#Hazbin hotel fanfiction

[redvexillum]

A/N: Hoe, Hoe, Hoe! Happy Holidays, folks! Can you believe it? We've made it to Day 25, and there's just one more story left before Smutmas officially comes to a close! This story is particularly special to me because it's a direct sequel to one of my very first ventures outside my comfort zone—Off Script—where I took on the challenge of writing Alastor as a sub. I really hope you all enjoy it! I did my best to keep him in character, so fingers crossed it hits the mark. And finally—Kit, let’s both finish Smutmas tomorrow with a… bang!

SUMMARY: Alastor thought he was being clever when he snuck extra spices into your gingerbread mix, but his bratty antics had consequences he clearly wasn’t prepared for. As sweet as you usually are, you’re also a master of dominance, and tonight, Alastor learns exactly what that means.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, pleasure dom! reader, bratty sub! alastor, alastor has a tail, oral sex, overstimulation, pegging, anal plug, aftercare, p in v, fluffy-wuffy, no ANGST (because people be thinking I'm writing angstmas??? >:U)

The first time you broached the topic of introducing your particular interests in the bedroom to Alastor, it did not go as planned. In fact, it spiralled into an entirely unforeseen direction. He veered off script, revealing an unexpected side of himself. It didn’t take long for you to realize something that honestly shouldn’t have been too surprising: Alastor was, perhaps, the most delightfully bratty submissive you had ever encountered. 

At first, you had been hesitant, cautious even, testing the waters with a delicate touch. You started slow, pinning his wrists above his head while straddling him, your slick folds gliding teasingly along the hard length of his cock. His body was tense beneath you, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he fought to remain still. And yet, you could see it—the flicker of amusement, the glint of curiosity, and the unspoken challenge in his ruby eyes. 

“Darling,” he rasped, his voice a mix of feigned irritation and genuine arousal, “you do realize I am the one in control here.” 

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Oh, of course, love. It’s all for you,” you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed submission, knowing full well how the words would stoke his ego. 

That balance—teasing the line between control and surrender—was crucial with Alastor. He was willing to explore these new dynamics with you as long as he felt the game was his to win. Over time, these intimate games deepened your connection, building trust in a way neither of you had anticipated. 

It was in these moments of play that you discovered just how much he enjoyed being edged. He saw it as a competition, a challenge, and every false word of bravado he muttered only made you more determined. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted one evening, his hands tied above his head as you licked a slow stripe along the underside of his cock. His body betrayed him, trembling with the effort of restraint even as he smirked. 

“Oh, you’ll see what I’ve got,” you replied sweetly, revelling in the sharp gasp that escaped him as you abruptly stopped, leaving him throbbing and desperate. 

In time, Alastor even began to participate in choosing the tools for your escapades. When you brought out a selection of dildos, he would inspect them with a meticulousness that was almost comical, tilting his head and tapping his chin as though he were selecting fine wine. 

“That one,” he’d say with a grin, pointing to the one you knew he loved. And when you took your time with him, thrusting the toy deep into his ass while your lips wrapped around his cock, he would surrender so completely it left you breathless. His body would go slack, his head tilting back as he moaned your name, every line of tension melting away. In those moments, he was utterly yours, and the vulnerability he showed was nothing short of beautiful. 

But, as you learned, this came with its own set of challenges. 

Take the time you had decided to edge him for hours as “punishment” for one of his pranks—spiking your tea with a hellpeppers just to see your reaction. He had whimpered, begged, and finally come undone in a way that left him breathless. But instead of deterring him, it only seemed to spur him on. From that day forward, his pranks became more frequent, each one more mischievous than the last, as though he were daring you to make good on your “punishments.” 

Like today. 

You had been looking forward to baking gingerbread cookies, humming softly to yourself as you worked. But when you took a bite of the first batch, you nearly gagged. The sweetness was overwhelmed by a fiery burn that made your eyes water. Whirling around, you saw him standing there, hands clasped behind his back, his signature grin stretching impossibly wide. 

“Alastor!” you snapped, pointing accusingly at the tray of ruined cookies. “Did you do this?” 

His laugh was a low, melodic hum, a sound that made your skin tingle. “Why, my dear, I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” he replied, though his twitching nose and barely contained snicker betrayed him. 

You narrowed your eyes, stalking toward him as he took a step back, his grin faltering just slightly. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” you said, your voice syrupy sweet and laced with intent. 

The sharp click of your teeth echoed in the quiet kitchen as you fought to rein in the rising tide of frustration. Your eye twitched, your hands curling into fists at your sides as you surveyed the latest in a string of sabotages. The day had started with a simple enough task: helping Charlie decorate the hotel with festive holiday cheer. It should have been done in two hours. Two. Instead, six gruelling hours later, you were still at it, thanks to Alastor’s relentless interference. 

Like a mischievous shadow, he’d been everywhere, undoing your progress with a gleeful flourish, all while flashing that infuriating grin. 

Now, staring at the ruined cookie dough—a batch you’d painstakingly mixed, rolled, and shaped—your patience finally hit its breaking point. The thought of starting over from scratch, gathering ingredients, kneading dough, and baking again made your stomach churn. 

But just as you were about to storm off searching for a quiet space to collect yourself, something stopped you. 

The faintest movement caught your eye—the way the back of Alastor’s coat fluttered as he turned, the eager, almost expectant glint in his eyes as he glanced your way. 

And then it hit you. 

The realization came as a sharp pang of guilt. Between the influx of new sinners at the hotel, Charlie’s relentless schedule of events, and your constant involvement in helping out, you’d been neglecting Alastor. It hadn’t been intentional, but you couldn’t deny it either. Months had passed where you’d barely seen him outside of fleeting interactions, let alone shared any meaningful moments together. Even the intimacy of the bedroom had been replaced by nights spent alone in your own room. 

You sighed softly, the frustration in your chest shifting into something else—understanding, perhaps even regret. Of course, Alastor, with his peculiar ways, wouldn’t simply say he missed you. That wasn’t his style. No, this was his way of communicating, as exasperating as it was endearing. 

Walking toward him, your demeanour softened. Your fingers grazed lightly down the front of his chest, the movement enough to draw his attention. His grin faltered for just a moment as you spoke, your voice low and soft. 

“I’m going to my room,” you murmured, offering no further explanation as you turned and walked away. You didn’t need to look back to know he would follow. 

By the time you stepped into your room, the shadows shifted, and Alastor materialized before you with his usual dramatic flair. 

“Already, darling?” he chimed, his tone as jovial as ever. “Oh, I pity poor Charlie for hiring someone who can’t manage such a simple task,” he teased, his grin widening as he prodded at your lingering frustration. 

But this time, instead of rising to his bait, you smirked. Slowly, deliberately, you closed the distance between you, your eyes never leaving his. His playful expression faltered, just slightly, as you leaned in, resting your head against his chest. 

“I’m so disappointed, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice carrying a softness that belied the weight of your words. His body stiffened beneath your touch, and a shiver ran through him as your fingers deftly began to unbutton his shirt. 

“You’ve been so bad these last few weeks,” you continued, each syllable dripping with quiet reprimand. 

Alastor’s breath hitched as the fabric slipped from his shoulders, exposing his skin to the dim light of your room. “Oh, that’s what I do best,” he quipped, though his voice trembled slightly, betraying the bravado in his words. 

With a gentle push, he stumbled back onto the bed, his legs spreading instinctively as he leaned back on his arms. His cock twitched, already hardening, as he watched you climb onto him with methodical slowness. 

“And what will you do about it, darling?” he goaded, his tone laced with challenge. 

“Well,” you mused, straddling him without letting a single inch of your body touch his, “I suppose it’s only fair that I receive my recompense.” 

Your fingers traced the sharp lines of his face, moving with tenderness that made him shudder beneath you. His grin faltered, his composure slipping as you let your touch wander downward. Your nails ghosted over his chest, tracing patterns against his skin, stopping just shy of his now achingly hard cock. 

“Darling,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. 

“Patience,” you whispered, a smirk playing at your lips as you leaned in closer. “After all, you’ve been so bad—surely you understand the importance of a little... delay.” 

Alastor’s eyes burned with equal parts anticipation and defiance, but he made no move to stop you. For once, he was entirely at your mercy, and you intended to savour every moment. 

“Since you love to play around so much,” you murmured, your gaze locking onto his piercing crimson eyes, “let’s playtogether, Al.” 

Your words were honeyed, teasing, as your fingers finally wrapped firmly around the thick shaft of his cock. His breath hitched audibly, and for a fleeting moment, his ever-present grin wavered. That alone was victory enough, but you weren’t finished. Leaning in, you let your lips ghost over his, so close that your breath mingled with his. 

“Hours, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice dripping with promise. “I’ll play with you for hours.” 

The effect was immediate. His eyes fluttered closed, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from his lips. The usual bravado he wore like a mask began to crack under the slow, deliberate stroke of your hand. You could feel the way he melted into your touch, his body responding with a shiver as the tension in him ebbed away. 

He no longer held back, no longer stifled the sounds he made or the soft confessions of what felt good beneath your touch. It had taken time, patience, and trust to reach this point, where he no longer masked his vulnerability in shame but surrendered to it with you. 

You pressed your other hand to his chest, urging him back, and he complied without resistance, lying against the bed as you worked him with skilled hands. His cock throbbed hot and heavy in your grasp, silken beneath your palm as you pumped it with slow, deliberate strokes. 

“D-Darling,” he breathed out, his voice trembling, his head falling back as his hips began to roll against your hand. His moans started low, rising in pitch as his body grew more desperate, his movements frantic in his chase for release. 

You matched his urgency, your hand moving faster, guiding him closer to the edge. His foreskin slid over the glossy tip of his cock, only to be drawn back down, exposing the glistening head with each thrust. The slick sounds of your motions filled the room, mingling with his erratic breaths and soft cries. 

“Darling, darling!” he cried out, his hips canting forward one last time before his release overtook him. Hot, sticky ropes of cum painted his chest, streaking his skin with creamy lines. His breath came in heavy, uneven pants as his body trembled in the aftershocks of pleasure. A haze of satisfaction clouded his crimson eyes, but beneath it, you saw the flicker of anticipation. He knew this wasn’t over. 

Your fingers lazily dipped into the sticky warmth of his release, swirling through it before lifting to your lips. Your tongue darted out, tasting him with a soft hum of appreciation. “Mmm, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Al?” you teased, pressing a lingering kiss to the oversensitive tip of his cock. He jolted, his hips bucking instinctively at the sudden contact. 

“You haven’t been finding release without me, have you?” you asked, your voice sweet but laced with mischief. 

“Hah!” His laugh was strained, tinged with his usual bravado as he tried to recover some semblance of control. “Please, darling, I can hold myself back just fine,” he quipped, though his eyes darted away, betraying him. 

“Is that so?” you murmured, your tone light and teasing. Without warning, you leaned down, engulfing his still-soft cock with your mouth. 

Alastor hissed sharply, his claws sinking into the bedsheets as you drew back his foreskin with your lips, swirling your tongue over his sensitive head. His body jerked beneath you, trembling as overstimulation began to set in. 

“Ah, d-darling,” he panted, his voice shaky, the usual radio-filtered crackle distorted by the raw edge of his cries. “A-ah, ah!” His cock twitched weakly in your mouth, his body entirely at your mercy. 

You didn’t relent, your tongue working over him with precision, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure you could draw from him. His head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as his hands fisted the sheets in a futile attempt to ground himself. His breath came in ragged gasps, his voice breaking as he moaned your name again and again. 

But you remained attuned to him, careful to read the signals of his body. Alastor, ever stubborn, would never admit when pleasure teetered on the edge of too much, and you wouldn’t let him push past his limits. For you, his pleasure was your greatest reward, the sight of him unravelling before you igniting a heat in your core that left you clenching and aching with need. 

Still, you slowed your ministrations, pulling back just enough to let him breathe, to bask in the blissful haze that softened his sharp edges. His trembling body told you everything his words wouldn’t—that he trusted you completely, in this and in everything else. 

The moment his thighs began to tremble, instinctively closing around your head, you knew it was time to stop. With a calculated precision, your lips tightened into a seal around his cock, sucking deeply one last time before pulling back. His length slipped free with a loud, wet pop, leaving him quivering and gasping beneath you. 

Alastor's abdomen fluttered with each shallow breath, his chest rising and falling erratically as he tried to gather himself. A thin sheen of sweat coated his pale skin, catching the soft light and accentuating the slight tremor that rippled through him. His crimson eyes, glazed and unfocused, stared blankly at the ceiling, his usual composure nowhere to be found. 

Your gaze softened as you admired the rare vulnerability etched into his features, but a spark of mischief flickered in your chest. Leaning forward, you dragged your tongue languidly along your middle and index fingers, wetting them thoroughly before trailing them downward. When you pressed the slick pads of your fingers against the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. 

His sharp intake of breath was followed by a low, trembling moan as his crimson eyes flicked downward, meeting yours. That familiar grin of his began to reappear, albeit strained, but you matched it with one of your own. Slowly, deliberately, you worked your fingers inside, the tight, hot walls clenching around you as you sank deeper. 

“Ohhh,” he moaned, his voice pitching higher as his hips began an instinctive, grinding motion against your hand. Each stroke and press of your fingers sent shockwaves through his body, and you couldn’t help but relish the way he cried out your name, breathless and desperate. 

“Is this what you missed, Alastor?” you murmured, your voice dripping with sultry amusement. The heat pooling between your thighs was almost unbearable now, your soaked underwear clinging to your skin. You punctuated your question with feather-light kisses along the sensitive curve of his balls, earning another full-body shudder from him. 

“D-don’t be ridiculous,” he managed to huff out, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his bravado. His hips bucked against your hand, seeking more, needing you to go harder, deeper, faster. “You—hah—you’re the one who seems to need it more than I do!” 

His words faltered into a broken cry as you curled your fingers inside him, pressing directly against his prostate. The reaction was instant—his cock, already half-hard, twitched violently before stiffening completely, precum dripping steadily from the swollen tip. Thin, sticky strands pooled on his stomach, glistening in the dim light. 

“I-I c-can smell you,” he groaned, his voice cracking with static as the radio distortion flickered uncontrollably. “I can s-smell your arousal, d-darling.” 

His eyes fluttered as he struggled to focus on you, the effort clear in the way his brows furrowed, and his lips parted with ragged breaths. You smiled wickedly, never ceasing the relentless rhythm of your fingers as you leaned in close. 

“Is that your way of saying you want me to ride you, Alastor?” you teased, your tone saccharine sweet, as you slowly withdrew your fingers. 

The way his ears flattened against his head and his lips pressed together to smother the pitiful whine that escaped him was nothing short of endearing. You straightened up, locking to his gaze as your hands moved to peel away your clothing. 

One by one, the layers fell away, revealing more of your heated skin to him. Alastor’s crimson eyes darkened with unrestrained hunger, his slender fingers flying to his cock, stroking himself slowly as he devoured the sight of you. The moment your panties slid down your legs, his attention zeroed in on the dark, damp patch that clung to the fabric. 

The sight of how soaked they were made his breath hitch. His grip on his cock tightened, his strokes quickening ever so slightly as he watched you stand before him, completely bare, the evidence of your arousal dripping down your thighs. 

Picking up your damp underwear, you held it delicately between your fingers, bringing it close to Alastor’s face. His eyes, smouldering with unrestrained hunger, followed the movement intently. A sly grin curled your lips as you whispered, “Go on. I know you’ve been dying to taste me.” 

In the past, he would have resisted—an adamant refusal to entertain such a base desire. But now? Now, his restraint was a distant memory. He eagerly took the fabric from your hand, his sharp grin widening as he pressed it to his lips. His tongue darted out, licking and suckling on the soaked material, his moans vibrating softly into the delicate fabric. He savoured every drop, his eyes fluttering shut as if lost in your essence. 

While he indulged, you turned your attention to the drawer by the bed, fingers searching for a specific item. A soft laugh escaped you as you pulled out the toy you’d been looking for—one of his favourites. The memory of the day he wore it, the secret only the two of you shared as he moved through the hotel with it snug inside him, made heat rush to your cheeks. 

The anal plug, adorned with curvy ridges and capped with a glittering pink heart at its base, glinted in the low light. Alastor froze mid-lick, his gaze snapping to the toy. His tail, which had been lazily swaying, thumped excitedly against the bed. 

You teased him further, holding his gaze as you slowly lowered the plug to your wet core. You pressed the tip to your entrance, coating the ridges in your slick. Alastor’s breath hitched, and a groan slipped past his lips as he watched you pump the toy in and out of yourself, each movement deliberate, each moan of yours feeding his anticipation. 

By the time you pulled the toy free, glistening and dripping with your arousal, Alastor had already lifted his legs, spreading them wide to present himself. His sharp grin turned expectant, almost demanding, his crimson eyes glinting with challenge and desire. 

You chuckled at his eagerness, running your free hand along the curve of his thigh. “Patience, darling,” you murmured. He squirmed beneath you, his cock twitching against his stomach as you pressed the slick plug against his entrance. Slowly, you began to work it in, the ridges catching slightly against his tight walls before sliding deeper, inch by inch. 

Alastor’s breath came out in stuttering gasps, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as the plug seated itself fully to the base. His cock throbbed, a bead of precum trailing down to pool on his stomach. He looked utterly wrecked, his body trembling and his chest heaving as he adjusted to the sensation of fullness. 

But you weren’t done. Without giving him a moment to recover, you straddled his hips, gripping his throbbing length and guiding him to your entrance. In one fluid motion, you sank down onto him, taking him to the hilt. His reaction was instant—a sharp gasp, his hands flying to your hips as his back arched off the bed before collapsing again. 

The tight heat of you gripping him drove him wild. His cock twitched inside you, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through both your bodies. But your focus wasn’t on his body—it was on his expression. His usually sharp grin softened, his crimson eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. His body trembled beneath yours, the rare vulnerability in him stirring a possessive warmth in your chest. 

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of pure, unfiltered delight, as you leaned forward. Pinning his wrists beside his head, you met his gaze, your movements slow at first. Each roll of your hips elicited a delicious tremor from him, his breath climbing with every downward thrust. 

“Y-you’re i-insatiable, d-darling,” he managed, his voice trembling as your pace quickened. 

You smiled wickedly, increasing the rhythm, the sound of skin meeting skin mingling with his stuttering breaths and deep moans. His sharp cries soon gave way to something softer, more desperate, as his body began to tense beneath you. His head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck as his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Look at me, Alastor,” you commanded softly, and his gaze snapped back to yours. The raw, unguarded desire and faint embarrassment in his expression sent a thrill through you. His cries grew louder, his hands flexing against your grip as he reached his peak. 

With one final, broken moan, his body shuddered violently beneath yours, his cock twitching as he spilled into you. The hot flood of his release filled you, his seed coating your walls as he gasped for air. His body remained taut for a moment before he melted into the bed, utterly spent, his eyes glazed with lingering satisfaction. 

Catching your breath, your body hummed with unresolved need, but it didn’t matter. Watching Alastor surrender beneath you, unravelling with every calculated touch, was pleasure enough. 

His lips were parted, a thin line of saliva glistening at the corners as his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. The edges of his crimson eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and his expression—dazed, undone—was utterly intoxicating. His usual composed veneer had crumbled, leaving him bare in every sense. 

A quiet chuckle escaped you as you finally lifted yourself from his trembling form, feeling the warm trickle of his release sliding down your thighs. “We’re not done yet, Al,” you teased, your voice carrying a sing-song lilt. “We still have one more of your favourites, remember?” Reaching for the strap-on, you held it up—a big, crimson silicone cock gleaming in the dim light, its impressive weight resting heavy in your hands. 

You caught the way his body tensed, his tail twitching in anticipation, but there were no sharp remarks, no coy retorts. He was beyond that now, surrendering completely. With a sluggish roll, he shifted onto his stomach, his cheek pressing into the bed as his hips lifted, presenting himself to you. His red-and-white tail puffed out and flicked upward, revealing the sparkling jewel of the heart-shaped plug still nestled snugly within him. 

“Good boy,” you purred, and his tail wagged weakly in response. His fingers reached back, spreading himself open, stretching his cheeks taut in a silent plea. 

You smiled, strapping the harness to your hips, the familiar weight grounding you in this moment. Slowly, deliberately, you began easing the plug from his entrance. Each inch coaxed a muffled whimper from him as he buried his face in the mattress, his body trembling beneath your hands. The resistance gave way, and with a final tug, the jewelled plug slid free, leaving his entrance clenching and exposed. 

The sight of him, so open, so needy, sent a surge of heat pooling low in your core. You rested a hand on his hips, guiding the slicked synthetic cock to his waiting entrance. Without hesitation, you thrust forward in one fluid motion, burying yourself to the hilt. 

Alastor choked on a cry, his body jolting forward before he melted into the bed, a low, guttural moan spilling from his lips. His claws raked over the blankets, shredding the fabric in a desperate bid for control. 

But there was none to be had—not here, not now. 

You set a relentless rhythm, your hips snapping forward with precision, filling him over and over. The wet slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with his muffled cries and the breathless moans you couldn’t suppress. The way his body clenched around you, his walls tightening with every thrust, only spurred you on. 

“Ah—ah—darling,” he panted, his voice breaking into a mix of static and white noise as pleasure overwhelmed him. His body arched beneath you, his hips rolling back to meet your thrusts with desperation. 

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmured, your breath hot against his ear. “Being filled so completely… You’re so beautiful like this, Al.” 

His only response was a shattered moan, his body spasming violently as he came again, thick ropes of his release painting the ruined bed beneath him. But even as his trembling form sagged into the mattress, you didn’t stop. 

“Isn’t this fun, Alastor?” you panted, your grin wicked as you leaned over him, your pace unrelenting. “I could do this all night.” 

His claws curled into the shredded fabric, his body shaking with overstimulation as he gasped and whimpered beneath you. He was utterly wrecked, undone, every piece of him yours in this moment—and it was everything you had missed. 

Your hands slid to either side of his trembling frame, hovering over him as you moved with deliberate intensity. His voice had dissolved into a symphony of broken moans and guttural grunts, his ears pinned flat against his head in a rare display of vulnerability. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over his ear as you purred, “Let me see your face, Al. Don’t rob me of my pleasure.” Your fingertips traced the back of his head, the touch tender yet insistent. 

He shivered at your words, slowly turning his head to meet your gaze. His lips hung open, strands of saliva pooling beneath his cheek. His crimson eyes, distant and unfocused, shimmered with tears that spilled in streaks down his flushed cheeks. And yet, despite his unravelling, the faint trace of a grin lingered—a testament to his unyielding spirit. 

“More?” you asked, voice laced with teasing affection. Alastor’s only reply was a low, ragged moan as his hips pressed back against you, silently pleading. A soft chuckle escaped you as your fingers danced down the curve of his spine, drawing a visible shudder from him. “You really are a masochist, aren’t you, Al?” you murmured, your words barely above a whisper. 

When his moans faltered into silence, his teeth clenching as he fought to muffle the smallest of whimpers, you knew he’d reached his limit. Carefully, you slowed your movements, easing out of him with a touch as gentle as a whisper. Both of you were coated in a thin sheen of sweat, your breath coming in soft pants as you sat back. 

Alastor lay trembling, his body spent and quivering in the aftermath. Every so often, his legs would twitch, jolting with the lingering aftershocks of overstimulation. His hand reached out, trembling and seeking, and you didn’t hesitate to meet it, intertwining your fingers with his. The silent gesture spoke volumes—his need for your warmth, your gentleness, your grounding presence. 

With care, you removed the strap-on, setting it aside before sliding into the bed beside him. Your body folded seamlessly into his, your hand cradling his as you pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles. His half-lidded eyes locked onto yours, filled with exhaustion and unspoken affection, unable to look away. 

Smiling softly, you lifted his hand, your lips brushing over each finger with reverence. One by one, you kissed his thumb, his index finger, trailing your touch over his palm. The gesture was unhurried, filled with tenderness, as you snuggled closer to him, your lips finding the curve of his shoulder. 

A warm chuckle rumbled low in his chest, his voice soft and worn. “Darling,” he rasped, his tone laden with affection as his tail gave a lazy thump against the bed. He sighed deeply, basking in the featherlight kisses that travelled up his neck and over his face. His cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids—all received your gentle attention before your lips finally found his. 

The kiss lingered, a soft press of emotion and intimacy. When you pulled back, his voice, though hoarse, carried a familiar teasing lilt. “You’ve been far too busy this month,” he murmured, his crimson eyes slowly opening to meet yours. 

Your heart swelled, warmed by the rare vulnerability in his gaze. You smoothed back a stray strand of hair from his face, your fingers brushing his skin with care. “I have, haven’t I?” you answered softly. Your lips curved in a tender smile as you leaned down to kiss him again, the touch light, barely there. “I missed you,” you whispered against his lips, your voice thick with sincerity. 

He chuckled again, though it was tired and weak. “And yet, you chastise me about your cookies,” he teased, his grin slipping back into place. 

“Ruining my cookies,” you corrected with a mock glare, your tone playful. 

“You love it when I spice up your – ah – cookies,” he countered, his voice carrying a faint echo of words he’d said long ago—a callback to the early days of trust and intimacy you’d built together. 

A soft giggle bubbled from your lips as you pressed your forehead against his, your eyes brimming with affection for the cunning, mischievous demon you adored. “You’re such a silly man,” you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his. 

His arms came around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear was a comforting reminder of the unspoken bond you shared. In that quiet moment, you held each other close, the world beyond forgotten. Only the warmth of his body and the soft hum of his love remained. 

“And you, my darling, are my special girl,” he murmured, his voice a tender caress against the quiet of the room. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm and soft. Slowly, his breathing steadied, each exhale becoming longer, deeper, until it melted into the gentle rhythm of sleep. 

You stayed there, cradled in his embrace, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. A gentle smile tugged at your lips as your fingers traced small, absent-minded patterns along his side. The warmth of his words lingered in your heart, a balm to the chaos and distance of recent days. 

As you listened to the quiet thrum of his heartbeat, you made a silent promise to yourself. Next time, you’d find ways to give him the attention he deserved, to show him how much he meant to you—perhaps even preempt whatever mischievous “spicing up” he might dream up to draw your focus. 

For now, though, your heart felt full, brimming with love and contentment. Snuggling closer to him, you let yourself be enveloped in his warmth, your body fitting perfectly against his. The steady cadence of his heart matched your own, the two rhythms intertwining as if they were always meant to be. 

You closed your eyes, a peaceful smile lingering on your lips. Wrapped in his arms, you let sleep claim you, your dreams filled with the love you shared and the quiet promise of all the moments yet to come. 

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[xalygatorx]

Someone Like You | Human!Alastor x Assistant!Reader

Written for the VoxTek Server Winter Event 2024 hosted by @redfoxwritesstuff & @redvexillum of @voxtekinc xx

AO3 ✍️ | Ko-Fi ☕

Prompt: "Christmas Party"

Summary: Being Alastor Garland's assistant has never been an easy feat, but you reach the end of your rope at the station's annual Christmas party when one of his snide comments hits a little too hard.

Warnings: Angst to hurt to comfort that rounds back into steamy fluff, We're rockin' around the Emotions Tree 🎶, Implied period-typical racism (it's the 1920s), Reader has an established crush on Alastor despite him presenting as a certified dickhead, Alastor likes you too but he doesn't handle it well up to this point, Confused graysexual screaming, Reader's grandmother has passed away, Reader is female and in her early 20's (Alastor is almost 30 in this one), There's no smut here even if it seems like there might be during the steamy fluff scene I'm telling you that right now

A/N: Whatever you do or don't celebrate, I hope you have the coziest, kindest winter season ahead of you. Take care of yourselves. x

And be sure to check out all the other festive, lovely stories from everyone who contributed to this event!

The entire house smelt deliciously of warm, spiced cider. Molten notes of fresh baked apples, butter, and a pinch each of salt and cinnamon rolled over your tongue with every inhale, accompanied by a bloom of heat when you opened the oven to retrieve the cake you'd been painstakingly crafting all day ahead of tonight's party.

Memories of your grandmother were easy to come by in her own home—a home that had been passed down to you specifically as an escape from the house you'd grown up in. The differences between a house and a home were plenty and those had all been differences you'd learned in your travels between the two—one, a house where you'd lived with your mother and father and three younger siblings, and the other, the home your grandparents had cultivated over decades and decades of firefly summers and holidays within the often mild winters New Orleans had on offer.

A home your grandmother had taken fully into her care after your grandfather had passed almost ten years ago. A place that, despite your family house never being cold or violent or somewhere you felt unwelcome, had always felt like home.

And then it had become your home the day you turned 18. Against your family's wishes—primarily ones born of concern—you'd struck out on your own, eager to take over the care of the home your grandmother had left you, that she had entrusted to you. It was your turn to bring life to it now.

When you closed your eyes, time travel was a simple task. You let the heat wafting from the open oven warm you to your bones, let the scents of the cake your grandmother had made every Christmas Eve fill your senses entirely until everything was simply cake. When you opened your eyes to slip on the mitts and pull the cake from the oven, the scrape of the pans against the rack filled your ears and, if you listened, you could hear the ghosts of holidays past along the edges of those metallic keens—your brother laughing at the expense of you or one of your sisters, your mother fretting over anything and everything, and your father's silence as he watched it all unfold.

As the pans left the rack and the scraping sounds ceased, you were left with silence again. Fragrant, nostalgic, but very silent silence. A sigh eased from your chest as you set the pan down to cool and busied yourself with locating the festive bit of china your grandmother had always used for this very cake.

You just hoped you'd done it justice—you hadn't had a reason to bake it before and your maiden voyage into your grandmother's old cookbook (a still relatively pristine copy of Woman's Exchange Cook Book) had come about due to your first office Christmas party.

Well, the first one you had any interest in attending.

Your jobs for the first few years of living in New Orleans had varied—diners, coffeeshops, a bakery, two speakeasies, and a tailor—but none of them had offered much in the way of holiday parties. The diner and bakery had tried, bless their hearts, but it had always been more of a social gathering among friends orchestrated by the waitstaff. The speakeasies had been fun, but when every night was a party, holidays were even more so and they often got too rowdy for your temperament (particularly the one year the boys and blue had attended as uninvited guests and you'd had to run out the back with the bartender and his girlfriend).

Whatever the station had planned would surely be much more in the realm of a planned, prim office party. A scene you were new to. Second only to how new you were to the station itself.

You'd spent six months so far employed there, which was five months and twenty-nine days longer than anyone had expected you to be. There had been a betting pool. There likely still was one, just kept better under wraps after you'd discovered the first. You'd been swiftly assured that the pool wasn't aimed at your work ethic, but rather at the pure hell your "boss" seemed gleeful to put you through on a daily basis.

Alastor Garland wasn't technically your boss. He was the current dashing darling of the radio world, a local celebrity gradually going national as the show's popularity spread, and the man you were meant to assist, but he wasn't your boss. You were sure he would've fired you by now if that had been the case. Or rather, you would've never been hired to begin with.

Again, not necessarily because of you—although that was becoming harder to believe as time wore on and his jabs got more personal—but because Alastor was stalwart in his insistence that he did not need an assistant. He took offense to your very existence so long as it was under the title of being his assistant. And he couldn't take it out on your boss, the owner of the very station you were soon to leave for that night, so he took it out on you.

Impossibly timed errands. Last-minute coffee orders you knew were only requested to get you out of his hair for a bit. His overcoat dropped just shy of the rack so you had to juggle everything you were already toting into the recording studio for him just to get it up on the proper hook. Snide remarks whenever you messed up a cue or made his coffee "wrong" or took too long to notice whatever mess he'd made with the expectation that you'd clean it up.

He was rude. He was positively childish at times. He was sarcastic and mocking and generally unpleasant to work for.

And you liked him.

Your nose wrinkled at the thought alone as you sifted powdered sugar down onto the cake you'd just upended onto the festive Christmas china, the descending granules mirroring the rare Louisiana snowfall outside.

You were pretty sure your mother was ultimately to blame for this debacle, traced all the way back to your childhood. All the times you'd come home complaining that some boy had pushed you down in the schoolyard and she would simply check you over for anything past a scrape or a bruise and inform you, "He's probably just got a li'l crush on you, honey. Boys don't like to be honest about that kinda stuff, so they'll just pick on ya instead."

And then there was her relationship with your father, a gruff and perpetually pokerfaced man who wore his emotional reserve like a badge of honor. You honestly couldn't remember a single instance in which he'd told you he loved you growing up, but you also couldn't remember ever hearing him say it to her or his other children either. You were pretty sure he did though. You'd just always gotten the impression that he didn't know how to say it.

Well, if Alastor was one of those "boys in the schoolyard," he must've really liked you. The thought alone made you scoff because you knew that wouldn't be the case in a million years. Funny enough, he was also the exact opposite of your father while sometimes seeming the exact same. Alastor was emotive, theatrical in how little he seemed to hide, but he was just as pokerfaced as your father, you'd found. He just did it through showmanship and a smile.

You settled the cover to the china plate over the cake you'd finished garnishing, hoping it would be enough to keep it warm through the cold walk to the station. Stepping back, you went upstairs to finish getting ready, coming back down in a red velvet cocktail dress you'd spent three weeks' worth of accumulated pocket money on after hearing the receptionists discussing their own party budgets and worrying you'd look out of place.

You felt like a pretender or at least like someone trying to dress up like something they weren't, but there wasn't any time or spare change to go back on it now. So you bundled up in your coat and scarf, slipped on your heels, and plucked your freshly baked offering from the counter.

You triple-checked that the oven was off before taking a deep breath and working through the two additional deadbolts you'd added to the old front door after listening to one too many of Alastor's broadcasts about the recent murders around the Big Easy. And then finally, you left to start your trek through the snowy evening.

The snow provided a unique layer of soundproofing the city couldn't usually be afforded, particularly during its vibrant, sleepless nights. Contrary to the expectation that colder weather and snow might discourage New Orleans' nightlife scene, either the novelty of the chill or the holiday had even more folks out than usual. Couples rubbing noses under streetlights, parents and their children armed with sleds despite the hour, gaggles of teens pelting each other with snowballs while their laughter bounced off the seasonably decorated buildings lining the streets.

It helped to quell the somber feeling your silent home had left with you before departing—nice as that quiet often was, the holidays had a way of making even the most comfortable silence feel pointed.

Swiftly enough—and after only once nearly slipping and sacrificing your cake to the frosty pavement—you made it to the station and let yourself in the side alley door. Upon entering, you were immediately greeted with the murmur of conversation, the clanking of plates and platters being set up on an emerald green-clothed serving table, and a vinyl crooning from somewhere further in.

"Oh, hi, sweetie!"

Instinctively, you turned toward the voice and smiled when your eyes landed on Rosie—your boss's fashion-forward, easily delighted wife, who had all but made him hire you on the spot when she just happened to be in the station the day you came in to inquire about a job. She reminded you a lot of your grandmother had your grandmother been more boisterous and open with her thoughts.

She was wonderful. And it was always a relief and a joy to run into her.

"Hi, Rosie," you said back, smiling as she relieved you of your dish and then swept you into a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"And it's lovely as ever to see you, too, dear," Rosie said, throwing you a wink as she uncovered your cake and set the steam-lined cloche aside with care. "I knew ya'd stick it out here. I'm very proud of ya. I'm sure Alastor hasn't made it easy for you."

You just smiled a little tighter, comically widening your eyes the next time she looked at you, which made her laugh conspiratorially.

"Don't take it personally, dear, he's… He's a character," she said, not for the first time. "There's a reason he's made it to where he is and it's not by mincin' words." Whipping around to focus on your dessert, she asked, "Now, anyway, what do we have here? It smells divine!"

Your chest puffed a bit with pride. "That would be my grandma's favored recipe for apple cider cake," you told her, your smile widening when she gave a happy clap of her hands. "She made it for us every Christmas Eve when I was growing up."

"Well then how wonderful of you to share it with us, doll! I can't wait to try some," Rosie said as she turned to face you again. Her eyes darted over your head briefly before she tsked through her teeth. "Just don't even mind him tonight, okay, sweetie? He's been in a foul mood all week, as I'm sure you've caught onto."

Ah, you'd thought you'd felt eyes on you.

You were almost afraid to turn around, but you knew that it'd probably been obvious even from afar that Rosie had noticed him and then commented to you on his presence. So it might give him some degree of satisfaction or sense of victory if you didn't turn around now.

Couldn't have that. And you wouldn't admit it, but you weren't exactly rueful of having a reason to look even while your nerves ate away at your insides.

Pulling the proverbial bandage, you glanced over your shoulder and it took only a few seconds for your eyes to land on your target. He was dressed to the nines like everyone else in the station tonight, looking immaculate in a dark suit with merlot accents and shiny silver cufflinks. He was clean-shaven—something he'd uncharacteristically not been all week—and his hair had been hot-ironed straight in a stylish fluffy flop that was almost as signature to his look as his smile. His round wireframes had descended a bit down the bridge of his nose, but he righted them now with the precise press of a fingertip.

Behind the lenses, his honey-hued eyes were already locked on you.

You tried to channel your dad's immaculate pokerface, but there was only so much you could do when those eyes evoked in you the strangest mix of intrigue and genuine unease. When your eyes met, you felt yourself freeze—prey in a predator's trap as your heartbeat drummed ever faster against your ribs.

You swallowed harder than you meant to and you knew he saw it by the way the polite smile he'd turned toward the men he was currently rubbing elbows with—sponsors most likely, you didn't recognize them at a peripheral glance—slowly curled into a sneer.

So much for keeping him from a bit of undue satisfaction for cowing you before you'd even uttered a word his way this evening. Your jaw tightened and you turned away to roll your eyes, melting a little when you spotted one of the receptionists—the station owner's niece, Charlie—enthusiastically waving you over.

It's not just him here, you reminded yourself as you smiled back at the excitable blond belle and made your way over to join her. And you're off the clock. He's just a man.

Just a man you wished you could write off as truly just a man.

The cider cake you'd baked was annihilated within the first hour and it was compliments abound from everyone who'd had a slice. Rosie had been sure to let everyone know that you were the one to thank for it.

You really weren't sure what you'd done to endear yourself to her so much, but you were endlessly glad for it.

More party attendees had shown, however, and there was room to be made on the buffet. You excused yourself from Charlie's company—along with her friend, Anthony, and her "friend," Maggie—to squirrel away your empty baking dish and help clear the way for more warm, tasty homemade creations to have their spotlight moment debut on the table.

You'd settled the cloche on the crumb-dusted plate and then turned, taken approximately four steps from the table, and then a passing gentleman—who'd had a bit too much from a poorly obscured flask in his jacket pocket, nevermind the hot punch and roasted chestnuts from the actual spread—walked right through you and jostled the china from your hands.

It shattered on the floor and deadened all conversation in the room. Your hands had gone to your mouth after fumbling the dish and failing to right yourself and you felt tears stinging your eyes as you stared down at your grandmother's beloved baking set in ruins.

What had you been thinking, using that to bring your cake here tonight? How hadn't you foreseen something like this happening? If not now, from your hands, then from some other folk rearranging the table offerings or even before the party had started, when your heels had nearly slid out from under you on the walk outside?

You'd broken it. By unearthing it from your grandmother's home—your silent, silent home—you'd put it in the path of being destroyed. And now there was no replacing it because it wasn't the dish that was broken, it was every memory you'd tied to that fragile bit of china.

Utterly careless. When you thought such things of yourself, suddenly your inner voice started to sound like your mother and you felt like a child in their house—not your home, their house—all over again.

And if the mistake itself weren't enough, you were suddenly pointedly reminded of who was in attendance tonight.

"Dear, I really must ask that you reserve your skillset of being completely useless for working hours," Alastor remarked through a mostly stifled chuckle, earning heartier laughter from the men surrounding him who'd hardly given you a glance before you'd made a fool of yourself. "It's Christmas, after all, take a bit of time off."

"Alastor," Rosie admonished him as she bustled over to you and the wreckage at your feet, hands waving fretfully as she deliberated how best to help. "Sweetie, are you—"

"I'm fine," you said, quick and hard, before trying to school your expression and agitatedly swiping a wayward tear from your eye. You'd probably smeared your mascara in the process with your luck tonight. Shaking your head, you said again, "I'm fine. Don't trouble yourself, Rosie."

Rosie frowned, watching you stoop down and start to collect the pieces by hand. "It's no trouble, let me just—"

"I can manage," you said, still feeling Alastor's eyes on you and ignoring him with all your might as you collected the chunks of china from the floor and stacked them into something you could tote back home. Perhaps even fix. It wouldn't be usable again, surely, but at least you'd have it, you supposed.

Maybe if you put it back in the display case and pretended that you'd never broken it—truly the child version of yourself all over again, weren't you—you'd get away with it. But you only had yourself to fool now and there was no feasible way to do that.

It was in that precise moment that you realized finally what had you pining for your "house" over your "home" this time of year every year—you were lonely.

In your revelation and your determined state of clearing the floor of china shards, you'd missed the way Alastor's expression had shifted. His eyes never did, no—unfortunately for him, they rarely did with you.

If he was honest with himself, he'd regretted his comments as soon as he'd noticed the constituents around him laughing, too. It was different when it was just him and you in the studio or perhaps with one or two of your colleagues around to play the audience. Your coworkers knew you—they knew no matter how much grief he gave you that it wasn't anything you did. They knew you well enough to know that you were capable and patient and far better than you had any right to be at a job you'd all but fallen into.

These fools flanking him with dollar signs in their eyes and targets on their backs only he could see (for now) didn't know you. Even if they did, they wouldn't have respected you. So they turned to regard you and saw a silly little woman who'd dropped a dish and looked ready to cry over it and laughed.

Alastor had called you "useless" but he'd been thoughtless. And now you were hurrying so much through the cleanup stage of fixing what you'd broken that you nicked yourself on a sharp edge of china, ignored it, and toted it all away and out of the room while avoiding everyone's eyes.

And Alastor felt guilty. Because, unbelievable as it might be to you or to anyone who'd ever seen you two interact, he had a great deal of respect for you. It infuriated him how true that was because he didn't want it to be the case.

Because it wasn't just respect. He liked you.

And that—given your backgrounds, your age, his other career, and several other aspects of his self that he'd yet to fully understand in correlation to society's expectations—was something he'd found himself unable to tolerate the thought of. It was easier to try to find reasons to dislike you all while making you dislike him in the process.

"Mr. Garland, that was absolutely out of order," his boss's wife, Rosie, approached him to murmur, looking more distressed than angry. "I'm surprised at you! You're usually such a sweet boy—a little sarcastic, sure, but it's a good weapon to have at the ready. What's gotten into ya?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Alastor said, his smile snarling slightly as he heard the faint tone of petulance in his own voice. "Simply a joke that landed wrong. Nothing more."

"You owe her an apology, Alastor," Rosie declared, fixing him with a serious stare. "I mean it. The poor little thing's very shaken up, I don't know if I've ever seen her like this."

Despite all his teasing, poking, and prodding these past six months, Alastor had to admit he hadn't ever seen you like this either. You usually either rolled your eyes—as you'd done earlier, he'd not missed it even though you'd tried to turn away before reacting—had a remark to toss back his way, or just snickered a little, yourself, depending on what he was griping about.

He'd never seen you cry or just clam up and shrink in on yourself. He'd be hard-pressed to ever want to see it again.

As Rosie bustled away to tidy a few decorations that had gone askew throughout the night, Alastor sighed through his nose.

"Bit of a nag, that one," one of the sponsors remarked once she left, making Alastor bristle beneath his suit jacket. But it was via that comment and the way the other graying, self-important men around him began piling on amongst themselves that Alastor found an easy enough way to excuse himself.

Because, unfortunately once again, Rosie was correct. He owed you an apology.

And, damn it all, despite the purpose of his seeking you out, he found himself secretly pleased to be doing so.

After leaving behind the stuffy, string-lit room being used for munching and mingling, Alastor put his hunting skills to the test. A minor test, to be sure, but it gave him an excuse to stretch his legs and busy his mind. He already felt sluggish from the sheer boredom of being beholden to small talk with whoever presented themselves tonight.

At least, with you, he was never bored. It was often a thing attained at your expense, but he could admit—so quietly perhaps the universe would miss it—that even when it wasn't at your expense, you were far from boring to him.

Pretty little darling like you, inheriting your family's old ornate farmhouse and moving yourself out here by your lonesome despite your age (sure, you were in your 20's now, but he'd heard you tell Charlie once that you were 18 when you'd moved here) and despite not having a job or a betrothal lined up?

Whip-smart, progressive, sassy when sufficiently pestered, and still sweet and domestic when it came to the home. Why, you were fascinating.

You were also sitting on the back steps out to the alleyway, he found—it'd taken a bit of a search, but the station wasn't big and there were only so many places to get away from other guests tonight without outright leaving. And he didn't think you'd leave after that, at least not without telling Rosie or someone else you deemed a friend.

That traitorous ache near his heart felt morose at the notion that he would not be someone you'd think to tell you were leaving tonight. But when would he have earned it?

You'd snatched a small first-aid kit from the supply closet adjacent to the back door of the station before making your way out with your coat and the pieces of your grandmother's broken plate and cloche bundled up in your scarf beside you. You'd pulled out a cigarette case from a pocket on the inside lining of your coat, snapped it open, and placed one between your lips, sighing when the shallow cut on your hand smeared a little blood on the end.

You'd abandoned looking for your lighter for just a moment while you fumbled the kit open and cleaned your finger—you were bandaging it when Alastor found you. He lingered in the open doorway, watching you for a moment before announcing himself with a lamely spoken, "I'm afraid you might need to light that to get the full effect."

Why couldn't he just talk to you without talking down to you? You were both wondering that now.

You resumed your search in your coat pockets for your lighter and sarcastically mumbled around the cigarette, "Knew I was forgetting something."

You were playing nice, but there was a hard edge to your voice that spoke volumes more than your words. One of those volumes was an unspoken suggestion for him to go back to the party.

Alastor had never been one to follow instructions well. Particularly the ones left up to his interpretation. So instead of heeding your fair warning, he sighed through his nose and lowered himself to the step to sit beside you. Once he was settled, he rummaged through his own pockets and located his lighter, which he flicked to life and held to the end of your smoke.

You eyed him suspiciously, wondering if a wick could be poisoned and if that poison could be sustained through a flame to an unsuspecting host. Then again, after tonight, perhaps that would be him doing you a favor. You murmured your thanks as he stowed the lighter away again, hesitating before offering him your cigarette case by way of reciprocation.

He waved away your offer. "Kind of you, but I'm afraid that would put me back in your debt," he said, running his long fingers through his fringe as he glanced around the alleyway to avoid your eyes.

Your eyes narrowed, but you blinked them a little wider when a wayward snowflake landed on your lashes. He saw it in his peripheral and thought it was rather cute.

"So lighting my gasper is your definition of evening the score for tonight?" you wondered, tone flat and fatigued.

Alastor had a snappy comeback already on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. Even he knew when it wasn't the time and this was the opposite of "the time."

"No," he said, just the faintest edges of amusement at what he might've said lingering in his Transatlantic accent. If you hadn't known him better, you might've thought he looked sheepish. "I thought an apology would better suit that."

"An apology?" you half-laughed, sucking on your cigarette before noting, "Alastor Garland doesn't do apologies."

Alastor smirked down at his dress shoes, shiny on the dull stone steps you two were seated on. Snow had delicately dusted his hair in just the short time he was outside with you and he looked even dreamier than usual somehow. Ethereal.

You were supposed to be upset with him, remember? You were upset with him. It turned out that being upset with someone didn't always make them less beautiful.

"Not insincere ones," he allowed and, just when you thought that was his exit from the conversation and from whoever had guilt-tripped him or threatened his livelihood to get him to come out here and speak to you, he followed up with, "I'm sorry, darling."

It wasn't the first time he'd "darling"-ed you. If Alastor was anything, he was consistent, and he was always in supply of dears, darlings, and the occasional sweetheart for any lady he found tolerable, which was most of them. Certainly all the ladies that worked at the station. The only exception had been Susan, the receptionist whose spot Charlie had eventually taken, who he'd called an "ornery old bitch" in one particular dust-up you'd unfortunately missed but that still lived and circulated like lore within the station to this day.

All that aside, this "darling" felt a little different. Softer. Why?

Wary of the feelings this was stirring, particularly in your vulnerable emotional state, you murmured a simple, "It's fine," and left it at that.

Alastor wasn't having it though.

"It isn't," he disagreed. "Not really. Don't be so quick to let me off the hook, cher."

Alright, now that one was new. He had your attention—what was his game?

You turned to face him and felt the furrow in your brow deepen alongside your confusion. "…Pardon?" you asked, flabbergasted.

The smile he wore was almost boyish. He tilted his head as he studied you, briefly removing his glasses and cleaning the melted snow away from the lenses before putting them back on. Despite his efforts, they kept either smudging from the snow or fogging up with the heat from his skin.

"I was a complete ass to you back there," Alastor said and you blinked owlishly at hearing him swear. It had no right to be as attractive as it was.

Bewildered, you forgot to check yourself as you mumbled, "…You're always an ass to me."

A bit of shock froze his expression before he burst into laughter beside you, his mirthful cackling bouncing off the alley walls. Your arms brushed, something you understood to be a cardinal sin when it came to him (so much so that it'd been included in your primer when you'd taken on the job of being his assistant), but he leaned into the contact as he fought for composure.

When he finally had a handle on himself again, he grinned down at your chagrin-flushed face and nodded once with satisfaction.

"There you are," he declared as if seeing you for the first time tonight. As if you were comrades-in-arms rather than a famous radio host and the assistant he abhorred. "And you're right. I am. And I shan't be proud of it any longer! I feel positively dreadful after tonight."

"Why did tonight make any difference?" you asked, genuinely wondering.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because those charlatans Franklin's so keen on me impressing don't know their own mouthes from holes in the wall," he remarked after briefly glancing back at the door to ensure you were still alone.

Alastor looked back down at you as he said, "They certainly don't seem to comprehend that a woman's worth just as much as a man."

Your brow pinched. "Few do," you murmured, the simple statement as much of a slight to society as it was an acknowledgment of him being above that. If there was one thing you'd always noted about his jabs, it was that they never came from a place of demeaning what you were. What you did was another story.

"Indeed," Alastor said. "And my mother raised me better than that. I may have had my usual fun needling you at first, but they didn't take it as such—I don't like feeling as though I added to their backwards ways of thinking." His thin smile wavered. "And… Well, I've never seen you upset about something I've said. Have you just been adept at hiding it?"

You'd tended to your cigarette while he spoke and, halfway through the stick, ashed it out on the step and replaced it tidily in your case.

As you worked, you said, "No. I'm… The holidays are tough."

The admission felt strange to say aloud, much stranger to say aloud to Alastor.

"And things wear a person down over time. So perhaps it was that, perhaps it was all this," you gestured vaguely to the electric light strings and garlands lining the building, "and it was also that the dish I broke was my grandma's. It was all of it."

"It was an accident, no? I'm sure she won't be upset," he suggested, keen enough to lift your spirits somewhat that he'd forgotten the tidbit about you he knew regarding your inherited home.

"I know she won't be, she's been dead for years," you quipped, watching the fog of your breath bend and then fade in the night air. Sniffling a bit from the cold, you murmured, "Sorry, that was uncalled for. And not as funny as it was in my head."

Alastor chuckled. "No need to apologize, dear. It was morbidly funny, but I couldn't speak for having my entire foot in my mouth," he bantered back, mollified when he saw the corner of your mouth curl upward just the tiniest bit. "Still. You needn't be so hard on yourself. It's… Well, it's a dish."

"I know," you murmured, glancing down at your bundled scarf with the china remnants inside. "Straw that broke the camel's back, I suppose."

"I'm afraid I missed out on your little cider cake creation," Alastor said. "The entire thing was gone before I blinked."

A tiny swell of pride lanced through your hollow chest. "You're not one for sweets," you pointed out. "I don't know that you would've liked it much."

"Hardly the point," he said.

You glanced back at him. "Then what is the point, Alastor?"

He shrugged, suddenly boyish again at just his name on your lips. "That you went to all the trouble of making it," he replied. He cleared his throat a little and said, "And it looked rather good."

Was he flirting with you? Or just buttering you up to get through the rest of the party only to start back from Square One come Monday?

"It does go well with a black coffee," you allowed, resting your chin on your hand and studying him, looking for answers he wasn't openly giving yet.

"A-ha!" Alastor huffed, giving a theatrical sigh as he said, "I knew there was something for me there. Alas, now I'll never know."

"Bit dramatic," you murmured. "It's a Christmas Eve tradition. There's always next year."

Carefully, he asked, "You think you might still be at the station then?"

"Do you intend to fire me?" you asked rather than answer.

Something about that struck him as funny, but he didn't elaborate. "Couldn't even if I wanted to, cher," he informed you. "Even if I could, no. I wouldn't."

Finally, you asked the question that'd been nagging at you from your very first day on the job. A question that was made even more imperative by your exchange tonight. If anything, his explanations had muddied already-muddy waters and you needed some clarity if this was to continue.

"Then why are you so mean to me, Alastor?" you finally asked. Before he could take the easy way out, you added, "Not right now, obviously. But up until now. Why? Do you hate me or something? And why are you being nice to me now?"

His smile had grown threadbare, but it clung on for dear life. "Any other questions before I get a word in edgewise?" he snarked.

"No, that's all. Go ahead," you snarked back in kind.

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the opposite wall as he answered. "Because I desire to ruin our working relationship, dear," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "And not in the way you might think. Not in the way I'd prefer."

"What on earth does that mean?" you asked, already exasperated.

"Let me finish," he murmured, tapping the tip of your frozen nose with his index finger. You sat in silence as he took stock of his words and then started up again with renewed purpose. "I don't want to like you. You're young, occasionally quite bratty perhaps due to your age, and you waltzed into a job you are objectively not qualified for.

"You are also learning it at pace when I've given you no room to slow down. You've handled yourself with grace in every crisis I've seen you endure and you've shown compassion for others even when stretched to your limit. Myself included. All without sacrificing your own well-being in the process. It's a difficult balancing act that you do strikingly well."

What was happening?

Alastor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and adjusting his glasses back into place as he continued. "You are clever, persistent, hardworking, and kind," he listed off, making eye contact with you again as he emphatically added, "and not useless."

"I don't understand," you admitted, an unspoken apology in your tone for what you saw as perhaps being a bit obtuse. He could hardly blame you for not following the wild chase he was taking you both on though. That he'd been taking you both on for months now.

"Darling, the only thing I don't like about you," Alastor finally said, "is how much I do like you."

You were floored. It was the goddamned schoolyard run-around all over again. Maybe if he'd pushed you into a snowdrift and run away giggling instead, you would've caught on sooner. Honestly, that didn't feel far off from something he'd do on a whim.

"When you…say 'like'," you murmured, wary of him bursting into another round of laughter at the sheer implausible scenario you were soon to present about this being a confession rather than a truce. "Do you mean—?"

Alastor gave you a rueful, embarrassed smile as he flicked snow off his sleeves. "I said I desired to ruin our working relationship," he reminded you and you felt the heat of a blush creeping up your neck. "And not in the way you might think—that being that I want you to hate me or I want to hate you, and so on. That would also be the way that I'd prefer wanting to ruin things between us. That I've tried to."

"…But?" you prompted him when he didn't immediately continue.

Whatever this was, it was taking it out of him to put it into words. He stifled a groan and rolled his eyes to the clouded night sky as he murmured, "This isn't what you might've thought. It's not what I would have preferred. So yes. I do mean."

"Oh," you replied, barely a whisper. You didn't think you could be more shocked. You were, yet again apparently, wrong.

"Do with it what you will," Alastor said to the night—certainly not to you, he could hardly look at you. "I apologize if this is untoward or if this causes you any measure of discomfort. Rest assured that I'm well aware that my behavior has been such to have not earned me any sort of good grace with you. I admit, I…am not versed in these things and, as such, handled it poorly."

You frowned, fiddling with your cigarette case. "Listen, Alastor, I'm not—"

"It was selfish of me even to mention it, I think," he said. "What a cliché this is, ha-ha! An older superior—a man no less—having an eye for his young assistant. It's innately a power imbalance, a vintage bit of nonsense. Rest assured, this little folly of mine will have no effect on your career, I can—"

"Let me finish," you asserted as he had earlier and he looked at you, surprised enough to fall silent and give you the floor. "First of all, phrased like that, it sounds every bit as scandalous as you think and that doesn't make it any less interesting."

You were gratified when he blushed bright red, his flush exacerbated by the cold. You couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up, but you schooled your expression quickly enough.

"Second, as antagonistic as you've been these past months, I'm afraid I like you, too," you admitted, finding it came more easily now that he'd said his part. Well, several parts. With how his eyes rounded, it appeared to be his turn to be shocked. "Don't ask me why. At least not based on our interactions. When you've not spoken to me, you've seemed perfectly agreeable and there's a lot to like about you.

"You're smart. You're an ace for banter, you just often use it for evil. You're strikingly handsome and you run one hell of a show. And just from your quick mention of her earlier, you seem to think a great deal of your mother." You smiled. "You're progressive, too. Even when you've descended upon my worth as your assistant, you've never demeaned me as a person. It's a strange standard to draw, but it's one I might've clung to a few times when I really did think you hated me."

"I admit, I did try to," Alastor sighed, finally taking you in again. His honey-brown gaze languidly traveled over yours, over your face, and then over the snowflakes clinging to your hair and coat. You were a vision he was finally allowing himself to appreciate, somehow not too late. "You make it exceedingly difficult."

"Thanks?" you replied, your uncertain tone causing you both to dissolve into a quiet round of shivery laughter. "Okay, I'm about to freeze to death. Back inside?"

"Back inside," Alastor agreed, his own Louisianan composition not cut out for these rare freezes he'd only seen one or two of before in his New Orleans lifetime. "Tom said earlier that the snow was supposed to stop around seven tonight."

"Well, Tom's keeping up his streak of being categorically incorrect then," you grumbled as you shook off the snow you'd accumulated on your person, plucked up the scarf-wrapped china pieces, and walked under Alastor's arm through the door back into the station.

He was chuckling at your remark about Tom as he followed you in and shut the door, checking that it locked before you both hung your coats back up. Alastor lingered while you found a place to stow your scarf bundle, watching you with elation flowing like post-hunt adrenaline through his veins.

This was warmer and more inviting though—he felt invincible after tonight, even knowing that he'd hardly broached the subject of his fascination with you. He warred with himself to not write off the victory but to also not let it cloud his judgment. He had a lot of making-up left to do.

That lasted all of five seconds before he spotted a new opportunity and he was surprised at the relief he felt over trying these sorts of things before he held any real interest in someone else. Things he previously despised ever having done at all were proving to be, curiously, worth something now if it meant it might all end with you.

Alastor cleared his throat behind you and you stopped in the doorway to the hall that would lead you both back to the party, your freezing hands mid-smooth over the skirt of your dress. Your instinct was to wonder what you did wrong despite the at-length conversation you'd just had about how so much of what he'd found "wrong" with you had been a ruse.

When you remembered that conversation and took in the pleased smile on his face, you were at a loss again.

"Yes?" you prompted him.

A little shiver ran through you at the realization that you were standing in a dimly lit hallway with a man. This man. He'd hardly ruin just your working relationship—he'd ruin you if you weren't careful.

The thought wasn't as unwelcome as you might've hoped.

"If the idea isn't one you are necessarily opposed to," Alastor suggested, his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile familiarly mischievous yet unfamiliarly warm. You were still getting used to that part. "Perhaps I might ask you officially—would you allow me to court you?"

Heat flooded your cheeks anew and you didn't have the cold air to fall back on this time as an excuse. You swallowed, feeling embarrassed at the sheer schoolgirlish amount of butterflies his question stirred to life in you, but had the wherewithal to nod at least. Some paranoid part of your brain that had learned not to trust Alastor's intentions at face value wondered if this was some elaborate multi-stage insult, too, that had yet to deliver its punchline.

"Lovely," he murmured, pure pleasure in your answer lacing the low husk of his voice as he continued to encroach on your space. You didn't realize just how close he'd gotten until your back pressed against the doorframe and he loomed over you, handsome even in shadow. Especially in shadow.

"This isn't an elaborate prank, is it?" you asked, feeling a little sick at the thought. Not only for how embarrassed you'd be for falling for it, but for the disappointment it would cause you, too.

You'd known this whole time that you'd liked him well past what you knew was smart, but you'd never known just how much until the possibility of him and of you and him was right at your fingertips. Envisioning the other possibility that you'd made a fool of yourself only to have him rip the rug out from under you—no, not just a rug, the ground itself—felt like the worst sort of afterthought.

"Heavens, no!" Alastor chuckled, leaning his forearm against the doorframe above your head. As he leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with you, he added, "You have walked us both into a bit of a trap, however."

You blinked, eyes wide with alarm and confusion. "A trap?" you repeated. "I don't—"

Oh, but then you did. All it took was one pointed flick of his molten gaze upward for you to follow it and realize that you two were situated beneath a sprig of mistletoe someone—Rosie probably—had incorporated into the garlands lining the jamb, laced in with larger evergreen branches, pinecones, and holly berries.

You couldn't remember if that sprig had been part of the arrangement before you'd stepped outside, but it was certainly there now and the only thing more expectant than that traditional little Christmas plant was the radio star—your radio star now—leaning over you and waiting to see what you'd do.

Alastor shrugged, playing off the situation he'd drawn attention to despite the bit of nervousness beginning to drum up in his belly now that you'd caught on.

"I've simply made our little predicament more proper by asking for exclusivity," he pointed out, carrying on with his bit while relishing how your blush deepened with rivaling desire and undue shame. "You can thank me at any—"

Two could play at his game and he had never had the full upper hand, even before. You were always surprising him with your banter, your reactions, and your moxie. So you surprised him now, too, by leaning in first and pressing a careful first kiss to his speech-parted lips.

His brain positively scrambled the second your warm, soft lips touched his. Whatever teasing he'd been prepared to lead with into this precise exchange became positively moot.

He'd not been accustomed to the feelings he'd had for you before your heart-to-heart in the alley, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to these either. Less so.

And yet…

You'd just started to find time and headspace to start panicking at his lack of response when Alastor got his bearings and his warm hands found your still-chilled skin, sending a shiver through your frame. The sensation teased a threshold between the lingering cold from the snowscape you'd left outside and a blooming warmth that seemed to originate from Alastor's deft, elegant fingers tracing patterns along the velvet of your dress and your jawline.

His hand poised against your cheek tilted your head back and what were you to do but acquiesce? A gasp escaped you as his other hand cleverly found and toyed with the zipper on the back of your dress and he used the opportunity he'd elicited from you to lick into your mouth. You could feel his smirk as he kissed you deeper, self-satisfied in his usual way and yet so unlike himself in every other.

You finally found room to breathe when he moved down to your neck and the rush of oxygen to your brain reminded you what exactly you were doing and where.

"Alastor," you hissed, squeaking as the sound of his name just seemed to encourage him further and his hard body pressed more snugly to yours. "We can't do this here!"

"Mm, we seem to be doing just fine, no?" he whispered, his lips brushing over the pulse point in your neck as he continued pressing leisurely kisses to your throat. Tempted as something deeply primal in him was to leave marks, he refrained from doing so—he didn't want to embarrass you, after all. That respect came into play here, too.

"We won't be if someone comes back here and—cut it out," you mumbled, wriggling and only managing to make you both less inclined to pause your backroom activities.

Still, Alastor did stop and drew back a little to check on you, a cute tilt to his head that put his glasses a couple of centimeters too far down his nose.

You couldn't help but smile a little as you took in his blush and fixed his glasses for him. "You don't think I'm easy, do you?" you asked with a sigh, reaching up and gently fixing his hair, too.

Alastor looked alarmed by the question, but simultaneously melted into your hands—something you'd thought impossible for the usually touch-averse radio host and something even he was surprised he felt the urge to do. Especially considering how you two had started the night and your six-months-long working relationship. He'd thought for sure that this would be something confined to his more intrusive dreams or thoughts—instead it was simply better.

"Of course not, sweetheart," he murmured, seeming immediately aggrieved that he might've caused you to think that. "My apologies, I'm… I'm not accustomed to these sorts of indulgences. Or at least not being particularly fond of them. I suppose I lost myself a little."

You gave him a reassuring smile and leaned in to press one more chaste kiss against his lips—a compromise. "You don't need to be sorry, Al. I just… I don't know, I'm just still shocked you even like me, I guess, much less like me."

He sure looked like he liked you though. His honey eyes were tender as they took you in, a look you'd never seen in them before.

The corresponding smile that found his lips nearly took your breath away. "Then it sounds like I have some makeup work to do," he suggested, disentangling from you and kissing your hands before beginning to straighten up your appearance the way you'd done for him.

Your cheeks flushed hot, but you let him, appreciating him looking out for you (especially since he'd caused most of the damage). "That sounds ominous," you posited.

Alastor chuckled and gave you a mischievous wink before nodding for you to walk with him back out to the party. "Good."

The entire night left you in a daze. Between the stress of being around work colleagues in a non-work affair yet knowing whatever you did that night would still follow you into work the next week, breaking your grandmother's china, the embarrassment that followed, and then everything that happened with Alastor from being openly mocked to having a quick makeout under some mistletoe…

…well, you were exhausted. Exhausted enough to get through the rest of the party—separately from Alastor as you'd both decided to leave any announcement of your change in status for next week unless it came up sooner—and then head home and collapse into your bed, still fully dressed.

It was only on waking that you realized a couple of things from the night before.

The first of which was to remember the second half of the "Everything with Alastor" portion of the night and wonder if it all really happened. If it had all been a dream—and, admittedly, it wouldn't have been the first time you'd dreamt of him—it had been unbelievably vivid. Maybe there was something in the party punch.

The second thing you noticed was that you'd been so out of sorts by the end of the office soiree that you'd completely bypassed your scarf-bundled china wreckage when you'd gone to get your coat. So that was something you'd have to remember to collect from the back on Monday.

After settling in with a cup of coffee at your breakfast bar and easing slowly into the start of your weekend, you admittedly felt a little trepidation at what you'd finally concluded were the actual happenings of the night before with Alastor. He had apologized for his actions, he had admitted he actually liked you for all the reasons you'd thought he hated you, he had admitted to really liking you, and he had kissed you under a bit of mistletoe. Or rather, you'd kissed him and then he'd proceeded to really kiss you.

What if he regretted it? What if he'd woken up this morning and thought back and realized it'd all been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment fancy or some holiday impulsivity or the effect of some spiked punch like you'd earlier entertained the possibility of ingesting? What if you walked in Monday and he called it all off? Or worse, what if it really had been a joke and it was just a more strung-out joke than you'd originally fretted it might be?

You sighed, your breath stirring the steam wafting from your aromatic morning brew just before you took a deep sip.

What if, what if, what if. If he regretted it or thought it'd been good for a laugh or simply (more likely) played it off as either of those just because it was new and scary and maybe not something he wanted to commit to…despite not only kissing you but asking to court you, too…then there was nothing you could do about that. It was as much his decision as it was yours and you spent the off-and-on moments through the rest of your weekend in which you obsessed mulled over your memories of the Christmas party reciting that truth to yourself.

It was all a long game of prepping yourself for his eventual task of backpedaling to, in the best-case scenario, let you down easy in an attempt to make things go back to normal. Because there wasn't really, to your impending disappointment, a universe in which you could imagine Alastor not wanting out of this new dynamic of yours for any number of varying reasons that popped unbidden into your head.

The bouquet you'd find sitting prettily beside the meticulously repaired china set on your desk the following Monday morning would indicate otherwise.

[hoomandoescosplay]

My Deer | Alastor x Reader Oneshot

As Alastor is focused on finding the perfect place for each ornament on our tree I sneak out of the living room. A smile grows on my face as I open our bedroom closet and grab a small box I hid in the back.

Taking off the lid I have to stop myself from giggling as I see the reindeer headband I bought a few weeks ago. After taking a moment to stare at them I pick them up and make my way out of the bedroom, making sure to hold the headband behind my back out of sight.

Alastor is still hard at work decorating the tree, making my smile widen. I grab the star for the top of the tree with my free hand as he begins to hum along to the song playing on the record player.

“Looks like the tree is ready for the final touch.” I say as I walk near him, shaking the star around gently. He turns around to look at me and smiles. "It does. Do you want to place it up there dear?"

I shake my head. “Can you do it? The tree we picked is a little too tall for me.” I say with a small laugh. "Of course. Let me." Alastor chuckles as he grabs the tree topper from me and begins to carefully place it atop the Christmas tree.

As he places the star I quickly pop the headband on his head. He immediately freezes, his hand hovering over the tree topper as he takes a moment to process what just happened.

He slowly turns his head back to look at me before using his hand to feel what was placed on his head. "What-?" He mumbled while coming to the realization that I placed antlers on him.

“You look so cute as a reindeer.” I laugh out. “I’m so glad I bought those.” He blushed a little in embarrassment as he brought his hand back down to his side but kept the headband on.

"I do not look cute." He mumbled in an attempt to argue. I cross my arms, huffing playfully. “And how would you know that if you haven’t looked at yourself.”

Alastor paused before sighing, realizing that I was right. "I don't have to look to know that these antlers look ridiculous on me." I walk closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Well I think you look great and your wife is always right.” I give him a large grin.

He rolled his eyes with a smile as he wrapped his arms around my waist. "You’re lucky I love you. These would be long gone if I didn’t." He then kisses me for a moment. “Why a reindeer headband? I’m curious.”

My eyes light up at the question, hoping he’d ask. “You always call me dear so now you're my dear. Get it?” I laugh slightly once more. “I also just love deers and reindeers are the festive version of them.”

Alastor stared at me for a moment before laughing a little at the pun. "I can't even say I'm surprised that was your reason." He chuckled before giving me a small smile.

"Well, I'll be your dear if that's what you want" He said in a humorous tone. My smile grows at his words as I pull him in for another kiss. His arms pull me a little closer as he kisses me back for a moment.

We soon part, and he pulls away with a warm smile on his face. "I love you, my dear." Alastor chuckled as he looked down at me. “I love you too Alastor.”

"Even when I look like a deer?" He laughs as I begin to laugh along with him. “Even when you look like a deer. A very cute deer.” Even though he rolled his eyes at the last part he couldn't hide the growing smile on his lips.

[voxslays]

I was just watching a movie of Titanic just a moment ago and I just thought about something I don’t know if it’s juicy or crazy but what if reader died on the die titanic before meeting vox or alasotor in hell or meet them when they were alive and reader was a ghost as I’m like talking about this. I keep thinking about how crazy this will go 🤯

Also have a good day/night :>

A/N: Sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this request lol- Also merry Christmas Eve to those who celebrate!! <3 🎄

HAZBIN WITH TITANIC READER

ALASTOR

You died right before his time period. Hell, he was in his prime only a decade after you died. He was probably alive when you died, although he was young. Like a young teenager or child.

He would teach you about the wonderful invention of radio, and some trivial events, like the Great Depression. He cant stop talking about it for some reason lol.

Would definitely show a little interest in what you experienced the night the ship sank. Alastor would find a lot of amusement and entertainment in how you describe the other fallen passengers the night of their untimely demise(s).

The two of you would definitely bond over the similar time periods you share.

VOX

Vox was probably born in the early twenties, dying somewhere within the mid to late fifties. So at first, he probably writes you off as just another ‘old-timey prick.’

However, when you likely show interest in the invention of television and the modern technological era, he is more than happy to explain anything that confuses you.

Once you show interest in him, there is a good chance he will do the same. Like Alastor, he would be very interested in the lesser known details of the sinking, and how people reacted.

He would probably even make a historical talk show for you to talk about the sinking and what you were thinking that night.

Overall, he won’t show interest until you do, but will be very respectful and is always happy to listen.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

What's this? I can't hear you?! What are you saying?!

That's right- we at DoubleRedProductions have got another project coming your way before the end of the year.

I'm sorry? What did you say? Are @redvexillum and I burnt out yet?! I- I'm sorry?! WHAT WAS YOUR QUESTION?!

I can't seem to hear it over the sound of the New Year's fireworks!

[xo-arcie]

lost in a haze

Summary: Alastor isn't sure what to make of Lucifer. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor Word Count: 3k+ Warnings: m/m, gay pining in hell, masturbation, blowjob, handjob, fingering, spit as lube to start, unprotected bathroom sex, Lucifer is a fucking top let's be ffr Author's Note: Banner artwork credit! Rewrite and repost from my old blog. Enjoy!

The air was heavy in the steam filled bathroom, though Alastor no longer felt the heat from the shower that poured over him. His mind was taut with panting breaths as he held one hand flat to the marble that only the King of Hell would have tiled from floor to ceiling, while his other hand pumped the length of his cock, swollen and aching for release. 

It was a fruitless chase, but he continued still with a determination to mollify what had settled into the pit of his stomach since he first arrived, nestling behind the stitches that now lined across his abdomen and gnawing at his organs. 

This started when Alastor first woke up in an unrecognizable room, pristine with the softest black satin sheets. It was the knock at the door that pulled him awake, his bleary-eyed focus drawn to watch as Lucifer walked in without hesitation. It was unsettling how he was not wearing the narrowed expression sneered across his pale features, but in that moment seemed bright, almost apathetic as he looked Alastor over. 

That look festered an unease that began to mull beneath Alastor’s skin. 

Lucifer was holding a tray and watching as the Imp that trailed his steps scurried to place a pillow across Alastor’s lap. “Your breakfast,” he nearly chirped, moving to place the tray to balance. “I wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for, so I went with a classic eggs benedict, adding some potatoes and sausage patties.” 

It was surreal. Alastor could feel the warmth seeping through onto his lap, pleasant and partnered with the savory smells of the prepared meal. His hunger rumbled with a ferocity that throbbed through his sutures and he tipped his chin to see how they ran diagonal from his chest to his hip. 

“What happened?” His voice cracked with the question.

Alastor vaguely remembered his staggered steps back towards the broken radio tower. His wheezing rattled throughout as he struggled to regain his breath and the overwhelming smell of iron, red and thick, spilling as he moved; he fumbled for whatever supplies he could find to try and staunch the bleeding.  

And then…nothing, but this is where Lucifer filled in. 

He detailed how he followed a trail of blood that led to Alastor, finding him closer to second death than life. Lucifer’s version ended with the heroic return back to his home where he could carefully tend to Alastor. 

Alastor could only stare, allowing the silence to settle over as he processed these words. Before this, he recalled the animosity that burned from the devil with their first meet up in the hotel lobby. The memory was almost comical with the sheepish display Lucifer was showing him now. 

It prickled his nerves, this unease now coursing hot through Alastor’s veins. 

“There was some concern at first,” Lucifer continued, either blissfully or blatantly unaware of the discomfort that was smeared across Alastor, “since your injuries were caused by an angelic weapon and all.” There was a shy smile that curled on the devil’s lips. “But you seem to be healing up nicely.” 

Alastor was wordless; only the low gurgle from his stomach punctuated his quiet. 

Lucifer blinked. “I’ll, uh, just leave you to eat then.” He dismissed the Imp and moved to follow, pausing, something twisting across his face. Alastor felt his breath caught in his throat but Lucifer said nothing and left him alone.

The unease remained behind with a slow curdle of emotions that began to braise beneath, rattling his bones as he recovered. It held a tensity that pulled at Alastor, both aimless and wanting, a persistent bedevilment that carried with him in the manor and flaring hotly with every awkward interaction he shared with devil day-after-day. 

And all the while, Lucifer seemed unaffected. 

While he healed, Alastor now found he had the idle time to study Lucifer, truly, thoroughly from every stitch seamlessly tailored to his lithe figure and trimmed waist to the almost mischievous smile that framed his sharp teeth. He had a stilting grace with his regality, a performative switch whenever he entered the room to check on Alastor, bringing his burning proximity that amplified whenever his gaze lingered too long on the demon. 

But Alastor could not help but stare, irrevocably drawn like a moth wanting to be consumed by the flames.

He struggled to digest these moments that peered through the cracks of this kingly persona, even more so whenever Lucifer looked him over with the slow draw of his eyes, his lips hinting but never committing to a smile. 

And he would just go, leaving Alastor with his consuming presence that would linger behind, thickening the air around him.

It was maddening and suffocating, and Alastor leapt at the opportunity for his first unsupervised, Imp-free shower, though now he was so waterlogged it seemed cool against him despite hell never being short on heat. He let out a wet sigh that echoed off the walls before shutting off the water and pressing his brow to the marble; he let out another hefty exhale as the unwelcomed weight returned to settle back into his core. 

Alastor now understood that his only escape from this emotion that plagued him would be to return to the hotel, to leave behind this accursed place and its smirking-fucking-owner. 

He stepped from the shower, trying to ignore the heavy sway between his slender thighs. Alastor took his time to dry off, eventually tucking his towel high around his waist, positioning his still flushed cock upright and against his stomach. 

Water droplets rolled down the mirror, but he avoided his reflection that cut through the streaks, astutely aware of the burning shame with his inability to control his own body. 

Damn him.

There was a knock at the door that pulled him out of his self-loathing and droplets fell as his ears flattened back. “What,” his tone cut, nearly seething. 

Of course it was fucking Lucifer–as he should come to expect by now. He pushed open the door wearing what he deemed casual: dark slacks and a white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a few buttons undone to hint his smooth, pale planes of his chest beneath. His blond hair was tousled back and his cheeks rosy as he looked Alastor over.

Alastor twisted his shame away, his current indecency blaring through his mind as he faced the countertop and bathroom mirror. “I didn’t say to come in,” he snapped, his palm wiping away to see Lucifer’s reflection watching him still.  

As always, Lucifer played ignorant of his apparent discomfort and did not acknowledge his rude intrusion, but simply said that breakfast was ready. 

“I’ll be out in a moment.” Alastor could feel his blood–hot and thick–coursing through him and rising to the surface. The guest bath felt cramped now and he wished to shove Lucifer back out the door, but instead he narrowed onto him in the fogged reflection. “I am almost done in here.”

The familiar silence returned thick, mixing into the steamy air that surrounded them and spilling through the propped door. Lucifer frowned and stepped fully into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, trapping the tension. 

Alastor’s ears perked, his eyes sharp to the scrutinous gaze from Lucifer as he hoped the remaining blush from his elongated shower masked how his blood simmered beneath his skin. 

“I said I’ll be done in a moment,” his tone clipped, his hostility clutched as tight as the towel wrapped around his slender waist. Alastor held onto it like a summoned guard against the devil himself. 

Lucifer was unfazed, as always, allowing another pregnant pause to feed the quiet before he finally spoke.

“Thank you.” 

Alastor blinked. “I didn’t saying anything–”

“Oh, I know,” Lucifer cut through, stepping closer behind him, his scrutinizing stare now piercing over Alastor’s shoulder in the mirror, “I was helping you find the actual words that you should be saying.”

Alastor frowned, his eyes narrowing back on the reflection, refusing to face him. “May I remind you that I never asked to be rescued.” 

“You would not have been able to,” he retorted, his tone spilling hot, “as you were barely responsive when I fucking found you.” 

It pushed Alastor to turn and face Lucifer, but whatever rebuttal he had caught in his throat once he realized how painfully close he now was to him. Lucifer pressed closer with the same tensity that bore through from his eyes, pinning Alastor, rooting him to the marble; fire danced in his gaze and the steam dissipating enriched the rosiness on his alabaster cheeks.  

Alastor felt the bathroom deflating around, the walls shrinking in. 

He refused to back down. “Whenever I decide that you do something that I consider worthwhile,” Alastor rasped, his pride forcing the words from the back of his throat, “I will then make sure to say thank you.” 

He could not help but test and prod to see if the demon of legend thrummed beneath his tailored fits, pushing for him to surface, to erupt and tear open his healing wound. It would be a sick sense of closure for Alastor, but instead Lucifer only arched his brow, his signature smirk curling on his lips as he stepped closer, his hand dropping to feel him intimately. 

His touch bolted the length of Alastor’s spine and he hunched over, wrenching away, choking on a gasp from the abrasive touch. Lucifer’s smile widened and he closed the space between them, his hand returning to relish the throbbing through the damp fabric against his palm. “Then allow me to do something worthwhile.” 

Alastor felt outside of his body as his towel puddled onto the floor. The edge of the countertop was cold, digging into his lower backside as he fell back to balance the weight of Lucifer’s hands pressing onto his thighs. His molten touch was commanding, and the tension churning aboiled as the devil sank to his knees to unfurl the trepidation that anchored Alastor as he saw the demon’s jaw unhinge to swallow him. 

He clenched his teeth, hissing from the salacious pace set by Lucifer’s forked tongue that pulled every cohesive thought from his head. He gasped when Lucifer pulled away only to lick his palm, wrapping his hand back around Alastor’s cock and stroking in tandem with his mouth. The devil sucked to savor, with a determination that pulled a low groan from the back of Alastor’s throat and another gasp that followed the low vibration of Lucifer’s pleased hum. 

There was not a moment for Alastor to catch his breath, the fellatio pulling him from his skin, upwards to an unknown peak and to a teasing teetering along the ledge of pleasure that coiled back down at the base of his spine. Lucifer’s tongue curled with lewd sounds that filled the small space, taunting Alastor, pulling and pushing him closer. 

It titillated through his nerve endings; he was close, so painfully close. 

As his cock throbbed with the promised release, it stopped suddenly, jarringly. Alastor opened his eyes, dazed, dilated, and a desperate search only to see the smug satisfaction playing on Lucifer’s face. 

Alastor clenched his teeth again, caging his desperation as he watched Lucifer pull himself upright, his lips swollen and glossy from his spit. His hands moved to Alastor’s narrow waist and gripped his hips, lifting him enough to sit on top of the counter. Lucifer then pushed apart his thighs, spitting on his palm again before his hand returned to set a languid pace, following up and down Alastor’s flushed cock.

Please, Alastor screamed in his head, and he swore his teeth would crack with his suppressed groan, his head falling back into the mirror with a dull thud. He closed his eyes, afraid to look and so easily unraveled, unaware that Lucifer suckled the fingers of his other hand before dropping lower, searching. Alastor shuddered from the tentative touch, the slow circle drawn around the rim that sparked a newer pleasure that licked up his spine. 

Lucifer was very aware, his tone coy. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck you,” but the venom always perched now stammered from Alastor’s lips. 

Lucifer only hummed with his sly smile and hooded eyes. He stepped closer, leaning to press against Alastor’s bare chest, his heat bleeding through the fabric. Lucifer tilted his head to bite the slope of Alastor’s neck and he could not stop how it shuddered through him. “Maybe later,” Lucifer murmured against his skin, and Alastor let out a strangled mewl as a finger curled within him. “But you first.” 

The intruding touch elicited a pleasure that bolted back down Alastor’s spine, causing his cock to jerk in his grasp. Lucifer watched him, his eyes darkening and his smile stretching across his sharp jaw. “I knew you would like this,” he purred. “Are you ready to thank me yet?” 

He was teasing again and the only response Alastor could make was a choking attempt to try and pull the words from his raw throat. He could not think at this moment, now with how his blood was roaring in his ears, not with how his heart was reverberating against his bones until they bruised black. 

Lucifer hummed against, relishing in the unsung reaction. “Not quite yet?” He grinned as he pressed another slick finger into his puckered hole. 

Alastor moaned loudly, writhing from his touch, and Lucifer quickened the pace of his hands, one curling and one tugging simultaneously. Alastor arched into the delicious pressure raring from the pit of his stomach, the long-sought release finally bursting bright with colors and pulsing hot onto his stomach. 

He felt boneless, almost folding in half when Lucifer pulled away; he only returned to his body with the sound of the sink, of drawers being rummaged through. Alastor blinked, forcing his eyes to see the devil’s slacks unbuttoned and a glossy sheen that covered the ridges and veins of his cock, heady and thick. 

Lucifer knitted his slender waist back between Alastor’s thighs and Alastor moved instinctually, his hips canting and moving closer to the edge to meet with him. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” Lucifer teased, his lubed fingers touching to line himself. 

Alastor stayed quiet, mouth watering and eyes avoiding, his jaw tight as he focused on the blunt prod. Even with the foreplay given that shattered and pieced him together again, it was still a tight fit. Lucifer was patient with gentle thrusts that filled him, sinking slowly, carefully, into him. Alastor felt his skin prickling with a cold sweat, a shuddered rasp pulling when Lucifer was finally sheathed completely within. 

Lucifer paused once he was flushed intimately against the cradle of Alastor’s hips and he watched a moment before his head tipped back to drag his tongue along the curve of his neck, his teeth nipping at his fluttering pulse. Alastor clenched, the small sounds escaping summoning the demon with a bruising hold on his hips and slow, powerful thrusts that sent hot bolts bursting his seams. 

Alastor felt his soul pulling away. His mouth fell open with muted cries as Lucifer pounded mercilessly into him. 

“Let me hear you,” Lucifer pulled him upright, closer, his claws dragging down Alastor’s back to mark him. 

Alastor shuddered and reached to grab him, his fingertips biting into Lucifer’s sharp jaw to bring his lips to finally touch his own. It was a desperate kiss searing and he felt Lucifer smiling into it before biting down. Alastor groaned from the taste of iron and again when Lucifer dropped his mouth to bite into his chest. 

It stirred something deep, something primal that filled him once again and fracturing throughout Alastor.  

“Give me one more.” Lucifer captured his mouth, rasping against his lips. It was not a request and Alastor felt his cock jerk. “Touch yourself.”  

There was another bite at his pulse that was pushing against his skin and Alastor arched against Lucifer, his heart still bruising to the surface. Lucifer’s mouth trailed upwards with heated, wet kisses, and Alastor moved his hand between them, pushing him backwards so his hand could wrap around his hardening cock.

Lucifer’s smirk returned, his focus returned on his powerful thrusts that filled Alastor, coaxing another thundery groan from him. Alastor's hand fell in rhythm around his cock, building fast with the pace of the devil, and he swelled, breathless and brimming. There was a faraway command that pulled his second release that left Alastor smitten, the euphoric coil shattering throughout. 

For the second time, Alastor could feel the slow return back into his skin, slowly blinking to focus on Lucifer and his salacious grin. The mess they made began to spill and Alastor burned with embarrassment, pressing his hands on the firm chest peeking beneath the white shirt, pushing Lucifer until he slipped out from him. 

Alastor was a deflated husk, unable to summon the strength to cover himself, his eyes flickering to steal a quick glance at the heady gaze Lucifer held on him.

“Fuck breakfast,” he said, his fingers moving to unbutton his shirt and peel it off. “I think I’m going to take a shower.” He seemed roguish, his satisfaction brimming on obnoxious. He arched his brow at Alastor. “Care to join me?”

Alastor was still splayed on the counter, life drained and filthy anew. For a moment he contemplated just leaving, to retreat back into the room prepared, to pack and hideaway at the hotel, but his hesitation only caused the spend to spill more. 

So instead, Alastor said yes.  

“Yes what?” 

The devil returned to his teasing tone and this time it pulled something prurient from Alastor, something he knew he would no longer try to control. “Yes,” and a moment passed before he decided to play along, “and thank you.” 

It was quiet, but it was enough. Lucifer beamed, finishing stripping away his layers and moving back towards the shower. “You coming?” He paused to look over his shoulder, watching with hooded eyes until Alastor finally pulled himself up to follow. 

Alastor moved until he could reach and cup Lucifer’s chin, holding his gaze on the sharp grin that spread across his jaw. “After all, it’s my turn now.”

arcie's navigation || misc. fandom masterlist

[purgatory-palace]

Chapter 1 Chapter Art

MERRY CHRISTMAS ALL! For a fun lil Christmas treat, have a post dedicated to the pieces Billy and I did for this chapter!

If you’d like to read and understand the context of all these pieces, check out Chapter 1 here!

[hooffuloftootsierolls]

Oh you stupid, stupid fatherless motherless little man, you...

Go read The Celestial by @cubanellefatalii NOWWWW

The newest chapter broke me into a bunch of tiny little pieces and I am so hyped to see where it goes

Low-quality doodle(Idk what Comet's attire looks like at this part of the story lol)

[marmarjuni]

GIFT ART FOR MY FICCCCC AUGHHH

[redvexillum]

HELLOOOOO, MY AMAZING READERS!

So… @redfoxwritesstuff and I did a thing. Again. Because clearly, we have no chill. We joined another event!

Why?

BECAUSE WE’RE UNHINGED, THAT’S WHY.

When I joined Smutmas, did I learn my lesson from the chaos of Vexitober?

Absolutely not.

I... regret nothing.

...

This is totally going to be a short, fluffy one-shot.

SHORT. FLUFFY. ONE-SHOT.

It’s gonna be short. It’s gonna be short. IT’S GONNA BE SHORT—please, for the love of all that’s holy, let it be short.

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor's antlers are embarrassingly, pathetically, unbearably sensitive.

He can't for the life of him figure out why—it's not like any of the other transfigured creatures wandering around the underworld were made this way. Most other animal-like sinners don't seem to care about or even acknowledge their characteristics.

Yet here he is, purposefully hiding them away just so that no one will discover his terrible weakness. Oh, what he would give to be like the others if only to ignore their incessantly uncomfortable presence on his head.

Perhaps it was a curse from heaven that made him this way, or karma that he was repaying from his life. Either way, he can't stand being touched.

At least, that's what he thought.

There's no malicious intent behind your hands, no glint in your eye that makes the primal instincts in his head scream at him to melt into the shadows. You're as gentle as can be, fingers running delicately along the intricacies of his antlers and stopping just at the ends of them.

"They're beautiful," you whisper with your eyes blown wide. Your shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath, probably from the adrenaline of standing so close to an Overlord like this. And Alastor, no less.

Your reliable hotelier. Your first real friend in the hotel. The one whose smile cannot be trusted.

But for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that he's looking at you with pure, genuine appreciation even if his smile is a little wonky.

"Why, thank you, darling!"

He jerks away from you quick as the wind, standing tall once again and towering over you. His expression has morphed into something more strained—you can tell by the way his face creases up as his eyes narrow.

He was the one who decided to invade your personal space while the two of you were arguing. He just didn't think that you would be so bold as to get distracted by his antlers and have the gall to reach out to touch them.

The worst part? The absolute worst part of it all is that no one in all the time he's been in Hell has been gentle with him like that.

Add that to the list of things he despises. Or likes. You're confusing him now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You have some nerve, he thinks.

Your hands have found a new home resting atop his head, with your fingers combing through his hair and tracing up and down the curve of his antlers.

It becomes a nightly routine—him on the barstool or sitting in front of the piano and you standing behind him with your fingers tangled in his hair and your chin on his head, perched right between the horns. Others in the hotel have started to raise a brow, but you don't seem to care.

So when you finally decide to break routine, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him, his eye twitches.

There isn't even an audience tonight, everyone else already tucked into bed save for Husk behind the bar who's too busy with a bottle to care. The silence between you is heavy as lead.

"Is something the matter?" Alastor finally abruptly asks, eyes narrowed at you from the side. You shift uncomfortably.

"Why would something be the matter?"

He's not in the mood for games right now. "This is the first time you've sat away from me in months," he observes.

You look at him, surprised by his hostility over this. "Well, Lucifer told me that you don't like—"

"Lucifer," he interrupts, head now whipping to the side so he can fully glare at you. "Knows nothing."

You blink at him, stunned. With the way he's acting, he almost seems... annoyed that you've decided to stop being so handsy?

Silence overcomes you again as you just stare at each other, completely at a loss of words. Alastor finally realizes his snappiness and composes himself once more, exhaling through his teeth.

His smile softens at you, missing its usual edge. You know him like this the best—head in your lap and antlers exposed. It's familiar to you in a way that it could never be to anyone else. At least, you hope that's true.

"He knows nothing," the radio demon says one more time for good measure, eyes drifting shut under the weight of your hands.

Alastor has never liked to be touched before. But maybe there is a first time for everything, and maybe the safety of your touch brings him enough ease that you're the first he admits he can tolerate.

His smile says it all. He's content like this, even if he would deny it with his chest if you ever told anyone else.

"Okay," you breathe. "I believe you."

[notherpuppet]

I wrote a fanfiction about Vaggie’s Fall 🎀🪽⚔️

Click here to read it 💘

[ranma0]

Notes from a concerned medical professional who reads too much hurt/comfort:

(These are all things I've seen in Hazbin/Helluva fanfics)

(Tw: for injury, illness, gore, drug use, overdose, a lot of other things)

You cannot drug someone to sleep by overdosing them on melatonin. It will not work

Don't submerge an open wound or stitches in a bathtub/pool/etc it will introduce bacteria to the wound (taking a shower is usually fine, just skip the romantic bath)

On that note, stitches do not immediately stop a wound from bleeding and should not be used to solve every problem (never give yourself stitches unless you have absolutely no other choice they can trap infection inside the body when done incorrectly)

And, if the wound is extremely deep, a person may need several layers of stitches to piece together the skin, muscle, and viscera

You absolutely cannot get high on tylenol or ibuprofen even if you mix it with alcohol.

If you do mix tylenol or ibuprofen with alcohol it can cause internal bleeding/kidney damage/liver failure, so please don't do that

If someone is shivering from a high fever, don't cover them in blankets it will raise their body temperature even more (please try correctly dosed tylenol or ibuprofen for this)

Don't submerge someone with a high fever in ice water, they might go into shock (they also might panic and hurt themselves) in a pinch lukewarm water will do

Don't put ice on burns, run them under lukewarm or cool water instead

If someone overdoses on an opoid (heroin, morphine, various pain medications), there is a medicine called nalaxone (Narcan) that can reverse the effects of opioids (edit: thank you to @queerlybehooved)

If someone is bleeding profusely, don't just hold their head and whisper sweet nothings, put pressure on the wound!!!

If a bullet remains in a person’s body after being shot it most likely should not be dug out unless it's blocking something vital, the bullet is not the problem the damage it made in it's path is

This isn't a criticism of authors who have written things like this. A lot of it isn't common knowledge, and DIY healthcare is absolutely steeped in myth and misinformation. I just worry about disinformation being perpetuated (and I really enjoy accurate hurt/comfort)

If I got anything wrong, please let me know, and I'll edit the post. I'm far from perfect and appreciate good advice

Let me know if you guys want a fic rec list of my favorite Hazbin Hotel whump fics

[voxslays]

📺 I kissed a TV, and i liked it 🎶

~The taste of burning wires, overheating~

Ignore it

Merry Christmas

SO REAL- My obsession with Vox is getting out of hand y’all.

Merry Christmas Hazbin (and x reader) community!

[alastor-simp]

Alastor x Reader - Sleeping On His Lap

Here is my attempt at a Alastor x reader fanfiction. Took me awhile to kinda get into his character so please don't be mad if Alastor seems a bit off. Enjoy!

Sigh, it was another eventful day at the Happy Hotel, or Hazbin Hotel as it was now called as a certain deer demon decided to change the name. You had spent all day doing certain tasks around the hotel such as helping Charlie create posters for the hotel, clean the rooms with Nifty, break up the brawl between Vaggie and Angel Dust as he had pissed her off one too many times and organize the bar for Husk as he was passed out drunk. You could have refused to do these things, but you enjoyed helping people, so it made it all worth it.

You had started working at the hotel after you had saw Charlie singing on the 666 news about the hotel and redeeming demons, only for her idea to be made a laughing stock upon everyone who watched the broadcast. You actually had mixed feelings about the whole redeeming thing, seeing as you weren't sure if someone like you could be sent to heaven, despite not being a very big criminal during your time when you were alive, but apparently doing a little shoplifting is enough to send you a one way ticket to hell. Charlie's words did inspire you a little bit, so even if you felt that you couldn't be redeemed, others probably had a better chance, so you decided to head to the hotel and ask for a job after the broadcast was cut off from the brawl with Charlie and Katie Killjoy. You were hired in a split second and immediately pulled into a bear hug by Charlie, and then introduced you to the others.

Back to the present, you began to feel extremely exhausted from moving around everywhere, so you headed over to one of the rooms with the long couches so you could take a rest. Heading into one of the rooms, you peeped around and saw that no one was there, which made it better as you really needed some peace and quiet. Heaving a deep sigh, you sat down on the couch, turning and falling back, as you laid your body down, with your head facing the front of the couch. "What a long day", thinking to yourself as your eyes slowly began to close and you were lulled into a deep sleep.

**2 Hours Later**

As you were sleeping, you felt the sensation of someone petting your head, the soothing feeling had awoken you a bit, but you quickly fell back asleep at the warm touch. You could feel that you were holding something in your dreams, and you assumed it was one of the pillows on the couch, so you brought it closer to your face and nuzzled it. "Mm, smells nice ", as the scent from the pillow was making you more relaxed, as it reminded you of a being in the middle of a deep forest. After sleeping for 30 more minutes, you slowly began to open your eyes, and try to make out what was in front of you. Expecting to see a pillow, you saw red stripes in front of you, "Huh?" As you were still trying to make out what was in front of you, a loud voice interrupted your thoughts: "Ah, awake now are we?", said a static voice above you. Eyes opening wide, you looked up from your position and saw Alastor staring down at you with his trademark smile. Slowly, you began to piece together that you were laying on his lap, and nuzzled into his chest as you were sleeping. "AHHHH", jumping up from your position, you rolled off his lap, and your body fell to the ground as you stared at Alastor in shock, as he continued to look at you with his glowing eyes, amused at your reaction. "Um, h-how long was I sleeping on your lap?", you softly asked, as your face was red, but your eyes were showing fear, as you remembered that Alastor did not like to be touch, and you happened to hug him in your sleep. "HAHA, For quite a while, darling. It was a very busy day, I assume?", Alastor said as he placed his arm on the armrest of the couch, and his hand against his cheek, smiling even wider.

Nodding your head, you slowly got up from your position, and started apologizing to Alastor, eyes aiming towards the ground and fingers twiddling together. Alastor raised an eyebrow and wondered why you were apologizing, to which you answered that you had hugged him in your sleep, and that he made it very aware that he did not enjoy physical contact from someone unless he initiated it, feeling extremely bad if you made him uncomfortable. Listening to you, Alastor's smile relaxed to a small grin as he looked at you with gentle eyes. He did admit that he was not use to being touch by others, and was quite surprised from the sleep hug, but he didn't detest it as much coming from you, which boggled his mind completely. It must be due to your kind and innocent nature that made him react different around you, as he was used to more of the common riff raff being terrified of him or trying to battle in a turf war, but how you were with him, made his black heart melt.

Feeling that Alastor was upset as he didn't respond to your apology, you quickly excused yourself and began to head over to the door to leave. A loud SNAP was heard and before you knew it, you had been teleported back on to the couch, this time being seated on Alastors lap. "A-Al, what are you doing?!", your face began to become as red as his hair, while your eyes stared at Alastor in shock. Smiling at you, Alastor moved his hand to your chin and tilted your face up: "There is no need to apologize, darling. If I had been upset about you hugging me, you possibly w̩͉͍̱̍̂̉̊o̫̼̐̎̋͜u͚͌l̳̓d̠͉̗͋̔͞'̼̳̣̼͊̏̾̾t͜͝ ͕̱͐͠ḇ̅e̙͗ ͍͓͔̱͍͛̔͌͘͞a̝̜̘̎́͒ḽ͒í̱̙̈́v̧̌e̠͠ ̢̹̜́́̈̀ͅr̲͇̳̅̽͌i̩͈̒̅ĝ̲̦̎ẖ̛̳̲͙̀͌̽͘ͅt͉̅ ͖̞͍̞́̋͛͛ň͚̫̦́͂̿͟o̱͌w̡̕" he said, as his eyes flashed for a second into radio dials. "However! I am not opposed to be touched by you. So no need to apologize, my dear.", Alastor said as he continued to smile at you widely, but his glowing eyes were looking at you softly, letting you know that he was not angry with you. Feeling shy, you turned your head away from Alastor, muttering a soft okay, as your heart was beating rapidly. "Smile my dear!" Alastor said as he moved his hand from your chin to your cheek, to have you look at him again. Baring through the embarrassing situation, you gave Al a small smile, which pleased him. "You always over do it, darling. While Charlie and I appreciate your efforts at helping the hotel, it does no good to work yourself to the point of fatigue. If you are ever feeling exhausted and need a break, don't be hesitant to come find me, as my radio tower is open to you. Understand, my dear?" said Alastor, as he leaned closer towards you, making you flustered again.

Nodding your head was enough to let Alastor knew you understood as he chuckled, while sliding you off his lap, and as he stood up from the couch. "Now then, we should probably head back to the lobby before the others get worried about our lack of presence.", He said, as he straighten his coat out, while turning towards you, extending his hand out for you to take it. "Yeah we should", as you grabbed his hand, and made your way with him back to the lobby. You were still trying to process what just happened between you and Alastor, but you feel like you both have become much closer then before, and you didn't mind it one bit.