of the room seemed to confirm your thoughts.

Without hurrying you looked around every room that wasn't locked, noting to the details, that made the place look and feel like home: Worn books and old pictures, the strong scent of spices in the kitchen, rumpled cushions on a sofa, scratched after a long use gramophone records, a pair of gloves and a hat jauntily thrown on a commode, an old music book on the piano, a slightly soiled mirror and a barely noticeable aroma of cologne in the bathroom. Every single detail was new to you, but it also felt familiar. The most worn books were your favourite stories, faces of a boy and a woman in the pictures brought warm to your chest, the products in the kitchen seemed to welcome you to cook them. Everything was too dear for an unfamiliar place.

Exploring room by room, you couldn't help but imagine how it would be to live here. To take care of this place, to fill it with warmth and love, with joy and a tad of magic, to let your souls intertwine in these walls just like your bodies, to dance and eat together, to cuddle in front of the fireplace, to share one bed and one blanket. The thoughts brought a weak smile on your face and watered your eyes. It could happen, couldn't it? You'd already found your soul and home, and you could keep your love in your embrace, right?

Taking a breath, you casted depressing thoughts away. Of course you could do it. You came here for it.

The next room turned out to be Alastor’s office and a small library. On the desk there were scenarios of previous and future broadcasts, some papers and notes, even funny drafts. You came up to the bookshelves, and your eyes widened in surprise. In the living room Alastor kept fiction, while here he held specific books about radios and, surprisingly, magic books. There were old authorless and more modern authored books about dark magic, mostly about voodoo. Some of these books you read yourself, some recipes and spells described on these pages were the base of your own rituals.

You stared in wonder at the leather covers, shocked and bewildered. You expected to face anything, but not this.

In the corridor you guessed how much Alastor knew about magic. Was he like you, a sorcerer, or did he just read them but didn't use them? Read it like some people read about wild nature but never even hiked in their life? You didn't find any specific objects in any room, but, perhaps, he could keep them in the attic or basement? They were padlocked after all.

Slowly you opened the next door, a large wooden bed covered with an eiderdown showed to your roaming eyes. For a moment you hesitated to step inside, the bedroom was the most private place in any house, the place where a person let themselves be vulnerable or where they shared their privacy with someone they trusted. The room where you dreamt and daydreamt, where you rested your mind, body and soul, the room where you were wrapped with nightmares or fought with them; It was the place for your soul to control your body.

Your want won your indecision and you entered the room. It seemed to you that the home scent here was stronger, just like the haunting feeling of secrecy.

From the window you could see the glade illuminated with the sun now. Somewhere behind these woods stood your house, and it waited for you to come back. You wished you could lock yourself in this room forever and open the door only when Alastor returned. But it was too early for such actions yet. You had to prepare him for meeting with you. You had no doubt he felt the same as you when you first met, his gaze was so intent and so full of your own experiences, with an exclusion that he fought his fear and now acted as he desired. Within yourself you felt it was something dark, and looking into his eyes you saw how inhumanly wild it could be. For sure, the core of this secrecy impregnating the air here was enclosed in this craving.

Now remembering that night, you were sure he wasn't just a reader of forbidden books. Yes, in his eyes you saw his pride of knowing more than any other mortal does. And understanding that you knew the same.

Your hands touched the wooden window-frame. For your plan to come true you had to be sure that Alastor would leave the window open for the night, and as you didn't know if he had this habit (you didn't know it yet), you should have taken care of it yourself. You put your boots to the floor, so they wouldn't stain the red carpet, and took out a knife from your coat that you left there from yesterday. You placed the blade between two wooden bars and pushed. You wanted to make a small chink, invisible for the one who didn't know it even was there, but large enough to let wind blow through it.

Suddenly the knife slid down, scratching the frame and cutting your finger. The wood turned in a darker brown colour, immediately soaking in your blood. “Damn,” You hastened to the bed and pressed your cut finger to the back side of the round top of the headboard rail. You’d never done the night visiting ritual before, there was no person you wanted to meet in a dream, but the preparation and the main part of the ritual you remembered very well, as you always wished to perform it. And it wasn't difficult after all. You combined two rituals in it: an ancient ritual of soul night travel and a blood spell you made yourself.

The bloody spot was unnoticed from every corner and you smiled proudly. You wrapped your finger in your handkerchief and hid your hand in your pocket. You looked around the room in a search to find something you could take with you. Not only a souvenir but also a necessary component of the ritual. You needed something belonging to the person you wanted to meet in a dream: A garment, a hair, a droplet of blood. Something that had contact with his body — the vessel of his soul.

You opened the wardrobe and viewed the contents. His clothing seemed made by a professional hand of a tailor, none of the suits seemed too worn, and everything looked well-groomed. The colours were mostly brown and black, something red, white or beige shirts, all the shades you knew suited Alastor well. You looked over a higher shelf and took a black herringbone bow tie. You brought it to your nose, inhaling the scent, before putting the ribbon into your pocket.

When you wanted to close the doors, one shirt slid from the hanger and at the same time you heard the roar of an automobile.

You slightly cursed, shutting the doors, picked up your boots and ran out from the room. Less than ten seconds later you left the house through the back door and ran through the grass into the east side of the forest. You stopped only when you could barely see the building through the tracks of the fir trees. Only now you realised that you still pressed your shoes to your chest and your stockings were buried in the dirt. Shaking the conifer from and stuck leaves from your ankles and feet, you put on your shoes. Your breathing returned, as you slowly headed for your house, but blood still ran fast through your veins. You were so lucky today!

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

The moon was full, big and yellow, it looked out from the thin clouds as a coquette casting her glance from her feather fan. You feasted your eyes on its mystery shine for several minutes, Oscar became impatient, saying it took you too long to just open a window, but you didn't know how exactly you could admire something so beautiful for too long. The dim light of the moon was never enough for you. You moved away from the half-opened window and turned off the light. Oscar mumbled some curses and turned back to you just to immediately fall asleep. He was pretty angry today, but also tired and drunk, so he didn't torment you much this day, especially when you prepared a delightful dinner and gave him an ointment for the itching rash on his hands and face that appeared just out of nowhere. Though you hated playing nice and pretending to be a good wife, you couldn't deny lying to your husband and knowing more than him was very pleasant. The knowledge how long he had left was the most delightful, it made an almost triumphal smile decorate your face. The feeling of holding a life in one hand and death in another one, and being able to combine them in a loud clap, was so taking! You felt warmth in your guts when you imagined yourself having more men on a leash. You wished to have more control and power over people.

Oscar slept soundly, filling the room with an irritating grunt that was his snore, but you had to give him that herb tea to make his sleep deeper, to be sure he wouldn't disturb your sleep, that he would sleep longer than you, that he would feel well in the morning and would give up the idea of taking a day-off tomorrow because of continuing stomach ache.

You took out the snaffled bowtie from the pocket of your nightdress and put it under your pillow. When you lay at the very edge of the mattress, as far from Oscar as you could, you bend your elbow under your pillow, taking the soft fabric in your palm and making yourself more comfy.

You had to feel comfortable and erase your mind from any worries, your thoughts had to belong only to the object of your desire to perform the ritual successfully. You lay on your back, one hand under your pillow, fingers wrapped around the fabric Alastor once touched, the other hand was on your chest, as you concentrated on your heartbeat. Sleep crawled closer and closer to you, your eyelids became heavier, you felt a pressure on your chest and then you felt as you hovered above your shelf.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Slap. Another hit. Whine. Slap. He's too small to help, he's too small to protest. Everything is red. Ink black, bright white. He's small and he's harmed too. He can't help. He can't help.

He can.

A knife in his hand. In his small, plumply hand. Too tiny he is.

But not helpless.

Plead. Slap.

He faces the monster.

Strike with the kni-

Kick.

Her cry.

He will always be too small.

Alastor woke up, heavily breathing, his own palpitation drummed in his head. Sweat wet his temples and back, his shirt stuck to his skin so unpleasantly. He brought his shaking hands to his face, closed his eyes and breathed out.

Just a nightmare. Not even a forgotten memory. Just a bad dream that he'd already thrown from his brain away.

A stupid nightmare.

He wasn't small anymore, his hands were strong and bloody, now he was the one in control and not a blurred face from a delusion. He stood up for her, for himself, and even for others if you wish. This dream was a waste of time and nerves.

Alastor got out of bed, he needed fresh air to cool his body and mind. As he opened the window aromatic night air enveloped him, drying his slightly wet and tousled hair. The night air had a unique property — it dispelled all your unnecessary thoughts, and made you think only about the night. Stars, wind, sounds, cold. The midnight was egoistic and you had to concentrate only on it to make you worthy of its soothing cool embrace.

Alastor watched the black treetops swaying in the wind. The stars shone brightly above the branches when the dark grey clouds passed by. The moon illuminated the glade, reflected in Alastor’s dark eyes with yellow glint. He felt better. The pleasant smell of conifer and wet dirt was everything he paid his attention to now. His mind was empty, he let only his body to feel.

Alastor sighed and slightly closed the window, he wanted the bedroom to stay aired, moreover he always slept better with an opened window, listening to the sounds of nature lulling him. He closed his eyes, the sleep caught him fast and tightly right away.

Alastor found himself in a small cabin that wasn't his. Somehow he knew he was closed and didn't have a key. Another trap?. Through two square windows flowed down the pale light, but it didn't illuminate the room, to the contrary it seemed too dark indoors, as if the windows soaked the light in, out from the cabin into the forest. Nonsense.

He looked around, but there was absolutely nothing to explore — the cabin was empty. No furniture, no lamps, no hunter trophies. Just a wooden box. Though it was vacant inside, and the light was sucking out from the place, it still felt filled with something. A quiet rustling sound, very close to the crackling from Alastor's studio, sounded out of nowhere and filled the space with itself, almost making the air palpable, sending shivers across his skin. Another oddity.

Alastor slewed around again and saw pale figures staring at him through the windows. The view made him uncomfortable, shivers ran down his spine, and teeth clenched. Immediately the vision disappeared.

What. A strange. Place.

Suddenly he understood that he must be dreaming. As soon as the realisation came to him, he heard, or felt, someone behind him. He turned his head back and saw a figure of a young woman in front of him. The shadow fell on her face in an unrealistic, only available in dreams, angle. He tilted his head, showing his curiosity, and as if she read his mind, she went closer to him smoothly, as if her feet didn't touch the ground, lowering her head and showing her bare palms to him.

Her fingertips brushed the sides of his hands, and he wrapped his long fingers around her wrists, not giving her a chance to go away. He felt how she quivered under his touch, her uneven sigh echoed too loud in the cabin. Who was she? Her wrists were so thin and fragile as if made of porcelain, and Alstor was afraid that if he squeezed them tighter, they would break. His fingers tenderly slipped down to tangle with hers, and she squeezed his warm digits. His brows knitted in a frown as he felt how cold she was. It was a dream, but he felt the coldness of her body, the scent of her hair, he felt with his bare skin on his forearms the fine texture of her clothes as she clung closer to him.

The woman evoked a strange feeling in him that both painfully squeezed his heart and made it beat in a pleasurable rush. He last felt it years ago, the memory made his grasp on her stronger. It was a desire to protect, and he last felt it to his mother.

Alastor sensed how his palms became slightly sweaty after long contact against her skin, but she didn't remove her hands, she only held tighter on him as if her well-being depended on it, but he knew, she squeezed his wrist so firmly just to not let him grab her chin and make her look up at him as she still kept her head drooped, avoiding his gaze. Her forehead touched his chest, sending vibrating waves down his spine.

He felt his heartbeat went faster, the rustling noise faded away long ago, in the silence only her sighs were heard. He could push her away, but the thought didn’t even visit his mind. Her presence was heartwarming, he felt it literally, it’d be a foolishness to refuse her and what she did to him. Pressing her hands to his chest and feeling her pulse under his fingertips felt so right. As if he found a missing piece of his own soul that he never ever thought he’d lost.

Alastor wrapped his arms around her figure and pulled her closer. She slightly gasped but soon relaxed and put her hands on his waist. He finally could warm her.

Somehow everything had changed, Alastor lay in his bed and held her in his embrace, both covered with a soft blanket, as if they never were in that cabin, never leaving their bed and each other's arms. He inhaled the scent of her hair, it was rain, earth, conifer; She smelled like the night. Her little body was close to him, not even a millimetre separated them, and he felt her heartbeat against his chest — how could you feel somebody's heartbeat in a dream? Alastor smiled, feeling her body got warmer, and pressed her even closer, as if he wanted to lock her in his rib cage. She could always stay warm wrapped in his flesh and blood.

For sure he was not letting go of her.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You woke up with a gasp, taking a deep breath in with your mouth. You felt dizzy, slightly disoriented, but extremely happy. You saw Alastor in your dream, you shared your dream with Alastor, Alastor embraced you so tightly, so lovingly, you felt Alastor so goddamn real, your self made ritual worked! You reminiscenced all the details from the night before the morning would steal it away from you. The touches, the sights, the warmth — you wanted to lock it all in your heart to relive it again and again.

Never ever had you had such a sweet dream so full of innocence and love. His hands on your lower back, his breath on your crown, his peering curious eyes on your face, his fingers intertwined with yours, his tenderness.

No, you were not ready to leave your bed and face your life again, to survive again. But the man on the other side of the bed moved, his deep sleep ended too, and he was ready to remind you where you were and who you belonged to just as he did every morning.

The phantom brush of Alastor's hand in your hair soothed you. He was real, the husband was mortal, the rest didn't matter.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

[fokrilove]

Whoop - There it is! :> Glad to be back, folks! It's been too long, but I finished this behemoth of a Oneshot (7.1 k words FTW!) and I can't wait to see what you're thinking! Riding Alastor? ✅ Rut/Heat? ✅ NSFW? ✅ (Sorry minors!)

Thank you to @macabr3-barbi3 and also @ritualofcirice for encouraging me throughout the writing process - I'd still be rewriting and overthinking if it wasn't for you! <3 ILY

“Alastor, again?! Seriously, this has to stop. Look at the poor girl.”

“Oh Charlotte, don’t make an elephant out of a house fly – she knows it’s all in good fun, don’t you darling? No hard feelings, hm?”

You forced yourself to smile, although it must’ve looked strained, as you were still trying to get your tail to depuff.

“He’s right – no harm done, Charlie. It’s fine.”

Of course, it was anything but fine. Your whole system was still dialed in on the danger you had felt yourself in not two minutes ago. You should’ve been used to it by now. But you weren’t, and your feverish, nervous state you had been in lately didn’t help either.

Alastor had found sick pleasure in tormenting you since the moment you stepped foot in this cursed hotel.

You came after speaking to Cherri one night in the shady bar you worked at the time, not really believing that you could actually be redeemed but what she promised you’d find there: That the people there were weird but actually bearable to be around and lodging was free. The prospect of quitting your job, freeing yourself from that lewd, ambiguous boss of yours that also happened to be your landlord with a tendency to let his eyes linger too long on all the wrong places was too tempting to pass. Cherri’s latter statement was right, the room you were provided was almost as big as your flat, and the princess refused any compensation… even the meals were free. And for the first five minutes you thought her first one was, too. Charlotte Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer himself, welcomed you with open arms, and the other residents were a quirky, eccentric but still mostly friendly and fun bunch. But then it had begun – small at first, bolder by every passing day.

Alastor’s insistent, relentless, illogical bullying.

You knew about the radio demon, of course. You were neither naïve nor stupid - despite some acquaintances of yours would beg to differ - having heard and read too much about him not to be respectful yet distanced. Wary, but polite.

You were both woodland creatures, although he, despite being a deer demon, normally a prey animal, in a hilarious twist turned out far more powerful, dangerous and predatory than you. A fox demon, slender, clever and with an air of elegance and mystery around you – well, at least on the outside. The only thing you shared with your animalistic form was that you had a quick-witted, although very scattered, mind. You were a klutz, often speaking before thinking, getting yourself into trouble more often than being able to think or talk your way out of it. But you had been careful to tame that loose tongue of yours around him, not wanting to get on his bad side. And you weren’t, not in that literal sense.

You had barely introduced yourself, your new room key in hand and following the deer that enthusiastically offered to guide you to the right floor “as a good host would”, when you felt your foot being grabbed and twisted mid-step, making you tumble down a full flight of stairs. The grinning demon remained standing on the top, looking down on you with glowing eyes and a smug smile while you struggled to stand back up, your ankle sharply throbbing with pain. “Oh my, seems you are a flight risk, my dear.” He had said with a low chuckle, and if you’d usually reason that this incident had just been due to your general clumsiness, the deep satisfaction you could see in his eyes as you limped back up the stairs made it apparent that this wasn’t the case here.

From then on, stranger things just appeared to happen to you. They were slight nuisances at first, like getting locked in rooms that didn't even have keyholes or following stairs leading into nowhere, ending up in you getting exceedingly lost or terribly late to Charlies exercises, or furniture simply collapsing underneath you during dinners or get-togethers. Those incidents always were inconspicuously accompanied by the presence of Alastor, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere and with some kind of casual joke he cracked at your misfortunes, but there always was something about him that told you these so-called jokes were in a way maliciously aimed at you, more thinly-veiled accusations more than lighthearted antics.

As time went by his efforts became less discreet - he tried less and less to hide the fact that he was the cause of your various misfortunes. Things you carried with you disappeared, just to land into his hands... always personal, embarrassing stuff that he theatrically and loudly announced to anyone near before giving it back to you. "You surely didn't mean to drop this, darling, though I must say that sage green doesn't suit you at all." he had purred one time, twirling some lacy piece of underwear of yours in his hands when you had retrieved your laundry to carry it back to your room, holding it just long enough out of the reach of your panicked attempts to snatch it from him so that the whole lobby could stare in interest, pity or amusement before he finally let it fall into your hands. You were tripped even more, his shadow blatantly laughing at you from under the feet it was holding to make sure you'd fall, and his obviously faked tutting at it with that devious smile of his stung even more than the words that came with it.

"Now, now, don't look so affronted, my dear - what's a harmless prank between friends? No hard feelings, hm?"

That became a catchphrase of his - a question not so much directed towards the victim but an exclamation directed at everyone present to assure them that everything happening was harmless and perfectly okay. And you always played along.

Truth was - despite rhyme or reason – that you were infatuated with him. His witty sense of humor, that mischievous grin that set off so many alarm bells yet was oddly charming, the power and knowledge he was carrying inside him that showed on how effortlessly he handled any situation... maybe it was because he was almost everything you were lacking that you endured his relentless teasing. In addition to the respect you had for the older demon's dangerous side, the little flicker of hope in the corner of your mind that he might someday turn from 'funny but cruel' to just 'fun' if you'd prevail long enough was too strong and it became easier every day for you to try not to be bothered with each new stunt Alastor would pull, hoping that today would be the day where something in the impenetrable brick wall that seemed to be him would crack, allowing your real self to show through and find some acknowledgement in his eyes.

What had just occurred, however, had you question that hope tremendously. You had felt hot and feverish since yesterday, suspecting you'd maybe coming down with something. But as much as you tried to avoid the others as to not spread whatever disease you were cooking up, you seemed to keep running into them.

Not all of them, just the men, though.

New residents, delivery men, even Husk and Angel seemed to smell you from afar. They popped up everywhere, and you thought yourself delusional when they stood unusually close to you, were uncomfortably touchier and their eyes more intense and even hungry when they stared at you as you practically fled from them with the excuse of getting sick. The only one who kept his distance for once was Alastor, who you only saw once, with a twitching grin on his face and a dangerous aura of his shadows around him that seemed to flicker with dark energy when Julius, one of the newest hotel guests, had cornered you and put one of his bear paws much too low on your hips, suggesting to get a drink with him to cool you off. Though you had a feeling that the radio demons glowing eyes continued to stalk you, even without seeing him again. You had decided to skip dinner and just go to bed, hoping that whatever was happening to you, it'd be over by the morning.

But the night didn't bring any relief, you just woke up in more sweat and short-breathed exhaustion, filled with a dreading sense of anticipation for something unknown to you, as if your body was in constant alert mode. After checking the time, finding it close to breakfast and your stomach twisting with hunger, you made your way downstairs, hoping it was early enough for the others to still sleep and to catch Charlie alone and talk to her, not knowing how to describe the feelings you had felt but sure that somehow the hellborn princess could tell you what the hell was wrong with you. But as soon as you turned corner on the first landing base, you had felt it - electricity in the air.

In the blink of a moment, the floor became dark and gloomy, shadows creeping out from the growing void’s fraying edges, and instinctively you turned on your heels to practically fly down the hundreds of steps just in time before the deafening screech hit your ears. Every strand of your copper fur stood on its root as you panted, flaying yourself around another corner and watching a beast with familiar, yet obscurely twisted and long antlers crash into the wall behind you in frenzied pursuit. For one second too long you were frozen in place, realizing two things.

One: That it was Alastor that was chasing you.

And Two: That as soon as you knew it was him, your body reacted with a sudden wave of heat and ache, the thought of fleeing completely wiped from your mind but instead turning as if to throw itself into his waiting claws.

The momentum of the crash made him swipe at you, and without that one second too long that you would’ve needed to react, you didn't have time to dodge it. Instead, you had lost balance and fell backwards down the stairs, the impact on the tiled marble floor of the hotel lobby so loud it had Charlie and Vaggie rushing out of the kitchen and hurry towards your shocked and sprawled out, but miraculously unharmed form.

"Are you sure you're okay? You’re burning up…" Charlie asked, her hands gently rubbing the back of your neck as both women helped you back up.

"You look pretty rough..." Vaggie added, her brows furrowed. You were sure you looked like a complete mess - your hair sticking out in all directions, your tail bristled, your shirt damp and the fabric clinging to your flushed body, your pupils blown and your breath shallow.

"I-I'm fine, it's just a little fever. But, listen-"

A hand on your shoulder made you instantly mute, long, red tipped claws digging slightly into the thin fabric of your shirt, not breaking through but still stinging the flesh underneath. Its heat soaked like hot oil through the cloth down into your skin, burning its way deep into your core.

"How about I escort you back to your room, darling, as my way of apologizing for my little... shenanigans. We wouldn't want your current state to... affect the others. Does that sound reasonable?"

His voice was sickeningly sweet, almost too innocent, the smile on his face wide and his eyes twinkling in almost a warning that only you caught. From the corners of your eyes you saw Vaggie turning red with anger and ready to blow up at him, and Charlie, worriedly fidgeting with a conflicted face. If you'd stay silent, the girls surely would take you out of his grasp safely. You could escape him. Any logical mind would take that chance without second guessing, especially after what happened just mere minutes ago.

"That'd be nice, Alastor."

The walk back to your room was tense and quiet. His hand had left your shoulder, and the coldness it left behind made you want to wince. Your mind was still fuzzy and your body aflame, but as you climbed up the stairs, his tall figure close behind you, the space between the two of you suddenly felt much too large after the novelty of actual, physical contact. It just occurred to you that indeed, he had never touched you before - the pushing, shoving and teasing all done by the sentient extension of his shadow companion that followed him everywhere he went. But he had never directly touched you - until now. Innocently enough, and yet you couldn't seem to shake the weight of the ghostly hand still present on the dip of your neck. The thought alone made your tail shiver, and the sudden realization made your legs move faster, the tension in the air almost suffocating.

Reaching your door, you take a deep breath. The air around you smelled musky and thick, a scent that you could've sworn wasn't there before, and the feeling of his looming presence behind you almost makes you dizzy. You turn the key with slightly shaking hands and turn as you open it, expecting him to make a snide remark and say his goodbyes for now. Instead, you don't even get to move your head before his hand returns, this time on your lower back, to all but shove you into the room, followed by him, and the loud thud and click told you he'd closed it shut and locked it, the chiming of your key on the keychain shrill in your ears.

"You seem to be in quite the predicament, my dear."

He hummed, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, and as much as your instincts told you to back away, the fire inside you had flared up and you stood still, waiting, anticipating.

"Your little display yesterday was a nice touch. A little too theatrical, perhaps, but not everyone has the natural talent for drama like I do, hah!"

He chuckled, coming to a halt barely a foot in front of you, his eyes gleaming with something you had seen before, but couldn't name. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice level.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't play coy now, little vixen. You weren't really discreet in your search for a willing mate, but I thought you'd at least show some decorum not to flaunt your pheromones like this." You stared at him, a bit dumbfounded and the gears in your brain turning much too slow.

"...Mate? Wh-what pheromones? What are you talking about, Alastor?"

He blinked, tilting his head. His gaze was piercing, and yet you could've sworn he had a hard time keeping it on you, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "Don't tell me you don't know?" he purred, a dark smirk pulling at his lips, a slight glimmer of the yellowish hue of his sharp teeth showing from behind them.

"How quaint. I'm afraid I didn't take into consideration that you are not the type to make yourself acquainted with the hellish form you took on. Why, you're in heat, darling. A very... desperate and needy one, at that."

You were unable to speak. You had known that something was off yesterday, when the men started crowding around you like vultures, their eyes hungry and their approaches over-eager, but not once had the word 'heat' come up in your mind. You had been in Hell for not even nine months, not exactly long enough to really explore all its nuances and differences. You had only heard the term 'heat' being used before in relation to animals – which, in hindsight, you technically were, in a way. Your ears and cheeks burned and your head was swimming, your tongue like a dry piece of sandpaper in your mouth.

"H-how did you... why did you..."

Alastor sighed, taking a few steps towards the windows. "As I said, darling, you weren't very subtle. And neither were the buffoons that stumbled over their own feet trying to make you choose them. The smell of a vixen in heat is hard to resist, after all." His head fell back, and the expression he wore when he looked at you was both frightening and intoxicating. "And the scent that clings to you is absolutely divine."

His words made you blush and shudder, the ache between your thighs growing so embarrassingly strong you quickly tore your eyes from him and looked at your hands that were fumbling with your damp shirt. He hadn't even touched you, but your body was already begging for him, as if it knew his presence would be the solution to all your suffering. Why were you reacting like this to him, and not the others that had swarmed you yesterday? It made no sense, none of it did.

"Why were you chasing me, then?"

The question escaped you before you could bite your tongue, and he turned around, a brow raised but his smile wider now and the smug amusement that was so habitual of him returning to his eyes .

"Well, my dear, you were running."

He laughed at your expression of shock and dismay, obviously proud of himself as you opened your mouth and closed it again and again, no words leaving it. You watched him raise his hand up as a means to silence your inevitable ramble, to stop you before you were even able to find something to say. "Although I have to admit that I quite lost myself a bit in the heat of the moment - pun intended. Which brings us back to topic."

He was closer now. Not fully in your personal space but in the almost invisible borders between friendly distance and invading closeness, arms behind his back and a mocking grin on his face.

"Now what will you do, little vixen in heat? Unlike our earthly counterparts, demons in heat stay in it unless they've bred sufficiently - Oh no, it'll only become worse the longer it’s avoided. Do you have one of the many low-rank rutting sacks that are roaming about the hotel just for a chance to fill you up in mind to sate your needs? Most of those unworthy imbeciles would happily spread their seed into you, but - Oh dear, where's the fun in settling?"

You couldn't think straight. You knew what he was insinuating but couldn't bring yourself to truly understand and accept the gravity of the situation. It felt too much like a dream, your mind foggy with fever and every nerve and muscle in your body aching. You knew by now that your mind had chosen the one you wanted long before your body forced a decision. But despite the painful want you were scared of saying it out loud, just to be rejected. Left wanting. The perfect and most cruel tease he could use against you yet, delivered by your own damned nature.

Alastor clicked his tongue, pacing from your one side to the other like a shark in the span of your thoughts that slowly began to settle, rubbing his chin in false contemplation. Your eyes followed him absent-mindedly, and when the whirlwind of your thoughts quieted for a moment, you saw with shock that pearly beads of sweat began to form under that fiery fringe of his hair and the fingers tapping on his chin twitched ever so slightly.

“Well, your scent certainly tells me what you seem to be unable to. But good things only come for the ones that ask for it, darling.”

Again, the tingling that started to become oh so familiar shot down to your belly with the heavy pull that the glint in his eyes had on you. Maybe it was the primal need you felt playing a trick on you but something in his composure, normally so perfectly put and stoic, struck you as hastier and more unrefined. The barely hidden jerk of his ears, the slightly glossy sheen in his eyes, and that intensifying smell of musk and moss and spices oozing from him all were subtle but noticeable telltale signs, just small imperfections in his person, tiny cracks of his façade that grew larger and louder the longer he was alone with you. And finally, they began to speak a language you knew.

Without knowing the details, you became aware, sensing that he, too, wasn't nearly as collected as he liked to present himself. As if the fact that he was here, alone in the room with you was enough to allow him to slip up, ever so subtly and most certainly not intentional. You had noticed from day one that it was nearly impossible to truly get a read of his emotions, an impressive trait you envied to some degree. Yet, the most rational part of his brain appeared to have shut off when his pupils widened ever so slightly as you closed the distance between your bodies, finally throwing caution and fear and hesitancy to the wind. It was a leap of faith.

"I… want you. If..." Your voice was shaky and breathy, and everything in you wanted to pounce him, touch him, bite and scratch and bind him to you, but you resisted, both scared and excited for his reply, the space between your trembling bodies paper thin. "... if you'll have me."

Before your brain could really register what's happening, his smile became predatory, his red irises swallowed almost completely by his dilated pupils, making the blackness appear brighter than his naturally glowing eyes, the shadows around him writhe and grow.

"Oh, I indeed intend to have you, little fox." he cooed, an echo-like echo mixing in with the static of his usual voice. It sounded wrong, demonic, but it lit a flame of pure want within you. It made you frantic in the need to touch him, and the first and only thing your trembling fingers could grasp was his red coat, the instinct you acted on so intense you ripped the fabric from his shoulders and sent buttons flying as your hands sprouted black claws.

For a second, you were blind with panic but his dark, rumbling laugh eased the fear, your head tilting up as he lifted his taloned hands, moving over your head and dragging the tie and the suit jacket along. He held your stare as the two items landed next to you on the floor and his head tilted, a silent, cocky, knowing approval of the first piece of your real, raw self he had gotten to see, and the gesture made you almost break from under his hands as they went back into motion, hungrily peeling the sweat-damp shirt off your back. He was quick yet careful, but when you felt those sharp claws of his scraping over the curve of your back you couldn’t stifle the wanton whimper they drew from you.

He shrugged the remaining pieces of shredded, crimson fabric off his shoulders and pulled on the sleeves of his ripped dress shirt, seemingly not as affected or distraught as you by having lost almost all of its buttons in your careless undressing of him, and it had you lick over your fangs that poked through when your senses became clouded with desire.

His skin faded seamlessly into soft, thin fur right under his clavicles, spreading over his lean chest and arms and towards his flat, toned belly and his hips, where it began to look like it continued on his legs but was covered by the high waisted pants of his immaculate dress outfit. Hypnotized by his alluring form, you barely noticed how quickly he took piece after piece of your clothing off of your sweaty body, the fire in you fanned by the mere feeling of his sharp fingertips dancing over your hot skin, until there was no fabric left to take off. You only realized you were completely nude once he pulled your head up to face him by your chin, his grin glistening as if he was salivating at the view of you - and it drove you mad. His other hand reached around you, finding the base of your bristled tail, long fingers raking through the fur and pulling teasingly on it.

"What a fine specimen of a vixen you are, darling..."

You don't give him time to crack any more jokes as you wrapped yourself around him, rubbing your head against his neck with a growl in a primal need to rub your own scent into him, marking him, wanting him - no - needing him and him only to ease the infernal heat bubbling inside you. The only one worthy, your instincts were telling you, and the thought was taking a hold of you, dragging you down whether you wanted or not. The sheer feeling of his exposed chest brushing against yours was almost overwhelming and your hips instinctively rutted against his, begging and silently pleading for him to fulfill his duty as your chosen mate. A chuckle, resonating deep in his chest, roused from him as he gripped your shoulder with eager force, throwing his weight into you and pushing the two of you the last couple of steps you've still had left onto your bed. Your hands found their way into the soft, maroon fur of his ears, his silky scarlet locks and down his lean, muscular back, clawing and pulling and kneading as the urge to ruin him just as he was ruining you became overwhelmingly powerful and undeniable.

"Aren't we eager now? So desperate to be bred."

A tight tug on your copper fur, which drew an unexpectedly lewd and desperate sound from you, tore your eyes away from the straining, bulging fabric of his pants, where they had previously been staring for a moment too long, your wide blown pupils reflecting his. With your cheeks, chest and shoulders flushed, you saw that a faint pink colored his features, which darkened more the longer he was looking you up and down, the large hand on your side flexing, scratching and kneading every inch it could reach, as if he was still trying to collect himself.

"Y-You don't look too u-uninterested as well." you stutter as his warm lips trailed over your collarbone and down to your nipples, softly sucking one while his other hand twirled the other between his talented fingers, the pinch deliciously painful. When he flicked his tongue out and you yelped at the intense, electrifying and unbelievable feeling he shot into you with that single, simple move, his laughter vibrated against the sensitive flesh between his lips and you swear it's the first time you ever heard him really, genuinely laughing - a deep and powerful and sincere sound. You can feel it throughout your whole body and soul and something within your mind flickers to life - as if his laugh had recharged a part that had been turned off and numb during all of your times in Hell so far, only now to feel truly alive, you and Alastor’s souls intertwining and connecting in a way you had never believed possible before.

"Finally growing into your fangs, I see. Well, if that's the case then..."

He moved swiftly, shifting his weight and pulling you with him, until your places were reversed and you sat on top of him with his hands on your waist pressing you down, down, down - the clothed bulge pressed against the junction of your thighs. A heady moan was ripped from the depth of your throat as your sex ground down against the coarse cloth of his pants, the delicious friction all the more tantalizing for the simple fact that it wasn't nearly enough.

His pupils were huge, black circles with ticking dials in them, nearly completely swallowing the rich crimson, and his normally discreetly hidden antlers sprouted with loud cracks, growing exponentially with each new sound that broke the seal of your lips, each buck of your hips or twitch of your thighs.

"... prove to me how you deserve to receive my seed."

As the words fully hit you, all blood rushes downwards and your body responds on its own. Your mouth latches on his, not sweetly, not gently - wetly, harshly, the clash of tongues and fangs drawing blood, iron and spice spilling in both of your mouths as a new wave of hot arousal wets your center, seeping into his pants.

With both clawed hands planted on his chest you could feel every single tremor, twitch and move of his - the furious pulse of his blood running under your fingertips, the shudder as you breathed his name against the heat of his jugular - you wanted to memorize, tattoo each second into your mind because despite the hazy frenzy you found yourself in it didn't elude you that this might be a once in an afterlife time thing. The thought pained you, and you felt tears prick in the corners of your eyes, which went completely disregarded by both you and the one so voluntarily trapped beneath you.

His claws raked up and down the smooth, soft skin of your sides, tracing every inch and curve and divet and painting them with red streaks, before he finally - FINALLY - moved them to his belt, the clinking sound of his buckle opened music to your ears. The buck of his hips in an attempt to get his slacks to slide lower, his soft grunt as his cock sprang up when he freed it from its clothed confines, it all drove you even madder, his powerful aura and the heaviness of his swirling shadows tipping and bending your senses as you desperately sought to draw out more of these delicious sounds, more of that want that was so obvious now in his eyes and staggered breath.

You lean forward as your tail whipped and shivered as it stood up bristled in arousal, almost losing your balance for a second, bracing yourself on his bared chest as your tongues, teeth and lips crashed together again. Jolts of white-hot electricity shot straight down to your core at the feeling of the damp tip of his cock catching on the wet and slick opening of your folds. A slow drag upwards and your nails clawed over his pectorals and ribs, his throat answering to your touch with a deep, feral growl, almost beast-like as he slid effortlessly up between your lower lips, the combined juices that leaked from his and your loins slicking the hard length. He didn't let you sheath himself into your throbbing heat though, as if to test you, and you whined as you lowered yourself onto the length of his shaft, rutting slowly on it to satiate the hunger that seemed to only grow.

It was merciful torture, a tease you didn't mind for once as the tip of his cock hit your clit every other slide and the vibration of his taunting purrs traveled throughout your spine, leaving behind a tingling burn. It had you toss back your head, the drool hanging from your lips, completely involuntary but curiously not ashamed of it.

"Al-Alastor, please...I need..." You whined, half out of breath and delirious as the sensation of his tip pushing up against your entrance just didn't seem to be enough, the emptiness inside you demanding to be filled. The very corners of his mouth twitched as he stared up at you, your hips rolling helplessly against his, panting and moaning and begging.

"Need what, darling?"

Your brain was foggy with lust, your fingers twitching as you leaned backwards, your claws digging so deep into the soft fur of his chest that they drew blood, and the fire raging inside you wild and untamable. You wanted to speak and plead, to make your tongue cooperate and to say all the right things, to seduce and coax his shaft to fill you the way you knew only his would, but his sultry yet rough voice seemed to have put a stop to whatever reasonable and rational thought that had somehow still remained. Eloquence eluded you in this desperate state, and the only words leaving your gaped mouth were broken and hoarse.

"Mate me. Fill me. Breed me."

"There's a good girl..." he rasped, one clawed hand firmly squeezing the side of your waist, while the other brushed the thin line of tears, sweat and drool hanging from the corner of your agape lips before holding his swollen cock straight for you to impale yourself on it with a moan.

"Take all of me in, little vixen, show me you are worth it. There you go..."

The stretch was blissful, but not as much as the euphoric waves crashing down on you once your greedy core had swallowed up the entirety of his length, your velvety insides clamping down on the girth the way a vise would. His sly coaxing sent another surge of raw, primal and animalistic passion rippling throughout your body, and with strange triumph you felt him experiencing the same kind of exhilaration, making you mindlessly jump forward and down to fully grind yourself down on his member with all the leverage your thighs provided, while simultaneously his strong grip on your waist and him bucking up into you in that sinfully precise way allowed for him to immediately slam right into your most intimate spot, burying his entire shaft into your dripping, welcoming heat.

Falling in sync was shockingly easy, his muscles as responsive as yours and your bodies molding together like two pieces of a perfect puzzle. He thrusted upwards with a force that took your breath away, forcing the air of your lungs to flow out with the repeated bounce and pressure, your ears ringing with the rhythmical slap of skin against skin. Relentlessly, minute after minute passed, and he cruelly ripped you away from tipping over the edge multiple times, your sanity tearing at the seams whenever he slowed you down on his throbbing cock.

In and out, up and down, faster and faster your two bodies worked together and his thick tip and tantalizing ridges brushed all too perfectly against every right spot as his pace quickened once again, making your eyes roll back and the need to cry out his name through desperate sobs over and over and over again became unstoppable, each time a little less distinct and a little more wild than the last.

"You are quite the noisy little one, aren't you? ǤØØĐ. I do love the way you scream my name." he so much as growled as you did exactly that when his fingers gripped on your hips even tighter, his hold more firm as he forced your trembling, exhausted frame up and down, each new hit a bit harder and deeper than the previous one, his entire body tensing as he picked up the speed to a feverish and merciless intensity that had you cry out with pain and pleasure alike.

"β€Ǥ for your release darling, tell me who you want to be filled by once again."

"A-Alas...tor! I'm- fuck... please, let- I w-want only y-ou..."

It was all too much - too hot and too big and too deep, too close and too far away - thick, hot tears joined the sweat and drool that ran down your face. You wished it was over and yet that it would never end, that you could stay frozen like this for the rest of eternity - filled and aching, burning and melting on him, giving and taken from. You were broken, yet pieced together at his hands, and all of a sudden, just like that, he moved you up and his cock felt so much thicker than before this time. With one last violent push he pressed you deep into his lap - You screamed as you felt something swelling inside you, interlocking the both of you as he came right when your own vision turned first white, then black while you mercifully collapsed on top of him, finally being allowed your long-craved release. Hot seed painted your insides and made your toes curl, his cock twitching deep inside you as he gasped through the last ropes of thick and warm release. It lasted and lasted, his hand frantically stroking over your spine and down your whipping tail while he shushed you and purred praise after praise into your folded ears.

It took a few long moments for the fog to clear from your mind before you realized you had buried your nose and mouth into the crook of his neck, teeth sunken in his taupe flesh and fur unconsciously. You dared to turn your head enough to watch his face - his eyes had returned to their usual shades of red, and the engorged branches of his antlers were slowly retracting back to the small, hook shaped ones nestling at the crown of his head. He was still smiling, wide and satisfied and superior almost. You gingerly retracted your fangs from his neck, but when you attempted to unmount him – rationality, and with it shame, creeping back into your consciousness - Alastor's arms locked firmly around your bare frame, rendering you unable to move.

"So eager to get rid of me, already?" he cooed, a chuckle rising from his chest. "I wouldn't advise to move yet, my little vixen - Not while we're knotted."

"We're... knotted...?!"

He nods, and you follow his intense stare down to where you and him were still connected. Sure enough, you couldn't make out his shaft itself but a noticeable bump stretching the flushed lips of your sex impossibly wide, the sight causing you to gasp and tear your eyes away in shameful realization. A tidal wave of blood flushed your cheeks - partly due to arousal, but mostly because of embarrassment and confusion, and you willed yourself to stay calm and not to freak out. When you looked back to him you found him grinning, his expression the picture of amusement but there was something tender in the glimmering ruby eyes that looked up to you. It felt strange that even though you were sitting on top of Alastor, you still felt small and submissive to him, how much dominance and assertiveness he could hold even in a position like this.

"How long...?" you managed to ask, avoiding to look at him by turning your head aside, staring at the mess of ripped and torn cloths on the carpet.

"How long?" he echoes, but there's a pause until he hums a dark and pleased sound, "Well, darling, your guess is as good as mine. Despite what you may think, I've never knotted with anyone before."

You thought your heart would jump from your chest and flutter through the room when his hand softly petted the base of your fluffy tail before his knuckles ever so lightly traced the line of your back. His other arm still held you tightly, and his fingertips danced over the heated skin of your side, the soft caresses a sharp contrast to the way he'd handled you only a few minutes prior. You were overwhelmed by the sheer gentleness and intimacy, the vulnerability it made you feel, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

"Relax, my little vixen. You've been so good for me, so now let me service you while we wait."

Too stunned and overstimulated to respond you feel his mouth licking and kissing along the various bruises and cuts scattered over your chest and torso, his hands soothingly stroked every inch of your sweat-damp body, tracing the lines of the scratches and welts he had left on your hips and waist while he still managed to somehow hold you still. Every touch and kiss had your tail bristle and quiver, a whimper leaving your throat, but he didn't stop until his lips were pressed to the pulse on your neck, the steady and heavy heartbeat drumming against his nose and chin.

"You know, I knew you'd come to your senses and give in to my advances eventually, darling. Although I didn't think it'd take you to get into a heat to finally admit it."

"Your wh-..."

He latched onto your breast, sucking a little too harshly on the sensitive nipple as if that’d answer your unfinished question, and the yelp that tore from your throat turned into a moan when his teeth raked over the nub before his tongue flicked out, soothing the pain he had caused while your head swirled in confusion.

Advances?

What did he mean, advances?

All he had done since you two met had been taunting and teasing and chasing and ridiculing you... right? Another sharp bite on your sore bud had you gasp, partly by pain but also by epiphany.

Like a boy on the playground, pulling the pigtails of the girl he likes, Alastor had tormented you, chased you, tripped and caught you, waiting for you to get the hint - No hard feelings, hm?

All this time, every day and any second, in his own weird, twisted way, he had been showing a perverted version of affection and pursued you.

You weren't sure how to react, what to feel - there was too much to wrap your head around and no way in hell you'd be able to sort through it all right now, with his cock still locked inside you and his lips wrapped around your breast, still teasing, still taunting. Although now, with the context you were given, you welcomed it, wanted it even. The more you thought about it the more it all fell into place, and his actions towards you suddenly felt less and less like harassment and more like a tremendously badly executed attempt at wooing. But it was oh-so in character for him, the enigma that was the Radio Demon, and you would've laughed if his ministrations on your chest and his gently swaying hips wouldn't have coaxed your body slowly but surely steer into yet another, but softer - almost lazy - orgasm.

"You are... o-oh god... the biggest p-pain in the ass, Alastor…"

He laughed, another genuine and carefree one, the vibration of his voice tickling your flesh as you came again with a pitiful moan and he let go of the rosy, pert nipple to lift his head, the soft and tender smile and the glint of his sharp teeth a sight you knew you'd never be able to forget.

"That's what they all say, dear."

Tag, you're it! - @diffidentphantom @sirens-and-moonflowers @tayraedoll @catticora @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard as well as my fab four (whose fics carried me through my unavioidable vertigo pause) - LOVE YOU @hazelfoureyes @minkdelovely @sugoi-writes and @synamartia <3

[fokrilove]

Before It All (Pt. 2)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor. References to racism, sexism, and racist terms

-----------------------------

Hell.

So it actually did exist.

The pure elation, raw euphoria, and sheer mania completely overwhelmed Alastor when it finally did sink into him that, yes, he was dead – savagely mauled by a pack of hunting dogs and then shot in the head by an utterly incompetent hunter.

Pathetic.

But Hell, it was real, absolutely truly one hundred percent a reality he was now living and he couldn’t be any more ecstatic that was the case.

(He certainly had a first class ticket).

Because if Hell was real, that meant demons were real and if demons were real…

You were real. You existed.

Alastor had never been a religious person before his encounter with you. He hadn’t really changed his mind afterwards either. God had never done anything for him, so why should he ever bother to devote himself to a being who clearly didn’t give a fuck about him or his Mama?

A demon cared more about him, if only briefly, than Heaven ever did in his lifetime.

You probably had no idea what impact you had on him, you may not even think of him, or even remember him, the kid whose soul you had spared on some sort of whim born from pity.

Alastor obsessed over you.

He had felt cold the moment you had pulled away from him and that chill had never left him – only his Mama’s hugs could temporarily relieve him of the complete indifference he possessed for the world around him.

Ah, his dear Mama.

He never understood it, he still didn’t understand now. 

That day, that night was a blessing in his eyes. He had met, if only for a few minutes, the only other person(?), being, other than his Mama, that had actually cared, held any concern for his well being. You had even gone against your demonic instincts and let him keep his soul, just so you didn’t condemn him to Hell.

(He condemned himself, but those were his choices alone).

You had killed a human being for him.

His father was a monster – so why did his dear Mama cry and grieve over the man who had abused them both horribly over the years? Why wasn’t she happy that he was finally gone? She no longer had to endure being hit, slapped, or even worse because of that man’s unpredictable mood-swings.

She could never properly explain it and honestly, Alastor didn’t want to understand that mindset of hers.

Because of you, his Mama could be free of the misery his father put her through. Alastor could take care of her on his own, just as you told him to do.

Because of you, he was free from hearing his father’s muttered insults about his skin – how he might've passed as ‘right’ if his skin was a little lighter. 

Those cruel remarks grew more and more frequent and so did the homicidal thoughts Alastor harboured for his father.

If not for the book he found containing old magicks, strange symbols and sigils, and a ritual for summoning demons, Alastor was sure he would have snapped sooner rather than later and would have ended up strangling that drunk waste of life in his sleep.

He would have been caught, no doubt, and put to death. Lynched even.

Who would take care of his Mama then?

But because you had killed his wretch of a father for him, he had been free to grow and pursue his passion for radio. Hunting had become something of a secondary hobby, it was the only thing his father had done him good by – even if the man had only taught him how to track and hunt small game, claiming he wasn’t nearly ‘good enough’ for bigger game.

Well, he could always teach himself.

Alastor had never really preferred any particular type of meat before, always happy to eat whatever his Mama put before him, but when he remembered the tingle on his fingertips, the feel of your soft ears…

He remembered he used a deer skull he found in the forest in the ritual he used to summon you.

Deer.

He probably has eaten venison before, but he honestly could not remember what it tasted like since he just didn’t have a preference then.

He wanted, needed, to learn every detail about that animal.

Alastor really did find the taste of venison to be the most satisfying over any other meat he stripped from the game he hunted. Deer quickly became his favoured target.

He never shot at a doe.

His life was looking rather bright – his career in radio was taking off, he had learned to blend in better, socialize by watching people, and he was frighteningly good at it. He was charming, despite the prejudices and racism, his skin tone and creole heritage didn’t seem to matter much anymore with how successful he was, men and women were clamouring for him in different ways.

It was entertaining to watch.

Still, his homicidal thoughts never left his mind.

Abuse of women by men who were just like his father was rampant and it angered Alastor more than he imagined it would. Only this time, there would be no you to correct things, you were just a lucky break for him.

(And only him. He wouldn’t share you even if he could summon you again).

He’s perfected his hunting skills over the years and hunting humans wasn’t much different, it just took a little longer and a little more patience to assure he wouldn’t be caught.

If there is a Hell, Alastor will burn.

But he doesn’t mind so much, not if he can burn alongside you.

~00~

Is it ironic?

That he is a deer demon too?

From what he has gathered, one’s appearance changes depending on what happened in their human lifetime and how they lived it. Some Sinners have very mundane changes due to mundane sins and deaths.

A traumatic death has a large impact on the soul and being mistaken for a deer and shot dead can certainly be counted as traumatic and impactful.

Alastor is just relieved enough he doesn’t spawn as a dog demon.

Would you be happy he’s a deer like you? 

Alastor has to wonder if you would even recognize him, his appearance is quite different from his human one and it has been over twenty years since your encounter.

If there was one thing he regretted about summoning you, it was that he never asked for your name. He had been much too blinded by his rage for his father and his fascination for your ears to even think to ask and he always lamented about it.

Nothing would get done regretting the past, however.

He needed to figure out his new body and the structuring of Hell and how it works before he can even begin to think of looking for you. 

He needs to amass power.

Hell, with no doubt, is a dangerous place with powerful demons lurking about. Besides the pure thrill of eliminating those very demons by his own hand, Alastor will assure your safety as long as you stay at his side. 

He can pay you back for what you did for him, he can be your saviour this time around, whether you needed one or not.

It’s time to get to work.

~00~

“Another one?”

The man before you shivers at the sound of your voice before giving a shaky nod, looking every which way but you, clearly wanting to leave your presence as quickly as possible.

You couldn’t blame him.

He deserved every second of torment upon his miserable soul.

“I would like for you to go and take a look at this demon toppling Overlords like they’re nothing more than a child’s plaything. You can come back when you have an adequate description of this demon.” You flippantly waved him off.

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me, you little bitch?” The man cursed, his previous meek behaviour gone at the thought of having to go and put himself in danger just so he could get a damn glimpse of whoever this new demon was. There was no fucking way he was doing tha–

A collar materialized around the man’s throat and he lost his footing and his face was smashed into the ground when you abruptly tugged on the chain that materialized at the same time the collar did.

“Did you forget something important?” You stared down at the man in disgust. “If so, let me remind you now. I own you. I own your soul. If I want you to do something, you do it without question. Do you understand, Hartfelt?”

The man, Hartfelt, simply could not keep his mouth shut. “You murdered me in cold blood, you fucking slut! And now you think you can order me around like some dog because you have my soul too? Killing me wasn’t good enough for you? Go back to the kitchen where you belong. Goddamn whore.”

“You made a deal with me. It doesn’t matter if you were newly spawned in Hell and didn’t know how it worked – a deal is a deal. I only took your filthy soul for one thing, otherwise I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten foot pole.” You huffed. “And yes, I can order you around like a dog. It fits your appearance, doesn’t it?”

Hartfelt stood up when you allowed him to, growling like the mutt he appeared to be. “What was that one thing?” He asked, cursing in his mind. If not for that ‘one thing’, he wouldn’t have been under this damn deer bitch’s control for the past twenty plus years.

It's laughable that he has to take orders from a woman.

“I gave your son a pass then, but I saw it in his eyes. I hope I’m wrong, but I do believe Alastor will end up in Hell.” You sighed, glancing over to see pure terror flash across Harfelt’s face. “Figured it out now?”

“You kept me on a chain just so you could give me to that shitskinned boy!?” Hartfelt attempted to lunge forward to unleash his fury on you, but you wouldn’t have it.

You speared your claws into his muzzle and he howled in pain. “Say something like that again about Alastor–no, I’m already tired of your voice. You don’t need that foul tongue to see what this new demon looks like, so I’ll be taking it. I’m sure it will grow back soon enough… if I allow it to.”

No one batted an eye when screams of pain were heard from an apartment before they abruptly stopped.

Hartfelt stood on shaky legs, blood dripping everywhere from his mouth and you didn’t even glance at him. “You know what to do.” You said coldly, waving him off once more and he went without complaint this time around.

Not that he could if he wanted to.

~00~

The Radio Demon.

It wasn’t exactly an original name, but it fit him to a tee, whomever he really was. Hartfelt could never get close enough to get a good look at the Radio Demon and could only give a vague description of the male.

Red. Lots of red. Tall ears maybe? Or a part of his hair, Hartfelt couldn’t be sure. Big, creepy smile with yellowed fangs, and he always carried some sort of cane. His voice was filtered like he was talking on air through a radio.

It was expected, Hartfelt did a crappy job.

It would have to suffice for now, you would rather save Hartfelt for Alastor rather than hearing him scream on the Radio Demon’s broadcasts.

In any other circumstance, that would have been preferred. 

You just needed to pay careful attention, it's how you survived Hell unscathed as a prey-based demon thus far.

The Radio Demon’s rampage was coming far too close to the district you lived in for your comfort and you have no idea if the Overlord in charge would be able to hold on to his power or not.

You had to be prepared for any scenario.

Beyond his insane broadcasting of the screaming souls of the Overlords he had conquered, the Radio Demon was almost pleasant to listen to. His voice was definitely made for radio and his taste in music was exceptional (well, considering you had been dead for some number of years, you had no idea how music evolved in the human world).

“This next song is dedicated to the one I hold dearest to me. I have yet to locate you, my nameless Doe, but I do hope you are listening to this.”

Your ears twitched and you opened your eyes in surprise. It was a bit of a shock to hear that the Radio Demon, of all demons, had a lost lover out here in Hell. You had thought he was a sadist through and through.

You supposed some sadists could love too.

(You did hear rumours that Overlords Zestial and Carmilla Carmine were… something, so much was possible in Hell).

“It has been twenty-four years since our last encounter, brief as it may have been. You have been on my mind ever since. If you truly are listening, my nameless Doe, then know the Radio Demon is Alastor Hartfelt.”

You fell off your couch.

No.

No way.

The Radio Demon and Alastor Hartfelt were one and the same?!

“H-he died?” You said out loud to yourself and to no one. ‘It's only been twenty-four years. He… he didn't even make it to forty years!’

What happened!?

Your ears flattened against your head, not sure what to think of this situation. 

He held you dearest to him?

You've been on his mind ever since?

Your encounter was brief, barely even five minutes long and somehow, Alastor thought the world of you?

That kid twenty some years back definitely had a screw or two loose and you think you just made the problem worse. 

You should not have let him touch you.

You should not have hugged him.

He was an adolescent boy probably starving for positive attention and a soft touch outside his mother and you unwittingly fucked up what normal development he should have gone through.

Well, you couldn't undo the past, but you could try to make up for it by giving Alastor complete control over the man who once controlled him.

You supposed it could be a start.

~00~

He hoped.

But he really expected nothing.

Alastor was rapidly gaining territory, toppling numerous Overlords with his newfound powers within just a year.

Along with wailing souls, Alastor always sent that little message out on his broadcasts, hoping you would hear and respond to him by showing up to the radio tower he built.

But the amount of power he had grown into wasn't enough yet, he could only hijack a portion of Hell’s radio waves at a time, not the entirety of it like he needed to.

You may not have even heard his message.

How irksome.

These were the times he actually craved Mimzy’s company and the atmosphere of her speakeasy.

Mimzy would just keep the whisky flowing until he was intoxicated enough to allow a couple select women a few touches here and there, barely even considered lewd by any means.

Getting drunk was the only way he could handle those touches without flinching or feeling a deep need to shatter the other person's hand – an unfortunate side effect of his father's beatings.

Your touch was the only one he longed for.

It only happened a few times, Alastor stopped as soon as Mimzy casually pointed out that he had a clear type, that the few women he chose all had similar traits.

The same hair colour and length, the same eye colour, and the same height.

All features you possessed.

Back then, the last thing Alastor had wanted was to end up drunk in some random woman's bed calling out for you, ‘my Doe’. Rumours of that nature just wouldn’t be good for his image and career.

And really, saying that whilst in bed with another was just plain weird.

Alastor would have to find a decent bar here in Hell, he could use a drink to take the edge off.

A chirp catches his attention.

His shadow, a magick he has just recently begun to delve deep into, chitters at him and Alastor raises a brow and tilts his head, his smile remaining in place despite his bewilderment.

A guest?

A guest at his radio tower?

Could it possibl–?

Hope, but expect disappointment.

~00~

You're nervous.

(Why?)

You just want to turn around and run.

(Why?)

The Radio Demon and Alastor Hartfelt may be one and the same, but the Alastor you met was just barely on the cusp of manhood, someone so trapped by his shitty situation that he was desperate enough to summon a demon of all things to get him out of it.

He was extremely lucky he had gotten you, very few demons, if any, would have let him keep his soul.

You didn't know Alastor anymore. He was the Radio Demon now, a being quickly becoming infamous and feared for his ruthlessness.

If this was a trick to lure you here, you just hope Alastor has it in him to spare you like you did him.

You tense and your ears and tail stand straight up when you can feel and hear static before he speaks.

“How I've missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

What a peculiar greeting.

--------------------------------

Sorry, thought it would be fun to end it here. Part 3 soon.

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world

[fokrilove]

The Hunt Pt. 2

Read on AO3.

Part 1.

Summary: Alastor x Reader (reader is afab, uses she/her pronouns.) Date nights in Hell are done a little differently, especially when you're dating The Radio Demon.

Trigger warnings: Reader and Alastor in Hell for a reason. Stalk & prey roleplay in the bayou that ends in bondage sub/dom sex. Rope bondage, biting, rough oral sex (Alastor receiving), vaginal fingering, rough p&v sex.

It was a rare day in Hell that you felt restless but from your first cup of coffee that morning, you could practically hear your blood humming with the need to do something.

Something new and fun.

You and Alastor used to have no shortage of such things but since his return and moving into the hotel, your date nights were getting fewer and far between and had taken on an air of monotony. They were still enjoyable but it was beginning to be the same repetitive thing over and over again. Alastor chased them down, you made them face their own sin, you and Alastor ate them together, etc etc.

And Alastor was so busy these days, his attention split between Charlie’s needs, his role as an Overlord, and running his radio show. Not to mention, those days he took off without a word for hours, a consequence of his damn deal with the owner of his soul.

But today, you were determined to be in a good mood and make something of it. So you marched up to Alastor’s radio tower with a new idea brewing in your mind; one you were sure he would be interested in hearing.

____

“Oh, sweetheart, you seem so tense,” you cooed as you rubbed his shoulders. He had flung off his jacket, letting his guard down a bit knowing it was just the two of you up there and for just a second, he leaned his head back into your torso and closed his eyes, appreciating the touch.

But then his eyes flew back open and he leaned forward in his seat, looking over his workstation.

“I appreciate your concern darling, but I do have a lot of work to do before I can relax.”

You pouted, though you knew he couldn’t read your expression with his back to you.

“How much longer are you going to be?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said shortly, and you tried to not take it personally. He was never cruel to you, but he could still get a bit terse if you bothered him when he was busy.

With an audible sigh, you tried another approach.

“I was just hoping that this evening we could go on a date.”

“I don’t have any business that needs attending to in that matter, unfortunately, but you know you’ll be the first to hear of it once I do.”

“I think there is someone worth going after,” you countered, letting your voice turn a little suggestive. You caught the slight flick of an ear and knew you had his curiosity. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you leaned yourself over him so that you were nearly cheek to cheek. “I think there’s a naughty little Sinner that’s been right under your nose this whole time and she needs punished. And I think she’ll be hiding in your bayou this evening . . . if you think you can hunt her down.”

You kissed him on his jawline and stood up, quickly walking away from him and headed for the door.

He called out your name as your hand reached the doorknob, and you turned around to face him. Alastor had turned around in his seat and was eyeing you with not just interest but absolute hunger in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a 20 minute head start,” he began, then looked up at the clock on the wall. “Starting now.”

With a delighted giggle, you flung the door open and took off at a dead run.

____

The bayou was deeper than you expected.

You had gone for short strolls with Alastor through it before, but he had either misled you about how large it was, or he’d made additions to it since you were last here.

A lot of additions.

You couldn’t even see the entrance to it anymore and had already spooked up a herd of deer and got a rather angry squirrel screaming at you from the trees above, both of which gave away your location.

Realizing early on this would be more challenging than you expected, you worked on controlling your breathing and making each footstep more purposeful and quieter.

You were sure the 20 minute mark was either approaching or had already come and gone and you were just beginning to wonder how you would be able to tell when Alastor entered the bayou when everything around you seemed to go still at once.

Birds stopped singing, the cicadas stopped their buzzing, and even the trees seemed to move in the breeze less. It was like all of nature knew an apex predator was nearby, and everything went into hiding.

It was then that you heard his humming, and your ears triangulated the noise coming up a path you had snuck off of a few minutes ago to hide and cower in the thicket you were now tangled up in.

That fucker was singing. He was so confident in himself he wasn’t even attempting to be stealthy.

Then you saw two pointed red ears in the distance following the nature trail and as he approached, more of him slowly came into view. After a moment you could tell he was looking down at the path in front of him, with an easy smile on his face, and his hands clasped behind his back.

But why was he looking down and not around him, searching for you?

Then he went silent and stopped right at the spot on the trail where you had taken off the path and headed into the shrubbery looking for cover and it dawned on you then and there that he wasn’t following the path at all.

He was following your footprints. Your tracks.

Your heart began to race as the reality of being his prey sunk in and you cowered deeper into the bushes surrounding you, knowing he couldn’t see you from his vantage point, even as you watched his smile broaden and he lifted his gaze from the path to the direction you were hiding at.

But his eyes didn’t land exactly on your hiding spot. Rather they seemed to skim the area around you before his expression relaxed again and he continued on down the path, away from you, and picked up his humming tune again.

You waited until he was totally out of sight, but not before the sound of his humming totally disappeared, to begin moving again.

Deciding to backtrack, you followed along the way you had come until the world around you was completely silent again. You stayed within the thick shrubbery, hiding under trees and carefully moving amongst the ferns and undergrowth, knowing it would be better at hiding your footprints than the open trail had been. It was slow going, but you had to be extra careful not to snap any branches or flatten any leaves as you went, knowing that was just as much of a give away for an experienced tracker like Alastor.

After several minutes, you made a sharp right and hopped over the path, heading back into the deeper part of the swamp, now on the opposite side of the trail than what Alastor believed you were on. You breathed in deeply and steadily before marching on, this time letting yourself move a little quicker.

Eventually the trees became sparser and you paused every few feet, listening carefully as you went, knowing you would have to duck down and hide the moment you heard Alastor’s voice.

Grasses began to populate the area just as much as the ferns were and the ground beneath your feet became muddy. It slowed you down once more, making you search for more solid footing at you went. Then suddenly there was before you a real proper swamp. Nothing but water still enough to see your reflection in, its surface covered in lily pads and water skippers, though the insects were being unnaturally still. You watched as a frog that had been sunning itself on a rock slipped quietly into the water, as if hiding from you.

Or someone else.

Down the edge of the swamp, you could see a little canoe so you made your way over to it, intent on taking it across the water to the other side. You could see a little cabin across the way and while you were sure that could be used as a trap against you, at least you would have the body of water between you and Alastor.

But just as your hand touched the handle of the paddle sitting within the boat, you heard the humming again. Only this time there was no telling which direction it was coming from.

You looked around you, panicking as Alastor’s staticky voice only got louder and louder, but you could see no sign of him.

The damn canoe must have had some kind of magical trigger on it, alerting him if anyone touched it, and you nearly dropped it at the thought.

Instead you set it down exactly as you had found it.

You figured if you left the boat right where it was, Alastor would find it and assume you stayed on this side of the water. So with clothes and shoes and everything still on you, you stepped into the water, wading out until it was up to your shoulder, and silent as night, sank into its depths and let yourself be submerged.

Now that you were dead, you could hold your breath for longer than when you were alive, but even with your demonic strength and stamina, when you finally breached the water’s edge of the other side, you were gasping for air.

You had come up beneath the hanging branches of a willow tree, thankfully giving you ample cover as your head emerged from the water.

It was silent again, no humming to be heard, and no Alastor in sight.

There was however, something in the water with you.

You could see the ripples moving across the mirror like surface, giving away the creature’s immense size well before its scaled body became visible.

The giant gator moved with deadly stealth through the swamp and you thought it would keep swimming right past you, when it made a sudden turn in your direction.

With a thundering heart and shaking hands, you swam as quickly as you could out from under the willow tree and crawled up the muddy bank, just in time to see its massive jaws come up and snap at where your heels had been a moment before.

Its black dead eyes watched you, considering if it would come out of the water in pursuit of you or not. Risking the noise, you let out a growl and felt your skin shift as your more demonic form began to come forward. This was all fun and games until Alastor brought his pet into this; a real creature that nearly almost ate you, and you weren’t about to let that happen. The gator eyed you for one more second before crawling backwards and disappearing into the water.

With a satisfied huff, you took off away from the edge of the swamp but stopped dead in your tracks when you heard the humming pick up again.

The cabin was now only a few yards away and surrounded on three sides by a cluster of more willow trees. With an idea forming in your mind, you took off for it, no longer bothering to hide your tracks.

The door was mercifully unlocked and you ran inside. There was a screened in front porch that lead straight into a split roomed, tiny space. The main room clearly functioned as both a living space and a bedroom, with a sofa and fireplace in one corner and a bed and wardrobe in the other. A closed door must have led to a bathroom. Within the wall opposite the front door was an opening that led into a small kitchen area and you sighed with relief when you saw it had a back door.

“I see you’ve met my little Polly, isn’t she a doll?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from screaming when you heard Alastor’s voice. Until you realized it was coming from the radio perched on the coffee table by the fireplace.

“I’m sorry she gave you such a fright, but I promise she wouldn’t have eaten you.” His soft laughter filled the room. “In fact, she’s a picky eater. She really has a taste for the hearts of my enemies, much like yourself. So you were never really in any danger.”

You turned your back on the radio. So he knew you were in here but wasn’t already here himself. That would only work in your favor.

Letting the water from your swim drip onto the floor behind you, you walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, revealing several articles of clothes and a few towels. Grabbing one, you carefully closed the wardrobe again and wiped away the rest of the trail of water as you made your exit through the kitchen and out the backdoor, leaving just the water droplet that led to the wardrobe behind you.

Once back outside, you ran to the tree line behind the cabin and followed it along until you were back at the front of the house and climbed up into the nearest willow tree and secured your hiding place, waiting for your plan to work.

It took several minutes but eventually you saw Alastor emerge from the shadows of the trees, almost directly beneath you, and head straight for the cabin. There he would follow your trail and find what he assumed to be your hiding place, but you planned on running out of there the second that door shut behind him.

Then you would make it all the way back to your hotel room and wait arrogantly for him on the bed you two shared in there. He could punish you all he wanted there, but only after you made it clear you had beaten him at this game.

He wasn’t humming any longer but just as you foresaw, Alastor disappeared into the covered porch and the second you heard the door of the cabin open and close, you jumped from your spot high up in the willow tree and landed easily on your two feet.

You smiled as you took one last glance at the cabin, knowing you had won.

Before you could turn your back on the house, a set of arms grabbed you from behind. One covered your mouth, silencing your scream, while the other wrapped around your waist and pulled you tight to the taller body behind you.

“Found you,” Alastor sang into your ears before he bit down on your neck, and you felt your body begin to dissolve into shadow with his.

____

“A valiant effort my dear. I must say, I’m impressed. I should have expected nothing less from one worthy of being my lover. But alas, you did not outsmart me.”

You struggled against your bonds as he walked over to you.

Alastor had your hands bound behind your back and your legs tied up so that your thighs were to your chest, and your ass was raised into the air in a most demeaning pose.

All your clothes had disappeared when he transported you back into the cabin, and now he had you gagged and kneeling before him on the wooden floor, a roaring fire the only comfort in the room. And the fact that he had you completely naked and in such a shameless position kept you from being able to hide the signs of arousal now dripping from your core.

“Are you ready to accept your punishment?” he asked you and you tilted your head, pressing your cheek into the floor beneath you, as you did your best to look up at him with your most willing, submissive expression.

His smile looked pleased as he read the non-verbal agreement in your eyes and walked over until he was behind you and got down on his knees.

You felt his palm rubbing against the swell of your ass, teasingly close to your most sensitive area. Then the first slap came, and you flinched against the sting of it but didn’t cry out.

“You’ve been a naughty little Sinner, haven’t you?”

Another slap.

“You said so yourself. And how many people have you killed?”

Slap.

This time you grunted around your gag, feeling your drool begin to soak it.

“Just when you were alive, how many did you say it was?” He was rubbing where he had smacked you last, the cool skin of his palm soothing your red and aching flesh. “Seven, isn’t that right?”

Slap.

“And how many more since you came to Hell and joined me?”

Slap.

“You don’t even know do you? So many you’ve lost track?”

You felt his fingers dip to the lowest part of your ass cheek and give it a greedy squeeze, his claws and the tips of his fingers so very close to your core, and when he trailed his hand back up you felt the wetness that had gathered there being painted across your skin.

Alastor hummed in approval as the sight of your arousal as he teasingly dipped his fingers lower again, not quite touching you at your aching center, but finding your most outer lips still coated with slick, and spread more of it across the flesh of your backside. A silent reminder that he was well aware of just how much you were enjoying yourself.

“Such a deviant thing you are.” You heard him stand and then the soft sound of his own clothes hitting the floor and the unmistakable sound of the zipper of his trouser being lowered. “Such a violent, murderous, little whore I have in front of me. But you’re ready for redemption now, aren’t you my dear?”

He moved until he was in front of you, his bare hooves the first thing you could see, and then he was kneeling in front of you and helping push you up until you were both raised up on your knees, his proud erection in full view now.

With a snap of his fingers, your gag was gone from your mouth, though it still left a bit of saliva running down your chin. Alastor swiped it away with his thumb before grabbing your jaw and making you look up into his eyes.

“You took your punishment so well darling, I think it’s time I let you prove yourself.” He took his cock in hand and rubbed the tip along your lips, its velvety softness teasing you and you let your lips part just a little as you gazed up at him. “Show me what lovely things that mouth can do, and I’ll give you quite the reward.”

You opened your mouth and let him slide into you, hollowing out your cheeks and letting the flat of your tongue stroke along the bottom side of his shaft. He groaned and thrust deeper before pulling out and starting right away with a brutal pace.

It was hard to keep your balance with your arms behind your back and forced to lean forward on your knees, but Alastor kept one hand on your shoulder and the other fisted into your hair as he rocked his hips into your face.

You let yourself moan, your lips suctioned tight around his cock, as he moved in and out of your mouth at a relentless speed. Often, his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag and choke on him, and your spit dribbled onto him, soaking him and the floor beneath you. You couldn’t take all of his length and you wished he would free a hand for you to pump him at his base like you normally would, but it was evident you were still pleasing him with the way his hands clenched at your body and his cock twitched in your mouth.

It was difficult in this position, but you managed to never try and pull away, taking every inch of him over and over without hesitation, even when he gagged you so hard you had to fight the urge to cough.

With one final thrust, Alastor came and the taste of him filled your mouth. He had such a lovely salty and savory taste to him and your eyes fluttered shut as your swallowed him down. Then he was pulling himself out of your mouth and lifting you up enough that you were sitting on your heels, your toes bent and pressed against the floorboards beneath your weight. For a moment the spell of dominance was broken as he panted against you and pressed his forehead against yours. He was even sweet enough to nuzzle his nose against yours and kiss you between the eyes before that hard look returned to his features and he leaned away from you enough to really take in the sight of you.

“Such a good girl for me. Ready for that reward?”

“Yes . . . please,” you added after a pause, remembering your manners.

“Well then,” he said as he stood back up. “Better get you back in position.”

With your face back to the floor and backside raised full on display once more, Alastor made no preamble before he began running his fingers through your folds and across your clit. No more slapping or clawing at your skin; rather his touch was gentle and tender as he toyed with you there, building you up until you were on the brink of begging for more.

But he had left you tied up and helpless before, so you knew if you should vocalize your wants without his permission or press yourself into his hand, he would retaliate. So, you kept your body pliable and submissive for him and let him have his way. Alastor was talented enough with those fingers that he eventually had you wet enough you could feel your arousal literally dripping from your body, leaving a little puddle that gathered at the back of your knees.

“So quiet,” he mused as he continued teasing you. “Such a good little angel. But surely you want more?”

“Please,” you whimpered and moaned when he slipped two fingers into your depths, curling them down and pulling on your sweet spot as he moved them in and out of you.

“And more?” he said with a saccharine sweet tone.

“Yes,” you panted and begged. “Please. Anything. Whatever you want. Just please . . . more.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, and you cried out as he began working you inside and out.

“Anything I want?”

You came embarrassingly fast, just as that question left his lips, but it was no surprise given how much he had teased and taunted you beforehand. Those fingers disappeared from between your legs and still wet with your own juices, grabbed at your hair again and lifted you up until your back was pressed against his chest and you felt his erection resting against your tail bone.

Nervous and thrilled at the same time of the idea of him already hard for you again, you lifted your chin and pushed yourself into his embrace, eager to feel even more of him, even as his grip on your hair became painfully tight.

“Anything I want?” he repeated.

“You’re the one who caught me,” you said, daring to be a little bold. “I’m not a good little angel but I am yours.”

He chuckled, low and deep, a far cry from the tones most others in Hell got to hear from The Radio Demon, but it was one you had come to learn meant he was truly entertained by something. It was a slip up of his natural voice, a relic from when he was alive, and it sent a shot of pleasure straight down your spine every time you heard it.

And then you were lost in shadow once more, the strange and beautiful feeling of nothing but your soul and his, wrapped around each other in a weightless, blind world.

You blinked and found yourself across the room and on your back on the bed. Most of the ropes had gone missing from your body and your legs were free to stretch and spread wide for Alastor as he crawled over you. Your wrists were the only thing still bound and they were tied to each other and to the headboard behind you.

With his hands, Alastor maneuvered yours legs until they were around him, your knees to his ribcage and ankles hooked at the small of his back, as he slid the entire length of his cock into you until you were hip to hip and felt the hard tip of him pushing against your inner boundary, and you knew the fucking you were about to be subjected to would leave your cervix delightfully bruised.

“This is what you want?” you asked in a teasing tone as you undulated your hips against his.

“Hmmm,” he agreed and bit your neck, just as he had when he had first caught you. “This is what I always want.”

He began to move in you, in and out, in that perfect glorious way that had you seeing nothing but stars and those glowing ruby eyes of his. Every stroke of him within your walls left you wanting more and somehow it was as if he always managed to do just that; every second felt better than the last, every sliding inch brought your closer to that peak of pleasure. You pulled against your restraints, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer to you until there was no space between your bodies at all, but the ropes held tight behind you.

Willing to give in just a little to your needs, he leaned down and captured your mouth with his own, and you made the most feral lusty sounds in response. One of his arms was braced against the mattress at your side but the other came up and wrapped itself at the top of your neck, just below your jaw line, pushing you down into the pillow beneath you as his tongue danced across yours.

You were eager for a tighter grip, so you sucked his lower lip and bit down with a growl, a bratty response you knew would get you the punishment you were after. As expected, his fist clenched around your throat and you gasped in pleasure, pretending it was fear as your mouth and eyes went wide in fake shock.

Alastor licked at the blood on his lips that you had drawn from him, his face a mix of pleasure and rage.

“You evil, wicked little thing.” A painful snap of his hips into you had you crying out, but the noise came out as little more than a wheeze with how tightly he was choking you. “You’re lucky I like it when you do that.”

A few more thrusts into you and you were coming again. You lost yourself in the intensity of it, your body spasming your hips upwards, every muscle from your chest to your toes clenching together and it wasn’t until the very end of it when you realized Alastor had come with you, as his seed filled you up to the point of spilling out onto the mattress beneath you.

The ropes vanished from around your wrists, and you brought your arms down, cradling the back of Alastor’s head as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You laid there together for a minute, the sound of your heaving breathing and the crackling of the fireplace the only noise, as you ran your fingers through his hair, occasionally stroking an ear or an antler. It was such a peaceful, quiet moment and you swore you nearly fell asleep from exhaustion right then and there.

Then he was kissing your neck, careful little presses of his lips to your skin over the bite wound he had marked you with and you blinked as his loving administrations brought you back to reality.

“I like it here,” you said and felt his shoulders shudder with barely audible laughter, his smile broad against the tender flesh of your neck.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He lifted his head and looked at you, his smile reaching his eyes as they glowed with adoration and love for you.

“Can we spend the rest of the afternoon here?” you asked, trailing a hand from his hair down his face to cup his cheek.

You knew it was a selfish question; he had already peeled himself away from his busy workload to play this little game with you and he likely was about to turn you down. But to your surprise, he looked pleased with your question and turned his face into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand before he spoke.

“I was hoping you’d ask that. After all,” he looked down at the wet mess between your bodies and the naked state of both of you, “we’re in no position to go for another walk through the bayou just yet.”

“Is there a shower behind that bathroom door by any chance?”

“Shower, bathtub, natural hot spring . . . I can make it be whatever your heart desires, my love.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, knowing he was just wanting to show off to you.

“Let’s start with a nice, normal shower and see where the evening takes us.”

You pushed playfully at his shoulders, and he obliged you by rolling off of you and the bed, taking your hand as he helped you stand up.

“The evening? Ma cher, it’s hardly past noon.”

You were already walking away from him and towards the bathroom door, giggling a bit at his obviously fake whining, before he pulled you back to him, his chest flush with your back. He kissed your jaw line and then nipped at it, letting his teeth graze across your flesh; a warning and a promise of things to come.

“On second thought,” he whispered, “I think I’ll lock you up in this cabin with me until sunrise.”

If you would like to be added to the tag list for the final chapter Part 3, please comment below.

Tag list: @cosmiccandydreamer @itsaubreyofcc @thereallsaturnstar @anngray1369 @l3rittany @littlebluefishtail @saccharine-nectarine @everwolf-20

[fokrilove]

Alastor x Reader Chapter 3

Whiskey Cake and Beignets

TW: Death, Racism, Misogyny, Murder, Violence, Sexual Themes, Domestic Violence, Abuse, AFAB Reader Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Edited by @willowaudreykeyes

Set in the 1910s, the reader is a young intern at the new hit broadcasting studio in New Orleans. She originally came from a small town in Texas, so she has a thick southern drawl and a personality that drips like honey. She left home due to her more liberal views compared to her family. Because of this, she seeks out the first job that would take a female: an assistant to the new hit voice in New Orleans.

Alastor is put off by the overly sweet southern girl, expecting that when she is alone with him, her distaste for his skin color will come out. However, it never does. As they have wacky mishaps, murder, and love, they intertwine their fates in life and especially in death.

Waking up at four am was not your ideal thought of a good time; however, working and paying back your dues was far more important than the comfort of your bed. With a defeated sigh, you climbed out of bed and looked at the still-dark sky. Whoever wants to listen to the radio this early must be insane—strolling to the bathroom and getting ready for the day you put on your makeup and fix up your hair. You made breakfast while your hair sat in its rollers and picked out your outfit. You chose a scarlet dress that would compliment Alastor only because you were his assistant, and you wanted to feel cohesive, even if he was going to be a prick about it. Once you had finished your morning routine, you went to the bathroom one last time to finish your hair and do a once over. Hopefully today, you aren’t haunted by the scared little girl or broken teenager like yesterday.

However, when you looked in the mirror, you almost screamed in fright, as you could have sworn you had seen a shadow behind you that wasn’t your own. It must have just been a trick of the lights or your tired eyes messing with you because when you blinked, it was just you and your shadow standing there. Shaking your head and exiting the bathroom, you made your way over to the front door. Sliding on the shoes you discarded last night and grabbing your purse, you went to the radio building just after locking your door.

New Orleans had a beautiful morning chill; the water was not yet hot from the sun’s beating rays, and the sky was dotted with stars. It was early enough that the drunks and other exciting characters would be hiding away, but it was still late enough that even the sun hadn’t graced you with its presence. As you walked, you felt something warm on your thigh again. Sticking your hand in your pocket, the pendent the older woman gave you lay there. You stalled, shocked and confused; you didn’t remember grabbing the pendent, hell till this very moment, you had forgotten it existed, so how? How did it end up in your pocket again, and why is it warm? The more you stood and thought about the possibilities, the more you noticed that the once cool silver metal began to turn warmer black. Assuming this was its way of warning, you shoved it back in your pocket and continued your trek to the studio. 

Standing outside, you recheck your wristwatch; it was fifteen past, and no soul was there. You had tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. You were beginning to get a bad feeling about all of this. What if Alastor kept his word, and you should be afraid of him? Shaking your head at the ludicrous idea, you waited a little longer. Leaning on the wall by the door, you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of the street and winds. It was calming, almost tranquil; something so sweet yet sinister in the air like a battle between good and evil ragged here alone in New Orleans and nowhere else. Well, maybe this battle was elsewhere, but it felt different, personal even here. 

You were startled out of your trance by heel clicks. Opening your eyes, you saw Valarie walking down the street with Richard right next to her. You offered the two a soft smile and gentle wave as you stood straight again. When Valarie could fully see you, her eyes lit up like Christmas as she spoke, “Oh goodness, you are here! We were taking bets on if Al had scared you off yet! Oh, this is so exciting. I have always wanted another woman to work with, and Tony is one of the most progressive men allowing women workers, even if he sounds like an ass.” 

You snorted at her comment and smiled wider, watching her fight the door open with her keys. She discussed how she needed to ensure you got a key today before you left. Looking around the office, there was something scenic about how lonely it looked when all the bodies weren’t running around. You saw Richard start setting up the back radio booth, and Valarie began handing you paperwork to fill out. 

“You know my Daddy is hosting a soiree tonight, I bet he wouldn’t mind if I invited a few more people. You should come! We can make it your first real event here in Nawlins’!” You smiled and accepted her kind invitation. What was the worst that could happen? Once all was said and done, you had successfully signed up for this ride at the Bayou’s Best Radio station. It was sitting at 6 am. You looked at Valarie, confused, as no one else had shown up yet. As you pieced this together. However, a sharp chill ran up your spine while your thigh warmed once more where the pendant sat. As you looked around, panicked, the front door opened.

Turning to look with Valarie, you saw Alastor standing there. He looked more put together than ever, so he must slowly become more relaxed throughout the day. He wore a well-tailored pinstripe crimson suit, a brown suit vest, and a white button below it. His brown slacks fit him nicely, and the brown loafers topped it off. Looking back at him, he had his hair slicked back; you noted he looked more attractive when his hair was curly and messy. However, this wasn’t a bad look. However, he looked forced, almost misplaced, like he was trying to fit in too hard. You got that impression more from Richard than anything; after his outfit yesterday, you were positive he was trying to imitate Alastor. 

As Alastor walked through the room, he completely ignored you, heading straight for the room that Richard was setting up. You figured he would do anything to make you uncomfortable, and that did not exclude being a toddler. You stood and followed him; Richard kept the door open for you, though it was clear Alastor had tried to slam it in your face. Taking a seat where Richard instructed you, he went over the basics of the studio room. “Every morning, I will get here bright and early with Val; I will set up Alastor’s room ‘cause he is particular. Hopefully, soon you can pick it up and set it up for him,” You nodded along when a cold, displeased voice cut in.

“Not likely that she will be competent enough.” You huffed, glaring at Alastor. He was standing in the room with you two, reading over his script for the day. You looked back at Richard, who was caught off guard by Alastors hostility. He turned back to you, choked out a laugh, and continued.

“Anyway, Y/N, as I was saying, I will set this up for now, making your job much easier. Besides getting Alastor food and drink and keeping up with his schedule, you must handle the main broadcast and recording times.” He smiled warmly and pointed at Valarie’s scribbled paper for you. “See, here at 7 am will be the morning broadcast; you will press this green-painted switch to start the live feed. Alastor will talk and do his morning routine, and then at 8 am, or when Alastor finishes, you will flip it again, ending the live feed. Alastor, over there on his side of the desk, will control the music and sounds. You just choose when it is live.” You looked bewildered by this type of technology. You honestly had no idea how radios worked till well now.

Looking up at Richard, you spoke softly, “So how do we get the music and stuff? Al talks in here, but I thought there was supposed to be a band that played music for us?” You felt sheepish when Richard laughed at you softly. However, he was kind and diligent in his explanation. Alastor’s switches would signal the crew in another room that it was time for music, allowing them to signal the playing. Some songs were even played on phonographs next to a microphone. The switch you controlled was purely for the show’s live and ‘dead’ feature. 

He then explained to you how the next switch that was your priority worked. The one that was painted red would be flipped for recording. Between the morning and lunch broadcast, Alastor would record his night special, and between lunch and the end of the day, Alastor recorded his late-night special. You thought it was odd how, after about four or five, you would hear Alastor all over the radios but see him out on the street. It was because they had a group of interns that would stay from closing till one in the morning to play the phonograph recordings you all made earlier in the day, then wipe them and get them ready for today.

It was nearly seven when Richard finished his pep talk and explanations; once he was done, he started walking to the door. He turned, looked at Alastor, and whispered something in his ear before giving you a fair smile and closing the door behind him as he left. You and Alastor are now in this room; the tension is thick and could be cut with a knife. You reviewed the schedule again, preparing for the first onslaught of radio hosting. Once you were done and looked up, Alastor was staring right at you; there were only five minutes till everything began.

“Do not mess this up, or I really will make your life a living hell; I worked hard to end up here no matter what anyone tells you,” Alastor said with venom and ferocity. You would think you had already messed up big time. Nodding gently, you noted how close it was to starting. Counting down the seconds, then signaling Alastor, you flipped the ‘live’ switch.

“Good Morning, Nawlins. It is a pleasure to be back with you. I hope you don’t miss my voice too much. Our Dear Radio Host is back this morning to give you the sweet news and good tunes. Up on the docket today, we will discuss the segregation acts being looked at by our mayor today and look into those of rich history in our hearts. Nawlins’ sit back, relax, and enjoy a coffee before you start your workday with me. Listen to our live band as we welcome you this fine morning.” You were in awe at how Alastor spoke; he was so different. Hearing him in person and not through a radio was fascinating, too. He flipped his switches, and the band began playing, you assume, from the other room.

Richard explained that there was a pully-like system where the switches would set off some sign that would ring bells in the other room, signifying it was time to play the music. The time of day depended on whether the music was phonographed or live. You continued sitting there and watching Alastor talk for an hour before even joining in singing more music. As he spoke about the live band and gave them credits, he motioned for you to end the ‘live’ feed. Flipping your switch, it was quiet in your room once more.  No words had to be said at this moment. You were in awe of him and his performance while he harbored only strong disdain for you. 

Like clockwork, Alastor stood shedding his jacket and loosening his tie; your theory that he got more relaxed throughout the day proved true. Wordlessly, he went to the primary office. You stood to follow, wanting to exclaim that he was supposed to ask you if he needed anything. However, as you popped your head out, he was long gone. You sighed and threw your arms in the air, making sure the schedule was still being followed. Anger consumed you at the fact Alastor was choosing to be such a prick; what was his deal, his game? Did he expect you to be some princess, lay down, and take this treatment? You grew up with an entitled father. There was no way he was scaring you or making you quit. 

Tony popped his head in to see you mumbling, “Hey kid, keep that up, and it's the looney bin for you. I just wanted to check in and see how Al was doing; he can be a handful.” You shrugged and sighed.

“It is fine. I understand the basics; however, mister I’m independent up and left without me, so I have no idea what he is doing. He probably wants to royally fuck me over; shit, sorry, damn it. Look, I didn’t mean,” Tony was laughing his head off. Not only did you expect him to be mad that you swore at work you also heavily expected him to be furious as you were a woman swearing so freely.

“Kid, I grow to like choosing you more and more as the hours pass. You have grit, and that is needed in today’s turning edge. Al is just outside smoking; he does so after every live broadcast, and when work is over, when you girls head home, we men hit the gentlemen's club. It’s his way of winding down.” You nodded at Tony’s words. You were happy Tony wasn’t mad at you for losing Alastor already. Looking around, you dropped into your seat and held your head up with your elbows propped up on the table.

“Tony, if Alastor has to hide his identity so much, why did you even give him this job in the first place? Seems more like a hassle for you all, including him, than it is worth.” Tony sighed and nodded, walking into the room and taking where Alastor once sat. He crossed his legs and thought before he spoke.

“Y/N, it is complicated; I can’t go into great detail as it is not my place. However, Alastor’s father was murdered; his father was also my best friend. As a child, Al dreamed of being a star; as he got older and radio became more popular, he morphed that dream into a radio host. I started this business when Nawlins needed a new voice and face. At first, it would be my son Richard; however, he isn’t one for the spotlight, and our sales did horribly. As a favor, I let Alastor host a late-night show. He had to speak properly and act white, though. He was such a big hit that I offered him more positions as time passed. Now, he is the voice of our whole operation. Yes, I have three other goons in there doing the same thing, but my money comes from the ambiguity of Alastor. Most people assume he is white; however, some have speculated he is mixed. I won't let anyone know, though, as protection for him, us, and even you, kid.” You listened intently. That was a lot to take in, but how this all came to be made more sense.

Alastor’s father was murdered, and if Rika was right, it only happened a few years ago. The wounds must still be fresh from his father’s absence. You remembered your father once talking about how men filling their father’s shoes was the most challenging thing for any man to accomplish. Could that be why Al was so hostile? Because he was filling those shoes too soon. You went to speak to Tony again as Alastor walked in. He gently kicked Tony’s chair and smiled at him before looking at you and rolling his eyes.

“Why are you here? I wouldn’t say I like it when you mess up my equipment. Last time, it took Richard a day to alter your mistakes.” Alastor sounded so different talking to everyone else; there was still that bitter edge, but not what he used against you. What made you so different? You watched the interaction as the two men talked and spoke to one another. Once Tony was done and left, closing the door. It was a dim silence in the once cheery room. Sighing, you got the recording section set up and looked at Alastor. On your countdown, you flipped the switch, and the recording began.

Sitting in that room for all those hours made you realize a few things. One Alastor was a hard worker and took his job seriously. Two Alastor was pragmatic and full of so much life, yet it almost seemed fake. Three Alastor on the radio was a polished version of Alastor in his day to day life it seemed. By the time the final recording was over and all the equipment was being moved around for the next crew, Alastor had unbuttoned his vest, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up. His hair was wispy and curly, and his face was framed well. If he weren’t such an asshole, you would swoon right then and there. However, you knew the real Alastor underneath the facade. 

Standing from your chair, you made your way to the door, head low; the pay here was good, so you would deal with Alastors snide remarks if it meant living. As you tried to bypass said man, your arm was grabbed from behind you. Turning to yank your arm away, you were met with Alastor holding your wrist gently. He looked at you with something akin to curiosity in his framed eyes. You pulled your arm away, remembering you were still in the middle of your work office, and fixed yourself.

“Yes, Alastor, what is it? Did I do something wrong again?” He just stared at you; as you two looked at one another, the last few stragglers of the day had exited the office. Tony, Richard, and Valarie are waiting by the door outside for you and Al to join. The silence was almost deafening as he observed your face and features. Did you look bad or smell bad? What was happening to make this even possible? He put some much-desired space between you two and cleared his throat gently.

“I apologize. I just saw something.” He stood at his full height, his suit jacket in his hand hanging over his shoulder. “I wanted to say you are peculiar. Tony has hired many interns to help me, all leaving within a day if not less of working with me. Saying I scare them, gave them the chills. Follow them. Yet you seem not to have those complaints. Why?”

You looked at him incredulously; what an odd thing to remotely say to someone. Looking back at the waiting group, then at Alastor, you shook your head. “Alastor, I am not afraid of you. Yes, you are careless and harmful with your words, but after the life I have lived, no man's harsh words will scare me. I do not judge people based on religion, race, or standings. I judge people based on the person who presents to me face to face. With that said, Alastor, I am not afraid of you or by you. I can hold my own. If you will excuse me, Valarie would like to take me to a formal event tonight while I believe you have a gentlemen’s club to attend.” You briskly walked away from him, the heat radiating from your dress pocket once again. 

Once outside, the pendent calmed, and you and Valarie said your goodbyes to the boys. Walking arm in arm, you stopped at your apartment real quick. Touching up your makeup and changing your dress to something more appropriate for a night on the town, you listened to Valarie’s ideas about decorating your new apartment. While she was speaking, a knock was heard at your door. Leaving the bathroom, you and Valarie opened it to find Rika waiting there. 

“Oh, Y/N, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you had company; I was checking in on you.” She looked behind you, seeing Valarie, her eyes going wide. Valarie smiled and waved at Rika, and motioned her to come in.

“Come in, come in—the more, the merrier! We are going to an event hosted by my dad tonight! Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine; please join us!” Valarie was bubbly, and it was clear Rika was shocked or overwhelmed. Excusing yourselves, you dragged Rika to the bathroom while Valarie continued with her decorating scheme.

“What is wrong with you, Rika? Why the bug eyes at Val?” You questioned her quietly while you put on the last touches of makeup.

“You do know who that is. She is the richest girl from the richest family in Nawlins,’ and you just so happen to be her friend?” Rika seemed impressed and honestly star-struck. You laughed gently and leaned on the counter.

“Yes, Rika, I am aware of Valarie's lifestyle. She is a good friend, though she works at the Radio Studio with me.” A long, dramatic pause and a considerable smile pulled on Rika’s lips at your words. She started slapping your arm and screaming.

“You are telling me you, Y/N, work at Bayou’s Best Radio with Valarie and Alastor?” You nodded along with her words and jumped for joy. You laughed and pulled her in for a hug. Valarie came around the corner and smiled with you two. Joining in, all of you crowded around the small mirror, picking out clothes, make-up, and hair for this event.

As you three walked to the society event on the other side of town, Valarie explained everything about her home and family. “Yes, Daddy is running for mayor again this year; he is livid about that segregation bill, and Momma isn’t a fan of it either. Our staff in the mansion are of all races; all are paid equally and fairly treated; if one person steps out of line towards any of our other race workers, Daddy has them removed immediately. If only other places had the same ideas here in Nawlins’. Daddy’s biggest competition is that rat Matthews, who is all for the segregation clauses.” You frowned at that. To think someone as progressive and kind as Valarie’s family was even remotely competing with someone like Matthews was horrible. You sighed and shook your head.

“It is still far better than where I come from; my father was a mean old man who hated me even talking to people of another race or religion. His word was as good as gold in our tiny town, and I watched many friends I made get sent to other towns for safety or mobbed. I hope never to see that happen here in New Orleans.” The two girls frown and then laugh at your pronunciation. You had been working on your southern accent, ingrained in you for years. Rolling your eyes, you smile at the girls and reach the large mansion. 

Once inside, you were blinded by the sparkles and golden glow. Valarie lived in this? Walking in slowly was like a fairytale. Why would Valarie ever work at the radio station? You knew she was intelligent and witty, for sure. But this was life. Rika, Valarie and you made your way to the drink table. Three dapper-dressed gentlemen walked up to you as you stood there: Tony, Richard, and Alastor.

“I thought you guys said you couldn’t come! That the gentlemen's club was more important!” Valarie was so excited and bright about the boys taking her invite. You were under the impression this was a female soiree, yet here you were in the middle of a grand party with your whole crew of coworkers and of course Alastor there before you. 

“Oh, you know we were going to dip out; however, Alastor convinced dear pops to drag us along. Seeing as your father supports our business and all,” Richard looked so much better in blue; it was apparent his mother dressed him for this occasion, and he matched with Valarie a lot better, too. That is when you felt it Rikas elbow in your side. 

“You and him match. When would you tell me that you two were a thing already?” You looked at Rika confused, but she was right when you turned back to Alastor you were in awe. You two wore dark green outfits, something you never expected to see on Alastor. He seemed more of the red type, yet he was wearing your color, which you seemed to always gravitate toward. Shaking your head, you pushed Rika gently.

“As if! It was merely a coincidence that we match, I haven’t even told you half the torture that man has put me through,” even at your statements, Rika just wiggled her eyebrows at you, making you smile and laugh. Looking back at Alastor, you could have sworn you saw a genuine smile flashing across his poker face. You looked up at him, confused, as some lively swing music began to play. You watched Tony bow and ask Rika for a dance with a smile on her face; watching Tony not be a jerk about race was sweet; he cared about keeping Alastor and his son's dreams alive. Richard took Valerie’s hand, pulling her into the crowd to dance. You smiled and clapped your hands, watching; the only dances you knew were line dances and slow waltz from when your mom put you in cotillion balls. However, a hand landed on the small part of your back from the one and only Alastor.

“This doesn’t mean anything, but if you are to survive here with our kind of people, you will need to learn to eat a little spice and dance to a good swing,” He looked down at you with a cunning smile. You began shaking your head in protest, but it was too late. He slowly pulled you out to the middle of the room and showed you how to dance. Caving in and following his lead, you soon found this to be no different than what you learned in classes, just a little faster and messier. You laughed and held on, letting Alastor swing you around. 

As the song ended, everyone cheered and moved to the side while getting food and drink. Valarie and Richard caught up to you and Al as you approached Tony and Rika. “Miss Y/N, your friend here sure is something; she can dance like no tomorrow,” the group laughed and conversed quietly. You sighed, content when you felt the chill up your spine, turning quickly. No one was there, just a wall, then your pocket heated up again. Looking down at your leg, you pulled Rika aside, not noticing the lingering eyes on you. 

Once you were far away, you looked around and held Rika firmly on her shoulders. “I need to show you something, and I need you not to think I am crazy.” Rika tilted her head at you, laughing softly, when she realized how serious you were. She nodded, and you pulled out the pendant from your pocket. Rika gasped, shoving it back in your pocket and pulling you to an empty hallway where no one was. She pulled the pendent back out and examined it; the warm black metal slowly returned to silver. Rika looked at the item, then at you.

“Where did it come from? I need you to be honest with me, Y/N.” You looked at her worriedly. In as few sentences as possible, you explained the disappearing lady and the chill and heat. Rika just nodded and looked at the engravings before placing it around your neck. You looked at her awkwardly, going to take it off, but the necklace shifted into a dainty silver chain with a green emerald in the center. 

“What is- huh? I mean that just- huh,” Rika shushed you and tried to calm you down. Once you were no longer panicking, she looked you dead in the eyes. 

“Y/N, you have a spirit protecting you, which one it is I can not say right now; voodoo is dangerous for people to get mixed up in; you must be one with it. You are positive that you didn’t do anything, that this spirit told you something was after you and you didn’t dabble at all?” You nodded, frightened. Swallowing thickly, she paced back and forth; she sighed and looked you over.

“Wear it and don’t take it off; it won’t burn you, just whatever is attacking you. The reason you could feel that cold chill was because you were only half using the damn thing. You are in danger. My fiance will know more. I will get back to you soon on what is going on. Just please be safe and stick close to people.” You sighed and hugged Rika. 

You were terrified but glad you chose the right person to go to. Pulling away, you heard the party roar, and you two snuck back in. Eyes from a shadow followed you, though unable to get close any longer. Down the hall, Alastor stood, the shadow now playing around him. He sucked in his teeth, watching you dance and sing with your friends. You were a threat to his operation and his goals. He needed to work alone to cleanse the world of this sin.

You were far too pure and good to be a part of any of that; he had hoped Richard would take a liking to you; sadly, Valarie and his secret relationship came to his attention. Then he hopped to scare you off, yet that damn Papa Legba must have sent the spirit to guide you. You were protected now, and he was stuck with you in his immediate bubble. You were a thorn in his side; you may not be like all the other racist pigs, but you had something hidden in you. No one is that pure and lives this long.

* * *

Taglist: @pan-to-the-head @wendds @satansdaughter123 @mook14 @xalygatorx @psychesetra @dumbslvt101thebasics @n0tmentallystable @speedycoffeedelight @fokrilove

Thank you for reading <3

[fokrilove]

Act 1 | Act 2 Pending

Gently opens door and dumps these into my blog

[fokrilove]

Alastor x Reader Chapter 2

Whiskey Cake and Beignets

TW: Death, Racism, Misogyny, Murder, Violence, Sexual Themes, Domestic Violence, Abuse, AFAB Reader Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Edited by @willowaudreykeyes

Set in the 1910s, the reader is a young intern at the new hit broadcasting studio in New Orleans. She originally came from a small town in Texas, so she has a thick southern drawl and a personality that drips like honey. She left home due to her more liberal views compared to her family. Because of this, she seeks out the first job that would take a female: an assistant to the new hit voice in New Orleans.

Alastor is put off by the overly sweet southern girl, expecting that when she is alone with him, her distaste for his skin color will come out. However, it never does. As they have wacky mishaps, murder, and love, they intertwine their fates in life and especially in death.

You were awoken by the sound of your alarm clock and the gentle breeze through your bedroom window. Glistening light from the sun showers around you angelically as you stretch, looking at the time. You silenced the loud sound and lay in your bed looking at the ceiling; you couldn’t believe it had happened. You were on your own and in a new city; two days had passed since seeing your mother and watching your father destroy your family. You didn’t know what you hoped for more, waking up and it all being a dream or that you successfully escaped where he couldn’t harm you anymore. 

Rolling onto your side, you looked at the empty spaces in the room. This differed from your childhood room with all your drawings, medals, and stuffed toys. This was barren, blank, brand new to you. Looking at the time again, you only had an hour before needing to be at the employment offices. Sighing, you stood and stretched again, taking it all in; you could choose to be sad or make the most of it. You could become something. 

Making your way to the closet, you picked out a lovely dress; it was dark green and complimented your skin and eyes. Heading to the bathroom with your dress, you hang it up and turn on the shower. As you looked in the fogging mirror, you saw a stranger. Your whole life, you had been Michael and Carla’s daughter. You had been their prodigy—your father’s toy. Shuddering at the thought of the beatings and abuse your father would dish out, you looked away and entered the shower. The piercing hot water dwelled your nerves slightly, yet your mind continued to wonder. Would you get a job? Women working was blasphemous where you were from. They were to be homemakers and child bearers. Would you have to go back home? That thought chilled you to the bone as you remembered your father’s face. He would kill you; No doubt in your mind, he would either lock you up and abuse you more or kill you. Swallowing harshly, tears began to form; what will you do if none of this works out? 

Trying to empty your head before your meeting, you quickly washed up, ensuring you looked prim and proper. Exiting the shower, you saw the scared little girl in the mirror this time, the one who begged her father to stop beating her mother, who begged her father to stop touching her. Fear coursed through your veins as you thought of what he could have possibly done to your mother. Shaking your head, you grab the dress and change quickly. Pulling your hair back into a bun, you held it down with a black bun bonnet with little white pearls. It was the last good thing your father ever gave you. Looking in your bag, you realized you had no makeup; your father, always calling it devil's paint, must have neglected that in your forcefully packed bags. 

You sighed and exited the bathroom. You still needed to cash Dianna’s check, and then you could go and buy food and makeup, maybe even new clothes if you got a job. Nodding, you entered the living room and grabbed your clutch; slipping on your black Mary Janes, you exited. Fishing for your keys to lock your door, you heard the beautiful voice again, the one from the radio. Listening carefully, you realize it was singing this time. Dear Radio Host sang a smooth jazz beat to welcome New Orleans to the new morning. You smiled softly, feeling at ease. His voice was so soothing and made your troubles seem to go away. Locking the door to your apartment, you began to hum the last bit of the tune you heard.

Your first stop was the bank just down the road; Rika had said just past the back was the unemployment office, so it would be a quick one and done. Nodding determinedly, you are headed in the right direction. As you took in the sights and sounds around you, your mind raced with wonder and possibilities. You could see across the river there were big mansions; up the road, you were walking quaint houses, and on the other side of it all, some smaller homes and what you assume, as Rika put it, the Bayou. It was breathtaking during the day, but at night, it was beautiful just from the view you had in your apartment. 

The bank was small but also beautifully cut out of rich stone. Putting on your best smile, you approached the teller and handed her the check. “I would like to pull this money out, please.” The teller looked over the document and scrutinized it. Only a moment later, though, did she hand you the $500 back. 

“Be careful with that. Letting your husband come here for large amounts like that would be best. You don’t want to get robbed, do you?” You nodded at her words, laughing nervously. As you counted the money, you made sure to flash her your left hand so she knew you were, in fact, not married. 

“I will be careful, ma’am. Thank you,” You bowed softly and made your way to the exit. Before leaving, you slipped the money into your clutch and walked to the next-door unemployment office. Even being there early was hectic; people left and right, pushing and pulling, trying to be first. Nervously, you took a number from the roll and sat down; you had never seen so many races and colors before white, brown, caramel, tan, fair. It was beautiful; you couldn’t help but smile. Though, yes, some of the men here were making nasty comments that displeased you, the fact that the whole town wasn’t lynching anyone was astounding. You reminded yourself this was the right decision. 

As the number before yours was called, Alastor, a familiar face, passed you. Rika told you very little about him, but why was he here if he was working as an intern at the radio office? He had some documents in his hands and a warm smile. One of the workers patted his cheek gently, and another stood and hugged him. Was his family well known? As you contemplate the insinuations of the formalities, your number was called. Pulling out of your daze, the young man put you in. You entered the office to speak with one of the representatives. 

It felt like hours of back-and-forth. The whole thing felt demeaning and condescending, especially regarding your family and why you were here. You held firm, allowing for the onslaught of questions and comments. Once the man speaking to you finished, he escorted you out. “I would recommend going home and tending to your husband. If I find anything fitting for a lady, you will be contacted.” He turned up his nose and closed the door.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. You turned to walk when you bumped into someone. “Oh, I am so sorry.” Looking up, it was Alastor. His hands held your arms gently as you had just run into his chest. Up close like this, he was even more gorgeous; looking up at his eyes, it was almost like he had you in a chokehold. 

“No, it is my fault; I should have been watching where I was going. My apologies…” While he spoke, he helped you stand up straight and dusted himself off. He was such a gentleman.

“Oh, um, Y/N. My name is Y/N.” You sounded like such an idiot. If anything, he could tell your nerves were shot as you shook your head and sighed. “Sorry, that whole thing just went horribly. I am a little overwhelmed by it all. Thank you for helping me to situate myself. Have a nice day,” You quickly scampered off your tail between your legs. It was horrible to get privately humiliated by that man in the office and then run into the most handsome man alive. 

Making your way out of the employment offices, you began to walk down the street. You weren’t ready to head back home and explain to Rika how you failed, and Momma D would be so disappointed in you. Aimlessly taking the streets, you see a small cafe called the Cajun Cafe. It was a little on the nose for you, but hey, you were hungry and needed a break from walking. Stepping into the building, it smelt heavenly; maybe even if it was a little on the nose, this was wonderful. You walked up to the counter and ordered a beignet and coffee. You would order tea, but you doubt they would make it as your momma did. Taking your food, you sat in the back corner; you opted to people-watch and enjoy the views before letting doubt cloud your mind again.

Looking out the window, you saw the road Rika took you down to get to the apartments, so the radio office should be nearby. Shaking your head, you scolded yourself. Why do you care so much about that stupid place anyway? You already royally embarrassed yourself in front of Alastor. A heavy sigh left you as a loud noise was heard by the ringing bell of the cafe. The noise came from a young blonde woman rushing in, the same blonde woman from the previous night. Trying to be discreet, you shifted in your seat, ducking your head. You didn’t want her to notice you were here listening and watching.

“Oh, please, I need five black coffees, four orders of beignets, and one whiskey cake.” She spoke rapidly and out of breath. Looking at her, she was gorgeous. Thin, tall, blonde in a nicely tailored baby blue dress. She looked at the time, tapping her foot gently. As they came out with the order, it was clear she would be overrun with the items. Standing, you handed your dishes to one of the workers, their eyes lighting up as you kindly helped them out. You just smiled and nodded at their thank yous. Even if people were more progressive here, classism, misogyny, and racism still seem to be problematic. Looking back at the blonde woman, she looked nearly like she would fall over. Going against your better judgment, you rushed over.

You carefully helped re-situate the food and drinks, holding on to some of it yourself. Thankfully, the woman looked at you, a large smile plastering her face at your generosity. “Oh, thank you so much. They always order so much and send me alone to get it all.” You nodded softly and smiled at the woman yourself.

“It’s not a problem. I am happy to help, lead the way, and I’ll assist you in not ruining that beautiful dress.” Her smile widened at the help and compliment leading the way for you. 

“I do appreciate it so much. Oh! You have such a pretty voice, by the way. Where is your accent from? It is not here from Louisiana or New Orleans, that is for sure.” You looked at her incredulously. How did she know so quickly? Was your accent that much of a dead giveaway? Laughing softly, you gently shook your head.

“My name is Y/N; I am from Texas. Here is my home now.” She looked at you with awe as she led you down the slowly busying street. You saw the Radio Office coming into view. Did she work there too?

“Well, my name is Valarie, and my family is from here; if you just waltz down this road to the end of the street and cross the river, that’s my Daddy’s home.” She was so confident in herself; did she even realize she told you where she lives and was also loaded? Sighing, you continued in time with her, the Radio Office entirely in view, big golden letters spelled out Bayou’s Best Radio. You held back a smile and looked back at the woman.

“Ah, I live in the apartments down the street over there; I don’t know how long I will be living there, though,” You were instantly reminded how you failed at getting a job. You reach the door as your demeanor shifts, and a frown slowly sets in. Opening it for her, you entered the bustling building. It was fascinating: people running around with papers galore, workers looking for the next big hit piece, and four offices with lit ‘ON AIR’ signs. The place took you aback. As you looked around, you could hear Valarie’s voice talking to someone; suddenly, you were pulled from your thoughts when she started taking the drinks from you. Looking at her, you saw just behind her an older man. Could this be Valarie’s father?

“Tony, I know I am late. Can you please stop yelling at me? I just wanted to get the crew something to tide them over until lunch; our call times are so early in the morning.” You looked at the man named Tony and then back to Valarie. So, no, not father but boss. Why would someone like Valarie need a job? 

“Val, I am telling you, kid, you can’t be doing this. I do not care if your father funds this place; I need reliable workers.” You winced at his tone. He sure seemed like a stand-up guy. You watched as the interaction continued. Valarie sighed and crossed her arms stubbornly as Tony kept talking. You felt really out of place. Slowly, you started to back away towards the door. That’s when you bump into someone.

“You know, bump into me anymore, and I will think you are stalking me, woman.” You tensed at the sultry, sweet voice. Looking above you, Alastor stood, his hands holding your arms. You pulled away, watching him dust off his outfit once more. Now that you are trapped and less embarrassed, you look him over. He was wearing some brown dress pants and brown loafers. His button-up shirt was uncuffed and rolled up at the sleeves with a red sweater vest covering it. Simple oval-wired glasses sat on his face. His brown eyes bore into your soul; you could see coffee grounds, honey, autumn, and so many other beautiful things in his eyes. Swallowing, you hear your name.

“Oh hey, Al! This is Y/N. Tony, you can meet her too, I guess. She was at the cafe down the road. I got everyone’s favorites,” You could audibly hear Alastor groan, a dissatisfied look on his face. As she pulled out the beignets, his sour expression only got worse. “Oh, cheer up, sour puss; you are worse than a cat, Al. I got you your Whiskey Cake. They even put extra drizzle on it.” You looked between the two. Was she working here because she was dating Alastor? That would explain why, at least. 

“Why, thank you, Valarie. I do appreciate it. However, I have a job to do. Why don’t you give it to this young lady who seems to keep POPPING up out of nowhere?” His voice held a bite to it even though he was smiling at you. You shook your head, feeling the whiplash at the two instances. As you went to speak, Tony interrupted.

“Wait, Al, you know this broad too? Well, I’ll be damned; look, kid, I need another intern; Val here already works to keep my three lower-tier stars in check. Yet I have been struggling to keep an assistant for this bloke. You seem to be nice with each other; want the job?” You gaped at him like a fish, very unladylike, but you were utterly confused. Did he choose not to hear the bitter undertones in Alastor’s words to you? Or was he playing dumb? 

“Oh no, no, no, it is okay. I had a meeting with the unemployment office. I would feel bad if I didn’t wait for their official response before I take a job.” You heard a snort behind you. Whipping around, you saw Alastor covering his laugh.

“Oh yes, a final response. It looked like you were told to get out because you were a woman.” Your face flushed. What game was this man playing? Was he seeing if you could withstand his torment? Was he trying to scare you off?

“Interesting you were there earlier this morning, Al; I asked you to submit paperwork to get you an assistant. I will ring them up later and tell them we got the perfect girl for the job. You have a nice voice, too, kid. Can you sing at all? Ah, it is alright. If not, we can train you; women’s voices are becoming as popular as men's nowadays.” You looked at the man bug-eyed. He was dead serious, with not a fraction of hesitation in him. 

“No,” you turned to look at Alastor, both of you speaking simultaneously. He also dropped his head to look at you as you made eye contact. He looked offended that you dare say the same thing as him.

“Look, okay,” You took a step away from the conversation. “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss, y’all. I just wanted to help Miss Valarie out. I saw her struggling, and I felt like she could use it. I will be taking my leave.” You made your way to the door, looking up at Alastor, pleading with your eyes for him to move. He didn’t instead, a deep smirk was plastered on his annoying face. God, how the hell did you think this man was gorgeous? He’s annoying. 

“Oh, Tony, isn’t her voice just to die for! You don’t hear a drawl like that around here. I think she would make a great addition to the team. Look at the chemistry between them, too!” You whipped around and looked at Valarie. She stayed pretty quiet until now when she opened her mouth. You grew tired of all these people making choices for you. 

“Look, I will say this one last time: I don’t want your stupid job, okay? I want to go home, so why does an intern need an assistant anyway? There is no way there is that much work and this,” You flailed your arms towards Alastor, he was leaning against the door and checking his nails. “Could need that much help.” As you finished, you saw Valarie smile and look at Tony knowingly. As if the gods hated you more than ever, a new employee came out of one of the ‘ON AIR’ rooms and spotted Alastor. 

“Ah, Al, good that you are here, bud. Your prerecording is almost out; we need you back to get the ball rolling.” He smiled at the group of you. He saw you, though and he rushed over. He was dressed in a similar outfit to Alastor. It was almost too similar, as the colors were all that was different. Where Alastor wore a handsome fitting red, as much as you hated to admit it, this man wore an off-color yellow. It didn’t suit his dirty blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, or pale white skin tone. He looked out of place; his hair should be slicked back, and he needed more blue in his color palate, whereas Alastor pulled off the disheveled look as much as you hated to admit it again.

“Ah, Richard, my son, look at this fine young lady. Her name was what again?” He looked at Valarie instead of you. You crossed your arms and scoffed.

“Her name is Y/N, sir.” She smiled at you with a thumbs-up. You wanted to give a thumbs-down, but honestly, this was overwhelming. You knew you needed a job, and Alastor was right. You got rejected off the bat. Yet, working here with him after the personality he just showed you, you wondered what happened to the sweet, innocent-looking man at the restaurant.

“Ah yes, Y/N here is gonna be Alastor’s assistant; that way, you can return to just doing sound crew.” You threw your hands up, looking exasperated.

“Do I not get a say in this?” Of course not. You are a woman, though. Still, you thought you would have more choice after leaving your father.

“Now look, Y/N, I understand you are frazzled, as most women are. However, this young man next to you is the hit star of our little production in good ‘ol New Orleans—the infamous Dear Radio Host. However, as you can tell by Al’s complexion, he can’t be seen or my sales and profits tank. I need you to be sure his identity doesn’t get out and help him here and there, too, with whatever he needs.” Tony smiled at you with a creepy grin and moved about the room. “Alrighty, with that settled,” 

“She will not be working for me; I have done perfectly fine running my one-person show. You are the one that said Richard has to help me. I can keep my identity hidden just well enough. This girl here has been popping up out of the blue around me for the last day. How do we know she isn’t some crazed fan.” You glared at Alastor as he spoke. You popped up out of nowhere; that was bull. He could just as easily have been stalking you.

“Al, Y/N lives around here, just up the road. So I highly doubt that she is stalking you,” Valarie said, sending you an apologetic smile. You sighed. You know what? If he is going to be a prick about you helping out, then fine, you will take the job, if only to make him eat his words.

“As I was saying, Tony, this woman and Richard can both.” He began to speak again. Your blood was boiling. Now or never, you guessed.

“I’ll take the job. When do you want me here?” You could feel his cold gaze, a chill running up your spine. Not only had you interrupted a man, which was a big no, but you had also interrupted the man trying to make your life as uncomfortable as possible.

“Oh well, that is settled then, the doll said she would work. I want you here bright and early at four am; we can get you all set up and do some basic training on what you will need to do.” Tony smiled, patting Richards’s back. He walked to the back of the building, lighting a cigar. You sighed and turned to leave, only to be stopped by a face directly in front of yours. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He barely spoke above a whisper, but his voice was threatening; he meant to scare you. You swallowed, looking him dead in the eyes; this was no different from when your dad would get in your face and try to scare you over your decisions. 

“My name is Y/N. It is a pleasure to meet you, Alastor, formally.” You stuck your hand out to shake his. “I am your new personal assistant here at Bayou’s Best Radio. I begin working tomorrow.” You kept your stare steady. You wouldn’t cower down to him or any man any longer. He just smirked, slowly morphing into a smile. He stood up and walked past you.

“You won’t make it past a weak woman, I will ensure that.” He continued standing next to Richard before entering the booth. As soon as the door closed, you took a deep breath, trying to recover from that excitement. He terrified you, but you wouldn’t lose this job; you had to make Dianna proud and put that cock in his place. 

Valarie came bounding over to you, a smile on her face. She picked up your hands and shook them happily. She was going on about how excited she was for a new girl in the office. All you could focus on were the eyes of Alastor, brown like Whiskey Cake, looking back at you through the office’s blinds. He was threatening you, but you would stand firm. Holding his gaze, he turned away first, giving you the first victory of your little game. Smiling, you tuned back to Valarie talking. You were beyond lost at her words, but it was fine as long as Alastor or Tony weren't around to trip you up more. 

Once Valarie was done informing you of some policies and about her job roles, you took your leave. Exiting, you felt those eyes on you again. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, you kept your back to him as you walked out. Taking your leave, there was still time in the day. You walked through the town, looking at the shops and markets. It was beautiful out, and all the people were kind and pleasant, too. You could see people from all walks of life conversing and standing side by side. A smile reached your lips as you lackadaisically walked around. You managed to pick up a few more dresses, getting them in complimentary colors to Alastor’s apparent wardrobe. If you were working for the man, you might as well look decent at it. Once you got that covered, you stopped at a little market table with some makeup.

Carefully, you tried on varying shades of lipsticks and blushes till you settled on a dusty pink shade. As you purchased your items, a woman stopped you. She was worn down and older, her dark skin having seen the trials of time. She was beautiful and homely, though; she gently took your hand as she sat. She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a necklace; on the necklace was a strange symbol. Gently, she set the silver chain and pendant in your hand and closed your hand. It felt oddly warm to the touch even though, seconds ago, the metal was freezing. She pulled her hands away and smiled. 

“You have encountered a great evil child; it lurks around you. Keep this on you for protection. Stay out of the back alleys; those who work with evil spirits take refuge there.” Her hoarse voice was laced with concern for you. Gently dropping to your knees before the woman, you retook her hand.

“What do you mean? I have just arrived, and my God protects me. What evil is there?” You were genuinely confused. You had never had someone stop you like this. The only time something close to this happened was when you were a new woman freshly eighteen, and your priest stopped you. He warned you of an evil resting on your father and how you needed to help him while you could. You were only just leaving childhood back then, so what help could you have given?

“You young one, have a light; it attracts the dark. Something is seeking you; Voodoo surpasses your god and many others alike. Keep this amulet on you for protection.” She smiled once more and shooed you off. Standing, you bowed and thanked her again. Turning away you looked down at the amulet once more. You didn’t heed the priest's warning about your father; should you head this woman? Were you just cursed to run into evil things in your life? 

You returned to talk to the woman again, but she was gone; you looked around, confused. There was no way she could just up and leave like that. Frantic, you walked back over to the stall owner and asked him about the woman. The man looked at you like you were crazy, saying something hateful about not letting ‘colored’ folk near his booth. You shook your head and retreated. Looking down at your hand, the amulet was still there; it happened. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you put the pendant in your dress pocket and walked to the nearby store for food. You were trying so hard to keep the bubbling feeling of fear from overflowing.

When you finished shopping, it was dark out, beautiful jazz played all around you, and of course all could hear Dear Radio Host’s voice all over the open shops. Sighing, you laughed to yourself. There was no danger here; you left the threat. The old woman must have meant your father; you were very safe from him. You strolled to your home, passing the Radio office. Not wanting to give Alastor the time of day, you kept your head down and walked past it. That’s when you felt that cold chill up your spine again. Quickly, you turned around, looking for his glare, yet Alastor was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, you chalked it up to being paranoid about what the lady said to you. 

You turned on your heel to continue your way home when you bumped into a sturdy chest. You saw a red sweater vest, caramel skin, and a white rolled-up button-up shirt. Gulping slowly, you looked at Alastor. His smile seemed wicked, he held you in place not allowing you a chance to escape. You had nowhere to run, and panic began to set in. “Well, look at you appearing out of nowhere again. It seems we keep BUMPING into each other, huh?” He looked right through you and into your soul almost. You brushed his hands off, backing up from him. Clearing your throat, you rearranged the bags in your hands.

“I am just on my way home, Alastor. It is getting late. I shouldn’t be out on the streets,” he nodded, looking you over. You felt that chill again. It stopped, though, shortly after its assault. As soon as the chill disappeared, so did Alastor's smile. It was replaced with confusion before switching right back.

“Why yes, yes, it is far too dangerous for a woman of your caliber to be out this late, isn’t it, Y/n? Wouldn’t want a black man or someone like me to SNATCH you up, huh,” You felt the venom in his words as he spoke them. Was he trying to scare you or see if you were a racist? You hardened your gaze and looked deep into his eyes, your two auras practically bouncing off each other.

“I am not afraid of you or anyone because of their skin tone, Alastor. I am scared because I am a young woman out in the middle of the night.” He smirked at you and backed away, stepping to the side. He motioned for you to continue your journey past him. Right as you passed him, though, he decided to speak.

“Oh, but you should be afraid of me, Mon Chere….” You shuddered at the words and continued walking. He was trying to get a rise out of you. Make you quit while you are ahead. You finally made it to the entrance of your apartment building. Taking a deep breath, you looked around to see if he was following you. A sigh of relief left you when you realized you were alone. You entered the building and made your way upstairs. 

Entering your apartment, you let out a long-held breath. Gently, you put away all the items you bought throughout the day. As you went to change into your nightgown, you felt something hot touch your hand. Looking down, the pendent the woman gave you was no longer silver with black etchings; it was now pitch black with red etchings. Dropping it as it grew hotter, you yelped, only for it to go back to silver and black once more. Confused, you picked it up and looked at the back. There was an engraving, ‘Pwoteksyon kont sa ki mal ki mare ou’. You had no idea what that meant. You gently sighed and set the pendent down on your dining room table. A chill from the wind ran up your spine as you walked to close your balcony door. Once you reached it, though, you could have sworn you had seen Alastor walking away. Yet when you stuck your head out further, there was nobody. 

Shaking off the feeling, you returned to your room and prepared for bed. Waking up at four a.m. for work would be challenging, but making Momma D and yourself proud would be worth it. Slowly, you drifted off to sleep, unaware that chocolate brown eyes had shadows lurking nearby.

* * *

Taglist: @pan-to-the-head @wendds @satansdaughter123 @mook14 @xalygatorx @psychesetra

Thank you for reading <3

[fokrilove]

Hate (Alastor x Reader)

Hey, awkward haha. This is only my second attempt at smut, inspired by the lovely @hazelfoureyes. (If you want me to untag you, I totally will).

Obviously minors, DNI.

I'm normally not comfortable with this stuff, mostly because I don't have a ton of experience writing it. I decided, that for practice, I would try writing something where the reader doesn't like Alastor. I figured a dynamic that was different from what I normally wrote might help me learn how to get better at writing smut. So here is something inspired by the best smut writer, about a dynamic I've never written :) Also, my first time writing PiV, so sorry if it sucks :) be gentle with me, lol

Hate

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings: Reader HATES Alastor, Enemies to enemies with benefits, heat, smut, 18+, Alastor speaks French, praise kink, fingers, PIV.

Word Count: 3,818

You could feel it building. The heat rising and coursing through every inch of you. The way it settled in your core, at the pit of your belly. The twinge and ache in your chest. The pressure behind your eyes. The delirium in which you processed it. It was as much as you could take, and you could feel the tension building.

You hated him. You hated him with every inch of yourself. It was a hate that suffused your bones, that dripped through clenched teeth, and twitched tightly gripped hands. You hated him entirely. It wasn’t just the way he talked, although the pompous air and the two-faced words he spoke with angered you to no end. It wasn’t the way he dressed, despite the fact that it was an out of style suit that he preferred, that pissed you off at even a glance. You knew it wasn’t the way he looked, because as much as you hated the sight of him, he was an admittedly handsome demon and had likely been a handsome man; he had dark skin, and fluffy red hair that framed his sharp face nicely. No, it was something deep inside, that you couldn’t quite explain, that made you despise him so, so much.

Alastor was not a good man. No, it wasn’t exactly the best way to judge those that were already in Hell, but among the many denizens you’ve met, he was surely high on the list of fucked up crimes. Sure, he claimed he had a moral code that he strictly followed, but if no one knew what it was, what the hell was it good for? Maybe it was his hypocrisy. The way he held himself and looked at others with such disdain, and yet he was just as lowly and weak and corrupted as everyone else.

Alastor was a hypocrite, for sure, but maybe so were you. How else could you explain this? Who were you to judge him, for all his faults, when yours were staring you in the face? 

Your thighs ached. You could feel the pain growing, and you knew it would only get worse. You had been around him long enough now, that the cursed body you had been gifted had caught on, and now you would suffer for something you never agreed to. 

It hadn’t even been a thought, when you moved into the hotel. You hadn’t thought about the fact that your form and his might affect one another. How were you supposed to know it was a possibility when you’d never run across another deer demon, let alone a Buck? Hell, quite frankly, hell. Each new, fucked up thing, you found brought you greater misery. Now your own body was a prison. You’d take having periods again, if it meant you didn’t have this terrible thing.

When it had first started, only days before, you had sought out Angel Dust, who had laughed at you. 

“Ha! Are you pulling my chain, toots?” He had asked, his tone filled with bewilderment. “C’mon, you gotta know! You’ve been here for years!”

But you didn’t know, and when he caught the anxious look growing on your face, and the fidgeting of your hands, he sighed. 

“Shit, ya don’t know, do ya?” Angel put one of his many arms around your shoulders, and guided you to his room. He settled you on a plush bean bag, and offered you something to drink. You shook your head, anxiety making your face tingle. “Suit yourself, babes.” He sighed, and scratched the back of his head. “It’s called heat. Some folks don’t got one, some do frequently, and some are seasonal. For folks who got it seasonally, it tends to, uh, depend on whether or not ya got someone, you know, compatible.”

You cocked your head as you scratched and pulled at a stray thread on your pants. 

“You gotta find someone with a similar build to yours. If you ain’t ever seen another deer, it might be why it hasn’t come up, babes.” His words clicked in your head, and your face paled. 

“No,” you said, chest frozen at the thought. It hurt suddenly. Your hands tingled, and your chest hurt. What was happening? “No, no, no. Absolutely not, please tell me it’s not because-”

Angel winced, and gave you a pitying look. “Yeah, it’s cuz of Al, doll.”

You gasped for breath, and you shook. You couldn’t think clearly. Everyone knew how much you and Alastor hated each other. You made it clear, and his constant badgering and rude behavior seemed to solidify it for everyone that it was mutual. But for your body to betray you, for him? This felt like the ultimate Hell.

When you started crying, Angel had soothed you to the best of his ability. The next morning, after falling asleep in Angel’s many arms, he gave you an unopened toy, and told you to gather supplies. Enough to hoard up in your room for a few days. He promised to run interference for you, and sent you on your way. 

So here you were, writhing on your bed, on day three. Your sense of smell was increased, and your ears twitched at each subtle sound in the hall. You had tried putting on some mindless show so you could stop focusing on all these extra sensations, but it didn’t help. The extra voices, all not his, sent your head spinning. You had turned it off after only half-an-hour. 

Your thighs rubbed together, and sweat dripped down the back of your neck. You pushed your face into a pillow and groaned. You had avoided it thus far, but it might be time to break out the little vibrator. 

Eventually, you sat up in your bed, ignoring the blankets that you had pushed to the floor the day before. You huffed, and reached for the toy that had been plugged in the night before. You gave the strange pink toy a squeeze, the soft silicone giving just slightly, and made your way to the bathroom. While you washed the toy, you tried to convince yourself that this was all you needed. One good vibe session, and you’d be back to normal. You were wrong.

It was hot. The whole room was unbearably hot. You were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and your clothes had long found themselves on the floor. You had needed to recharge the toy one already, and it had only been a day. The water in the shower couldn’t get cold enough to cool you down. Your core ached, constantly, and your thighs had a near constant mess of slick spread along them. You were delirious with the unfathomable sensations you had been unwillingly wrapped in. 

With a cry, and your soaked fingers at your clit, you orgasmed, weakly. The release wasn’t nearly enough. You twisted, and bit down on your pillow as you cried, just a little. This was terrible. And all because of Alastor. You thought of his nasty jokes, and how cruel he could be. You thought on sharp eyes, and sharper smiles. You thought of his claws, and a soft grasp around your throat, slowly tightening as a normally clear voice grunted and huffed. You pulled your vibrator out again. With something in you snapping, you kept thinking of his slim hips, and broad chest. The way his hands twitched and grasped at his microphone. His leer and the way his eyes followed you when you walked into the room. His laugh, when he was angry with someone. The way he had shown you to handle a weapon before you fought the angels. The angry look he gave you when you yelled at him weeks later. You thought of his hands wrapping around your wrist, and his chest hovering over your back as lithe hips pressed against your ass. 

You came with another cry, the white-hot feeling surging through you. 

Shame filled you up. You were a hypocrite too, it seemed. 

It was dark. Your head was fuzzy, and you couldn’t place the time of day. You sat up, the room spinning as your heart settled. Something smelled good. Your eyes fluttered as you took it in. After a moment, you flicked your eyes around the room, and in the chair by the window was a figure. 

You screeched. It wasn’t terribly loudly, but it made the figure twitch. You dove to the lamp by your beside, and quickly flicked it on. As the warm light filled the room, it flashed across his eyes, and the look alone made you gasp.

“Alastor?” You whispered. What the fuck was he doing in your room?

“Oh, ma bichette.” His voice was rougher than normal, something dark tinging it. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room, Alastor?” Despite the yearning in the pit of your belly, and the aching you had suffered through for days, this was beyond not okay. Alarm bells were ringing in the back of your head, and you couldn’t fathom why he would break into your room.

“Oh, ma chérie. I have felt that burn for days, and in your absence it grew worse.” His head cocked, and his eyes flashed in the light again. His hair looked strange, as if it was nearly damp. Something in his smile was unhinged. Your chest tugged and ached, and you had to fight to focus through the tingling in your fingers. “I could smell you, and this ache, this hunger I have never known, only grew worse.”

He stood from the chair, and you leaned back on your hands, ready to twist and run if you needed to. His tall form drew your gaze up his shape. Your mind struggled to focus on any one thing, and it was hard to hold onto your anger, like this. 

“It is impolite, to come in like this, but I need. And I can tell you do too.” He walked towards you, and leaned over you. Your conflicting feelings about the situation caused you to hesitate. You leaned back, your back meeting your sheets, and your knees bent, as if your legs could stop him from advancing. You were right, in that they would not, because a moment later, he was crawling over you, forearms flat on either side of your head. “I will leave if you ask it of me, my dear. But I ask that you let me pleasure you,” he whispered to you. His sharp teeth clacked as he glanced over your form. “Let me relieve us of this.” 

One of his hands brushed some of your damp hair from your forehead, and the look on his face nearly flat lined you. He looked so strange. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was. His eyes were soft and gazing at you with some unknown feeling gleaming in them. His mouth was slanted, and his teeth glittering in the low light — Your train of thought halted as you realized he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t smiling. What the fuck? What could have done that? Your eyes widened, and you could only stare as his thumb strayed to your lips and tugged at the bottom lip. 

“What do you say, my dear?” His gaze caught yours, and you could barely breathe.

“I hate you,” you said. “I hate you, especially for this.”

Something flickered across his face, but he didn’t pull away. “I know, mon cœur. You have many reasons, but this isn’t about that. I merely wish to ease our suffering. Your suffering.”

You wanted to cry. How fucking dare he? How dare he be so terrible on a daily basis, and yet so kind now? You wanted to scream. You could feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. It felt so unfair. But you were desperate, and he was offering to touch you, something he didn’t like to do. You knew his reputation, his dislike and disregard for things of a sexual nature, and yet here he was, crossing that boundary with you. (Something in you hurt, knowing that someone who hated him would be crossing that line with him, not someone who loved him or cared for him in any capacity. Maybe that was his Hell). 

“Fine. Fuck. Fine. We can fuck, just, I don’t know. No kissing. And I uh, I’d like to be on my belly.” You didn’t want to look at him. (You knew it was the thought of him that got you off so many times, but the idea of really seeing him, bothered you in a way you couldn’t explain). His face twitched, but he nodded. 

“I understand, ma bichette.” He pet your hair, again, and rubbed a thumb across your forehead, and he took a deep breath in. “Alright, dear, ass up.”

Your eyes widened, and you gulped down the little moisture in your mouth. With deep, steady breaths, you turned over, maneuvering on the bed with twitching limbs. You pressed your chest against the bed, aching at the tenderness in your breasts. Your hands held onto the sheets tightly, and your ears twitched and pressed flat against your skull. Your tail sprung straight, and you could hear Alastor let out a breathy chuckle. The sound of clasps and zippers coming undone made your tail wag, and you could feel one of his hands swat at the fluffy bundle of fur at the base of your spine. 

“Excited, dearest?” His voice carried in the quiet room. You couldn’t reply with words. You were so conflicted. You hated him acutely, and yet here you were. Something akin to giddiness was building in your chest. Your tail wagged harder. You hoped he didn’t take it as an answer. 

You could feel his warm body lean over yours a moment later. He was so much bigger than you. It was clear with how wide his shoulders were, and how his long legs cradled yours easily. One of his forearms settled beside yours, and his face rested in the crux of your shoulder. Sharp teeth lightly grazed the skin there, while hot breath fanned over your back. Soft touches on the swell of your ass, creeping over your hip, and then cupping your mound softly. (How could he be so soft in this, and yet so harsh? Your mind was buzzing so loud). 

“Stop thinking, mon trésor.” His finger grazed your clit, and your mind went quiet. Oh, you had forgotten what it was like being touched by someone else. 

His fingers moved with focus from there, and your legs twitched. You huffed, and closed your eyes, letting the sensations fall over you. Soon, with the gentle touches getting firmer, and more precise, your thighs were getting slick. Small sounds left your clenched teeth. (It felt good, but the petty part of you wanted to deprive him of the satisfaction of your noises). 

Alastor’s hand moved, and suddenly one finger was sinking into your heat. You groaned, and your back arched. 

“Oh, continuer ma chère. Je veux vous entendre.” His voice is coarse, but his finger curls, and you can’t even try and translate his whispered words. Your body trembles as he slips in a second finger. His thumb catches your clit, and your mind is a muddled mess. Your resolve to remain silent shatters, and your voice leaves your throat with no control. 

“Oh, Alastor,” you say. Your eyes flutter, and you clench down on his fingers. He grunts, and thrusts them a little harder. 

“When you are ready, my dear, come for me. And then we can move on to the main event.” His words attempt for nonchalance, but the way he struggles to get them out has you internally laughing. It stops when his erection, clear as day, rubs against your ass. Your hips twitch, pressing against him. “Oh,” he grunts. “Not yet dear.”

He twists his hand, and presses his chest against your back. His hand on the bed grabs at yours, and he intertwines your fingers. Teeth scratch at your shoulder, and the sudden flood of sensory information sends you over a line you didn’t know you were near. 

“Ah! Alastor,” You cry, and fire flicker up your core, and in your veins. You clench hard on his fingers, and his ever present static swells in response. (Although, with how much your hands and face tingle, it could be in your head). 

“Oh, yes.” His head settles against your shoulder blade, and his hand slowly pulls from your core. His wet fingers graze your hip with soft touches, and the hand holding yours rubs softly. “So good for me, dearest. My doe. So good.”

Your chest aches, and you want to cry. How fucking dare he hit the fucking nail on the head? Your breath hitches, and you have to work to not cry. 

“Oh, my dear.” He sits up, and the loss of his heat nearly makes your tears fall. You can’t fathom why you’re suddenly emotional, but it won’t waver in its intensity. His face settles in your sight line. “Are you alright, dear?” His lets go of yours, and cradles the back of your head. “Did I hurt you?”

You want to cry. Fuck him. Fuck this. How dare he. A tear slips before you can stop it, and his eyes narrow, something nearly concerned looking, crossing his expression. 

“No. Fuck you. I hate you,” you can barely finish the sentence before a hint of a sob leaves you. “I hate you. I hate you. Just fuck me already.”

His brows furrow, and the red of his eyes glints as he manages a nod. “If that’s what you desire,” he says, and then he’s behind you again. 

His hands are on your hips, and you hear skin against skin, and then he’s gently prodding you with the thick head of his cock. Alastor presses his cock into your soaking entrance slowly, and you worry about his size for a moment. But then, he’s pressing more firmly, and your thoughts halt. Electricity is shooting up your spine as he sinks into you. You internally thank him fro prepping you with his fingers, because he’s packing more than you would have expected. 

A sharp breath from him, and then his hips snap against yours. “Hah, sorry, dearest.” His breaths are rough, and you feel his hands squeeze your hips hard. “I had intended to go slower, but this is-” He bends over you again, and his chest is against your back, and he’s grasping at the sheet with you. “You’re so good, my dear. Better than I could have ever-”

His hips snap again, and your body jolts. You gasp as he presses his hips against your ass, pushing as far he can get. You feel so tight. Everything is hot, and all you can think about is him. Your tail brushes against his belly as he starts to set a rhythm. All the pain you had been in, and you were starting to feel like it might have been worth it. 

One of his hand wraps around your waist, over your breasts, and his hand settles on your neck. “Let me know if you wish me to stop,” he huffs, and then he’s squeezing your throat, just slightly. 

You mewl, and roll your hips against him. “Oh yes. Little doe. You are so good for me.” The way he says makes you moan again, and you huff as he squeezes your throat again. 

The pace he sets is just under what you need, and it makes you hate him more. Part of you knows what he’s waiting for, and you dread it. It’s within mere moments, though, that you cave, and open your mouth.

“Alastor, please,” you say. Your voice is weak, with how hard it is to take a full breath. Your body is pressed into the mattress, and with the stinging breaths you attempt to take with each thrust, and the light squeeze of his hand around your neck, you struggle. 

His hand loosens, as if he can read your mind. “What is it, dearest,” He asks. “Use your words. I know you can.”

You sigh, and nearly yell at him when his hips stop, giving you time to speak up. You roll your eyes, and nearly beg, “Please, just a little faster.”

You can hear the smile when he responds, “Of course, my doe,” and then his pace starts up again, faster, and just a tinge harder, than it had been before. Your toes curl and your hands grasp at the sheets. 

That heat was growing again, low in your belly. Your thighs were aching, and your back was as arched as you could get it. Sweat was dripping down your back, and all you could think is that you wanted more. 

“Alastor,” you moaned, and grunted back. As you clenched down on his cock, the heat grew, and you could feel tight wires wrapping around your core.

“Oh, ma biche, tu es si bonne pour moi.” His fingers found your clit again, and he rubbed with focus. “So good. You are so good.” He kept repeating it like a mantra, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

The wires snapped, and your body went white-hot. You couldn’t see, and you stopped being able to hear more than garbled syllables and the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall. 

Your body went taut, and you clenched down. You could hear his voice grow sharp and ragged, but nothing more as he kept thrusting. 

When you finally settled enough to focus your hearing, you could hear Alastor muttering to himself. And then he went still. “Do you want me to leave my seed in you, or no?”

Your breath caught. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. Without thinking too much, you whispered, “In.” 

You watch one of his hands tighten on the bed, sharp claws piercing the fabric. (you’d make him replace it for sure, jerk). Without much warning, he starts his pace again, his thrusts nearly brutal. His grunts and murmuring start up again, and it’s only moments before you feel him twitch, and then heat filling you. He curls around you, head pressed between your shoulder blades. 

You stay sitting like that for a few minutes, before he slowly extricates himself from around you and pulls his cock from your slick entrance. When he returns with a warm, damp rag and cleans you up, you refuse to make eye contact. When he picks up the dirty sheets, and bring you clean ones, you stare at the floor. It’s when he brings you water, and tucks you into bed, you finally look up at him.

“I hate you,” you tell him. 

His face is neutral, and he nods. “I know.”

“This changes nothing,” you say. 

And he nods, letting his normal smile pop back on his face. “I know.”

Hi, please let me know how this was? I'm really awkward about this kind of stuff, and it makes me a tiny bit anxious. Anyways! I hope you liked it. Should I add an 18+ taglist? Also, I have a few asks and stuff that will be posted soon. House hunting has been going terribly. The market is awful, and I am just sad :(