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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

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Wrapped Around Your Finger (part 2)

He couldn’t stay away, and you didn’t mind the arrangement. But it was a little exhausting how much he pushed and pulled whenever he needed a little reminder of his own weaknesses.

I don’t even know man lol

「Warnings/Promises: 🗣️ EATING OUT THE DEER MAN, fucking him with a dildo, Gender Neutral Reader x Alastor smut, hate fucking??, humiliation I guess idk he loves it that little slut, kinda dubcon, mentions of blood, scratching, kinda degradation kink, cumming on his own face lmao, choking but his heart isn’t in it :(, kinda angsty?, Lighthouse are not beacons to home but warnings you’re near danger people always seem to forget that 」

Minors…………. Minors

hey

Dont interact like these characters it’s not cool or attractive in real life

“I hate you.” Cried into a pillow between pleasured sobs.

“I know.” You replied softy, barely reaching Alastor’s ears from under the thick cushion he was gripping against his face. Even if the sound had made it firmly, it would have to get past the overwhelming drone of his own blood rushing through his body and humming in his ears.

Angel had been so kind to suggest to you some toys when you asked for advice on buying the right things. Nothing too big, but something that would leave a burning stretch even after it was taken back. Something for a beginner whose eyes were bigger than their stomach, so to speak. You hadn’t told him why you needed them, which was for the best. Humiliating Alastor was more satisfying in your bed than in front of others.

Your hand slowed it’s push and pull, distracted as your eyes fell to the heaving, fluffy chest of your indignant and infrequent lover. “You’re vile. A curse.” He said it much clearer now as he dropped the pillow.

What an odd creature he was. A deer and a man and a demon. Both impractically weak in spirit yet remarkably powerful in brute strength. Clever yet unwise. Handsome and unkempt.

His hips rutting back onto the glass dildo brought your eyes to his. Shining and wet as they peeked over the pillow.

A fierce look betrayed by a knit brows that told you he was almost worried you were done.

Every time you took his control from him he seemed to melt further into your hands than the last time.

Inversely, the time between visits was shortening. You didn’t mind it, but the spontaneity of his need was getting a little tiresome. He’d push you and you’d push back, you’d strip him bear and spread him open, and then he’d disappear in a huff.

Though…. As his eyes rolled back in his skull you felt a tremor run down your spine. It wasn’t embarrassing him with his own base wants that was so enjoyable. Putting him in his place was great but no, that wasn’t entirely the main attraction.

The duality of man had always been of interest to you. Watching him pester and tease others was made so much more tolerable knowing he’d soon be crying for you to unravel him. Knowing how he shook and whimpered for you when no one else was around to hear it. Another shiver, such a powerful demon twitching in your fist.

Since the first time you entered him you hadn’t been bothered with him fucking you. Which is what it was; fucking. Seraphim could appreciate pleasure but, well, it wasn’t much to a being who’d witnessed the creation of time. A lovely perk of existence, to be clear. But the high you could gather and ride from watching that cocky and oversure overlord wither under you was unmatched.

You didn’t need him to touch you. You needed him to need you. Charlie was quite capable all on her own of reforming sinners, so you’d found yourself quite…aimless in hell. But when Alastor glared at you from across the room, cheeks an equally beaming red as his eyes, you felt a little more real. An angry lighthouse whose rocky shores you were happily sailing directly onto. A hopeful shipwreck. Stranded on his little island of self loathing and pride.

Alastor hated how little you spoke to him. Everywhere, not just when he was on his back or his knees. When your attention was fully on him he felt his skin burning with that golden light of your soul. Finally, the fires of hell had found him.

An inferno cleansing him of his regrets and memories. How much more could he accomplish when the baggage of his human life was turned to ash?

Making you whine under him had proven fruitless. The blood was sweet but the wounds he left down your body healed too quickly for him to ever get his fill. Even then, you barely flinched. Though he did find the way you clawed at his flesh to stifle your moans was exhilirating. Never in life had he harmed someone good by any measure. But you weren’t good. You were, at best, complacent to Heaven’s cruelty. No matter how perfect your movements as you glided around the halls of the hotel, or how sweetly your voice formed every syllable of every stupid little thing you said to others, you were pure but not good.

The sweetness of your voice was very rarely there for him in private. Saccharine tones crackled like gravel under his heels. Something just for him, a side of you that no one else had seen. A side you always turned on him when he acted up.

He had been quite content to just annoy before your arrival. Then he was cruel to others, but that made you angry in a way that threatened to make you shut him out.

So now he just haranged you and made underhanded comments that irked you. And then, when he was sure you were alone, he’d corner you and say something particularly sharp into your ear, hands gripping at whatever part of him he could get to first.

And you’d push him down, and he’d fight knowing fully well it was pointless against your particular skills, and he’d ripped the carpets and the sheets as he scrambled from your touch….but never too far. Always making sure your long fingers could still reach him. A game. One where he was, for once, the prey. The hunted on purpose, not at the decision of anyone else but himself.

How terribly he just wanted you to break him apart, fill him with your light and form him back again around you. Remake him in your image.

The few people in hell who offered him a challenge were people he genuinely couldn’t stand being bested by. But for some reason, when your eyes lit up and your aura shattered all of his minions and appendages, it was satisfying. Finally.

And when your hands ran down his stomach and kept going, he found his body responding eagerly. His mind got so quiet. His worries about power were taken from him with gentle fingers. He couldn’t best you, so why not relax? No way he could win so he just lied back and let go.

In the silence and darkness of the headspace you offered him he found pleasure. He was small in your grasp. Not physically, of course. He could transform to stories above you. No, he was small in other ways.

He worried endlessly how long he could keep you willing to play with him. Anger was exhausting, and he only ever seemed to need your wrath and control to get off properly.

A worry you saw on his face before you began to move the toy in and out again quickly. Three large bumps that made every single thrust feel like three. A toy Alastor hated the sight of but loved the sensation of.

He’d grown hard in your hand, dripping and twitching into you. A painful looking red as blood was rushing to his cock. It was so pretty on him. A color that suited Alastor. You gave him a squeeze, toy sunk to the hilt. You then gave it a shake, knocking against his spot with one of those bumps. A pained cry tore through the room before he returned the pillow to his face.

You smiled, he was concerned someone would hear him. Would anyone even recognize it was him, given how no one in hell had ever heard such a sound come from Alastor?

“You’ve been less venomous today, Alastor. Haven’t called me a whore or trash a single time.” The toy pulled out so cleanly, his taut hole slipping over the clear glass effortlessly. Well, not effortlessly. The loud moans with every pull made sure you knew he could still feel everything perfectly fine.

“Fuck you.”

You hummed, squeezing again before leaving his cock entirely to hold up his thigh. Pushing his left leg up for stability, to began a much harsher pace with your toy. Stare fixated on the pillow, you wondered if you could make it combust with just the intense desire to see his expression in that moment.

“Slower!” The word got louder as his head craned backward and partially escaped from under the soft shield he was gripping so tightly. When you didn’t reply or slow down Alastor tried to turn onto his side.

Your hand on his leg gripped the meat of his inner thigh and pulled him back down onto his back. Another whine, “It’s too fast.”

“Hmm, you didn’t listen to me earlier why should I listen now?”

He tried to sneer but you forced the dildo in deep, hilt flush and pressing into his skin with force. A moan so sweet and high you felt like you were watching a choir of one. Alastor hadn’t listened earlier when you told him he’d hurt Husker. He called him a gambling addicted kitty cat in front of the others, embarrassing him in front of Angel Dust. You told him he should apologize for it. He laughed and asked why he’d say sorry to a possession.

And your ever present smile, the soft and sweet side of his sharp and wicked one, stayed sure as you logged the comment away.

Now the words were in your muscles as you barely withdrew the toy before thrusting it back in harshly.

“He’s pathetic, and I own him. I can say and do what I want.” He fell back into the bed with a tremble down his chest.

Your little chuckle brought his eyes to yours. The golden light they always shone on to him in the dim light of your room reminded him of summer days at noon. Everything went dark around you as he stared back, damaging his vision as he was blinded by your power.

“Being unkind is not necessary, Alastor. I was just thinking the same about you, though.” You slid your hand down the back of his thigh to his ass and held him there.

“You don’t own me.”

Could you though? Was that an option?

“No?” Your smile glistened as he felt your hand go furhter down the curve of his cheeks, now onto his lower back, “Is this not mine?” Leaving the toy buried in him, your pointer finger dragged down his leaking cock head and shaft. “You hump into my hand so often I assumed you were giving it to me.”

With both hands under him and on his back, you lifted his hips off the bed and folded him in half. His lower body held up with your chest as you knelt against him, his hips nearly over his face as his body made a C shape. Your left hand pulled the dildo out entirely by the heart shaped handle, causing Alastor’s hands to fly to the pillow, teeth ripping into it.

“The lord’s voice makes the deer calve,” Your head lowered, tongue dragging over his used and puffy hole. A strident groan, bits of feather peaking out of the torn fabric of the pillowcase. He was bent deeper in half as you reached over and grabbed the pillow from his grasp. Tearing completely, it rained white feathers down onto the crumpled man. They stuck to the sweat slicked skin of his neck and forehead, but you couldn’t appreciate him for long as you lost sight of him from the angle. Your mouth returned to his twitching entrance, prodding roughly.

His hands scrambled for something to grab ahold of, finding the blanket and digging claws deep enough to cut into the mattress itself.

“And strips the forests bare.” Your left hand hand began to pump quickly and evenly on his member, already weeping and dropping precum onto his chest.

The realization of what this position would do hit Alastor so quickly that he pulled a muscle in his back when he tried to sit up. Your free hand found one of his and settled over it, shushing him. His vision was just his own cock over him and your light filled expression from between his thighs.

“In his temple everything says, ‘Glory.’”

Returning your focus and tongue to him, you pressed in repeatedly. No resistance, your muscle much smaller than the widest point of the glass toy you’d been using.

“Don’t-”, his hand was trembling under yours, words ground out as he clenched his teeth.

Your tongue flattened and lapped salaciously between his cheeks, the unpleasant taste of lube disappearing as you licked him clean. Following up, you sucked one then both of his rising balls into your mouth.

“Ffuuu-”, a silent scream as his body tensed. You felt the strong twitches rock your hand before he came. Just as he feared and you had intended, his thick seed fell onto his chest and chin.

Lazily you licked up and to his swollen slit, sucking it clean as you lowered his body. As soon as he was down, both physically and physiologically, he pounced forward and knocked you back onto the bed.

One hand on your neck, one wiping the cum off his face with the back of his hand, “You know I hate touching-,”

You smiled, “I do.”

His other hand came to your throat, but no pressure. He looked down at you, and you up at him. Grin manic, his shadow appendages whipped from his back and pinned your limbs down. But as they tightened and twisted around you, his hands stayed docile.

“Should I not do that again?” Your face roamed his, his flash of anger only skin deep. A show, an act to keep up appearances for…well, no one.

That smirk wilted on his face.

You tested the strength of his tentacles on your arm but found he was genuinely restraining you, “If you don’t want me to do that again, just say so. I won’t.”

Alastor searched his mind for something, anything. But once again, like every time you spoke to him with an even and clear tone, he found nothing in his head at all. A flash of your eyes between his legs, the sensation of your tongue in places he hadn’t ever considered was all that seemed to answer him.

Your own smile widened, where the darkness of his power touched your skin a yellow light erupted. The shadows dissolved. Just a man holding you at the neck now.

“You still can’t say what you want. It’s just us here. Are you truly so prideful? Even now, covered in your own seed?”

A testing squeeze to your neck.

“Ah, I see. Back to playing Mr. Radio Demon. Well, if thats all then.” Too easily you sat up, knocking him off of you.

A flourish of darkness, a pop of static and he sank away and out of your bed. Your eyes wandered over to his clothes on your floor.

Clever but unwise.

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 1 year ago

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The Lookalike (Part 8)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself.

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, Alastor X reader, explicit content, tentacle sex, bottom!Alastor, reference to drugs, reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 9 Epilogue

Ever since Niffty had mistaken an expensive cock ring for an insect and attempted to kill it, the duty of cleaning Angel Dust’s room had been solely yours. You traipsed down to his wing of the hotel, pushing the cleaning and laundry hamper in front of you, and after a cursory listen and knock on the door, you went in.

You’d worked a few different jobs in your mortal life, and more than a few of them had been janitorial. You knew the drill; stripping and changing out the bedding, emptying the bins and cleaning any surface that looked soiled. Angel’s pet pig Fat Nuggets followed you from point to point, and you stopped sporadically to bend down and scratch the critter behind the ears.

When Angel Dust returned, you were scrubbing the floor of the shower, thinking of a time you’d butchered a kill in a similar space; the tray not wide enough to properly lay out the body horizontally. People such as yourself were, out of necessity, not squeamish. It had been hard to get the blood out of the grouting, and whatever Angel had left in the shower was giving you similar grief.

“Hey, Stunt Double! Ya in there?” called Angel as he walked in, dumping his bag on the bed.

You backed out of the bathroom, cleaning tools still in hand, and smiled at him. “Hello, Angel.”

“So it is you cleaning this place.” Angel tilted his head as Fat Nuggets emerged from the bathroom behind you to greet him, and he picked up the pig in his arms. “I was wonderin’ who was puttin’ all my butt plugs in size order.”

“I could do them by color, if you prefer,” you offered, pulling another bottle of cleaning fluid from the trolley, and Angel laughed.

“Neah, size is fine.” He flopped back onto his bed, arms splayed. “Man, I am beat.”

“Should I come back later?” you asked, but Angel just shook his head.

“Just do what you gotta,” he said. “It’s what they pay ya for.”

You gave a noise of surprise. “You have money in Hell?”

Angel lifted his head. “You’ve been here how long and don’t know that?”

You shrugged, heading back into the bathroom with more bleach. “People usually just give me things.”

“What happens when no-one wants to give you what you want?”

You took a couple steps backward into Angel’s room again. “Give me your phone for half an hour.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” you said, reaching into your pocket. “If you do, I’ll give you this baggie of mysterious white power I found in your room last week before Charlie searched it.” You dangled the drugs in front of Angel with a flourish. You had found them inside the cistern whilst fixing the toilet.

Angel leaned forwards, still squinting. “Those were my drugs.”

“They were,” you said, tilting your head. “And they could be again, for the low, low price of let me search the internet for half an hour.”

“Jeez, fine-” Angel dug in his corset for his phone and flung it at you. “There. Now, gimme.”

You caught the phone with a grin, tossing the drugs into Angel’s lap. “Pleasure doing business,” you said, taking a seat on the corner of Angel’s bed as you unlocked his phone. Alastor had specified you should work, but not how hard.

Angel looked between you, Fat Nuggets, and the drugs, quickly coming to the decision that you were the most interesting of the three. Pivoting with one leg, he rotated so that his head was level with your hip, and looked up at you. “Whatcha searchin’?”

“Overlords,” you said, and when Angel frowned, you added. “Alastor is sending me to some sort of get together and I don’t know what any of them look like.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so?” Angel reached out to take his phone back, and you handed it over. “I have most of ‘em on sinstagram, ‘cept for Smiles of course. Here.”

You looked over Angel’s head as he swiped through a photo reel, mostly candid shots of the overlords at parties, pointing out both the overlords themselves and any major lackeys. It was information with much greater worth than a few grams of toilet cocaine, and Angel was more than happy to talk as you pressed him on details.

“There’s this rumor that Carmilla and Zestial are an item but I don’t buy it. Friends, sure, but old Zee’s a queen if I ever saw one, and Carmine’s not the type ta keep that kinda thing a secret.”

Angel scrolled to the next picture. “And of course I don’t need ta tell you about the television guy,” he said. “Hey, you want some of this coke?”

You laughed, a small shake of your head. “Thanks though. I’ve got everything I want now.”

“You’ve got everything you want?” Angel rolled over, his expression suddenly sultry as he propped his chin up on his hands. “You sure about that, Stunt Double?”

You nodded. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe.”

Angel deflated. “Smiles must be some lay, huh.”

You grinned. “I’m not answering that.”

In truth, that morning, Alastor had given you what you really wanted. A target.

The sinner that Alastor had named was one of the new overlords who had risen in the power vacuum following the previous extermination, having previously been a minor gang boss in Zeezi’s territory. He was a horse demon, and at least if Alastor was being truthful, guilty of just about every cruelty one could imagine. Including, Alastor had stressed with particular emphasis, disrespect.

His name was Kennedy, also known as the Smoker Demon, and aside from a few grainy sinstagram snaps Angel had shown you, you had little other information to go on. But when you took Alastor’s place at the next overlord’s meeting, you would see him with your own two eyes.

Alastor had agreed that you should have a weapon to hand when you appeared in his place, and on the day of the overlord meeting he presented you with an elegant red-tipped black cane.

“It’s no microphone,” he said, a little cryptically- you had never seen him use a microphone save for the ancient one attached to the desk in his radio tower. “But I had it made with a little surprise inside.”

You twirled the cane, testing its balance in your hand, and pulling the handle you found it held a concealed blade.

A short blade; not a duelist’s sword but a knife, long enough to slit a throat or to puncture a heart through the ribcage. You beamed at Alastor, the excitement bubbling within you at the prospect of violence mirrored by your delight that he had anticipated your preferences so exactly.

“It’s perfect,” you told him, twirling it just to admire the balance again.

“Of course,” he demurred, the creases at the corners of his eyes telling you that he was soaking in your praise. “I can hardly expect you to perform with second rate equipment.”

He hovered about you like a mother hen as you put on his ragged tailcoat, brushing it flat across your shoulders with the palms of his hands, and tutting as he adjusted your bow tie. You half expected him to take out a pocket square and start cleaning your mouth as he fussed over you, adjusting a fold here, a button there. Finally, when you were attired to his liking, Alastor pushed his index fingers into the corners of your mouth and pulled up, not painfully, but enough to make you bare your teeth.

“You mustn’t forget your smile, now,” he said.

It wasn’t hard at all to grin at him, not with the euphoria that currently welled within you. It was a maniac’s grin you gave him, wide and wicked and infectious.

Vox had been wrong about how much the other two Vees would object to his actions. Velvette had been legitimately furious that he had overstepped his usual bounds into social media campaigns, had called him a bloody idiotic twat, and had set the notifications from all of the accounts she usually managed to automatically forward to him. The pings were constant and it gave him a godawful headache. Valentino, by contrast, had broken the television set in their shared quarters, then stalked off to do drugs somewhere.

This was how Vox drew the shit lot of being the one of the three of them to attend the overlord’s meeting. His abilities allowed him to traverse the city quickly through the powerlines, but given the delicate political situation of any meeting of powerful individuals, such flashy displays were frowned upon. Anything that made people jumpy was frowned upon.

As such, Vox sat in the back of his limo as it drove to the meeting place, glaring at the traffic and wincing every time a notification from Velvette’s shit came in. Fuck his fucking life. Apart from, perhaps, the small portion where he got to watch Alastor fuck his doppelganger, that bit of his life could stay.

Would Alastor be at the meeting? Probably not, Vox decided. He hadn’t attended one since his altercation with Adam last extermination.

There was a spring in your step as you walked the streets in your red finery, feeling the breeze in your hair, your cane tucked neatly under one arm. The winds of Hell carried with them the scents of polyurethane and sulfur, and every sinner you passed cowered from your gaze as you grinned. It was barely even an affectation, if you were being honest with yourself. You were loose on the streets with one weapon in your pocket and another under your arm, about to meet a man that you would hunt. Anyone would grin, given the circumstances.

The sensation of being watched prickled familiar on your neck, and you stopped, hand on the handle of your cane, ready to draw the hidden blade as you turned.

A demon taller than yourself stood before you, with black, chitinous skin and a large, plumed hat. “Alastor, hail and well met.”

“Zestial!” you said with a smile, immediately grateful for Angel Dust’s overlord rundown. “Good day to you too.”

He fell into step beside you, taller than you by some margin. You didn’t feel malice emanating from him, but that was hardly a guarantee of anything. Perhaps your instincts were off. But you were heading to the same locale, so giving him the slip was hardly an option. “How have you been?” you asked, keen to push the conversation in Zestial’s direction. Alastor hadn’t told you anything about his relationship with the overlord, so the less you said, the better.

“Alas, my troubles would seem to pale in comparison to thine,” said Zestial, and you cursed internally.

“My troubles?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what are my troubles?” You had a warm place to sleep and a boyfriend who hand-fed you breakfast- practically the high life.

“Rumor has it thou suffered a mortal wound,” said Zestial, his narrow eyes looking you up and down. “ And thy former protégé doth set his sights on the folly thou suffered for.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Vox and the hotel. The documentary crew and constant stream of influencers through the hotel was Vox’s doing. And the timing was too co-incidental for it to not be related to the hidden cameras in Alastor’s room. Alastor already suspected Lucifer as the culprit for that, though he had no proof save that Lucifer was one of the few people powerful enough to dare to fuck with him.

“My protégé,” you repeated, lending a little darkness to your tone. “Tell me, who in the hotel did he deal with?”

Zestial smiled, eerily. “That information hath value,” he said. “What dost thou propose in exchange?”

You paused to think, twirling your cane idly around your palm and wrist as the two of you walked. Offering future consideration was a shitty thing to do, doomed to piss off either Zestial or Alastor, depending on who got saddled with the debt. You could sell the overlord the information that you were a fake, assuming that he hadn’t already figured it out, but that would undermine your own usefulness as a double for Alastor. “It seems to me,” you said, a smile at Zestial. “That the window of usefulness of that information is rather short.”

“The identity of a traitor in thy camp-” said Zestial.

“Ah, but it is a rather small camp, is it not?” you asked, grateful for the time you’d spent giving museum tours with a transatlantic accent as you stuck as hard as you could to Alastor’s mannerisms rather than lapse into iambic pentameter. “Are you sure you’d rather keep hold of it in the hopes of a high price when I need only wait for the blasted picture box to gloat about their identity?”

Zestial hummed, but didn’t argue the point further.

“I’ll tell you what. How about an exchange in kind? I’ll tell you the recent gossip I know, and you can stop me if I tell you something you think meets your price.”

“An entertaining prospect,” said Zestial. “Pray continue.”

The conversation with Angel Dust was fresh in your mind, so you recounted what you judged to be of interest, skipping over both Rosie, who Alastor had indicated was his friend, and Vox, whose very mention made Alastor’s smile seem forced, as well as the figures closest to Zestial himself. You named the underbosses vying to work under Zeezi, talked about the sinner who had been stalking Valentino, along with a few other tidbits, and Zestial was a good audience, chuckling and curious in turn.

“Thou art an enigma as ever, Alastor,” he said, as you reached the venue for the meeting, and imposing red-brick building.

You grinned at him. “I suppose that means my little stories don’t pass muster?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Zestial, a slight inclination of his head. “I consider my price paid in full. The king of Hell himself paid a visit to overlord Vox in his domain.”

Vox fought hard not to glitch when Alastor walked into the meeting room. The infuriating grin on his face, the buzz of an electric field around him, the cane twirling idly around his wrist, ears up and alert. He might not have noticed the differences if he hadn’t seen the two of you together barely a week before, if Alastor hadn’t caught him out by being disguised as you. The differences were subtle, but they were there, in the shape of your antlers and the markings on your ears.

No. Not Alastor. You. Fuck.

What were you doing here? This was a room full of overlords; people who would eat an innocent, sweet creature like you right up without a second thought. Had Alastor sent you there to taunt him? To see what he would do? The new overlord, Kennedy, had been talking shit about the Radio Demon for weeks. Vox hadn’t seen reason to worry about it before now, but the rest of the overlords were smart enough not to take a run at the Radio Demon, or anyone they believed to be the Radio Demon.

You met his eyes as you took your seat, a small smile on your lips, and Vox resolved that he would save you from this den of monsters. You were still the sweet little Bambi he had led tottering across his bedroom floor, before Alastor had stolen you. You were probably scared out of your tiny little mind, he reasoned, putting on a smiling face out of fear, or even compelled by the soul contract Alastor doubtless had over you. The small scrunch at your brow told him you were deep in thought, probably trying to think of a way out of your situation.

You strolled to your chair at the overlord’s meeting, a friendly smile to the woman you recognized as Rosie as you pondered two things. First- had Zestial rumbled your disguise? If he had, he’d shown no sign of doing so, taking his own seat across the table from you without comment. Second- was it a terrible idea to blackmail the King of Hell? The few times you’d crossed paths he’d seemed to barely register you as a person, merely part of an amorphous blob labeled ‘staff’. It was entirely possible that he would obliterate you without a second thought. And, if you did blackmail him, what would you ask for?

“Hello, one and all!” you chirped as you swung into your chair. “Tales of my incapacitation are unfortunately exaggerated!”

“More’s the pity,” muttered Vox, and you raised your eyebrow at him. It was only a few days since he’d sat next to your bed and begged Alastor to let him jack himself off as Alastor fucked you. Surely his feelings hadn’t soured that much for lack of aftercare.

“I’m sorry,” you said, cocking an ear. “Could you speak up? Your audio dropped out a little there.”

Carmilla spread her arms as Vox opened his mouth to retort. “Since we’re all here,” she said, a scowl at both you and Vox. “We should begin.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna let that motherfucker waltz in here and take a seat at the table like nothing’s happened?”

You turned and looked curiously at the demon that Alastor had told you you could kill. The Smoker Demon was tall by sinner standards, but much like you he was dwarfed by the larger members of the overlord contingent. His face was long and equine, his teeth jagged like those of most sinners, and he wore his mane plastered to his head with gel, the humanoid portion of his body attired in business casual. He looked around, seeking agreement from the other overlords.

“What? Are you just gonna not talk about how all our problems right now are the Radio Demon’s fault? The war with Heaven? Anyone?”

War with Heaven? Well, that certainly hadn’t been on sinstagram. You scrunched your nose. “Was that on the agenda? I didn’t get the memo.”

“Fuck the agenda.” Kennedy stood, glowering, and you watched as his demonic form manifested. Smoke streamed from his nostrils, wrapping itself around his arms to become biceps, and a single serrated horn proceeded from his forehead. A fucking unicorn? You’d never seen anyone manifest in anger before, except in the sinstagram videos you’d watched whilst prisoner in Vox’s quarters. To your surprise you could feel it, a low thrum in your antlers, akin to the feeling of the hunt. But the hunt was already afoot.

“If you could save that activity for after the meeting?” you said, a grin and a tilt of your head as you stared Kennedy down. You could feel the pulse in your throat, the promise of violence in the air. You felt alive. “I certainly don’t want to watch that.”

Vox watched you with increasing concern as Kennedy stepped onto the table. You didn’t know how much danger you were in, and no-one else around the table gave a fuck. They knew that one mid-tier bisexual unicorn was well within Alastor’s capabilities.

Vox watched as you rolled your eyes, turning to Carmilla with a lopsided smile, even as Kennedy loomed behind you, completely unconcerned. “The use of deadly force is still banned at these soirées, correct? Or did standards decline in my absence?”

Okay, you weren’t just unconcerned. You had a suicidal disregard for your own wellbeing. He had to do something, before Kennedy turned you into an Alastor-colored smear on the floor.

“Sit the fuck down, fuckface,” growled Vox, putting full threat behind it. That worked- Kennedy was too young to properly know the terror of the Radio Demon, but he knew Vox had a bigger dick than he did. Reluctantly he backed down.

“Unusually civic minded of you,” you said, in a perfect facsimile of Alastor’s voice, and Vox rolled his eyes internally. You’re welcome.

You stared across the table at Vox on and off for the entirety of the overlord meeting.

He had cut your altercation with your quarry short. It had been a great opportunity to gauge Kennedy’s speed and strength, maybe set him entirely off-balance by getting him kicked out of the meeting, and Vox had ruined it. It made your fingernails itch, your smile almost painful to maintain. You breathed through your nose, calming yourself by settling your attention on Kennedy, who glowered balefully at you, a little smoke still rising from his nostrils. What had Alastor even done to him anyway? You’d have to ask once you got back to the hotel.

Vox lingered after the meeting. “Hey, uh, Alastor. A word?”

You inclined your head, remaining as the others filed out. You would rather have followed Kennedy, but part of you still felt bad for just chucking Vox out of your bedroom. What you weren’t prepared for was just how close Vox stood to you, his face close enough that you could feel the static from his screen.

“I can take you away from all of this, babydoll.” Vox’s voice was low, the sort of coaxing tone he’d used as he pushed your knees apart. Not the voice he’d use for the real Alastor.

You kept the smile that Alastor had asked you to wear regardless. “Is that a threat?”

“Fuck.” Vox pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “You can drop the act, alright. I know who you are.”

“Oh? And who is that?” You grinned, slow and toothy.

Vox was quiet. You’d never given Vox your name. You hadn’t even given Alastor your name, for all you’d spent each night trading inconsequential secrets with each other, your tongue in his mouth and his in yours.

“Well? Who am I?”

“That guy’s bad news, okay.” Vox changed the subject. “He’s dangerous. He could hurt you.”

Oh. Vox was still buying the ditz act from when he’d taken you in. The only thing he’d seen you do was fuck Alastor, so you supposed he couldn’t really be blamed for that, and that certainly explained the protectiveness, however inconvenient. You fluttered your eyelashes. “How dangerous, exactly?”

It was hard to contain your excitement as you returned to the hotel, neatly sidestepping splashes from acid rain puddles. You had fooled a room full of overlords into thinking you were Alastor, except for Vox, and Vox had given you some downright detailed information on the overlord that you were going to hunt.

And you had traded up from Angel Dust’s toilet cistern cocaine to the identity of the person who had put spy cameras in your room.

When you entered the hotel you were so light on your feet that you were almost dancing, and you caught Alastor by the waist as you swept past, pulling him with you.

“It went well, I take it?” he said, falling deftly into step with you, taking you by the hand and by the shoulder.

You grinned wide, blood hot in your veins. “Zestial either rumbled me or you’re friends with him now,” you said, and Alastor laughed.

Your effervescence faded gradually, but your blood stayed hot, your excitement buzzing behind your teeth even into the night.

You watched Alastor, primly attired in his pajamas in the bed next to you, as he opened his book to the page he had reached the previous night. This was the point in the evening where you would find a book of your own, or simply sit and think, but you were too restless for that now; your senses too keen and your body still thrumming with adrenaline. You reached out and put your hand on his stomach, fingers trailing over the thin fabric, feeling the warmth of his body through it.

Alastor gave a soft hum, and turned the page, though his eyes did flicker to you briefly, curious. You pressed your suit, pushing up the hem of his pajama shirt to expose a few inches of skin, and lowered your face to him, lips brushing the skin of his hip, his flank, and then up to his navel; all of the skin that you had bared.

You lifted your gaze as your lips found his bellybutton and found Alastor staring at you over the top of his book, his antlers perhaps an inch taller than they had been a moment before, and you felt his diaphragm shift as he breathed in.

“You’re certainly forward tonight,” said Alastor, a warm crackle to his voice. “Did you want something from me?”

You shook your head, playful. “Don’t put your book down on my account.”

The snort Alastor gave was so soft that you didn’t even hear it, simply felt it through your hand on his stomach. “I wasn’t planning on it, dear,” he said, lifting his book again with theatrical indifference. “This is a very interesting chapter.”

Sliding your hand down the strip of hair that extended below his navel and under the waistband of his pajama pants, you found he was already hard for you. Just feeling his cock hard in your hand sent a sympathetic surge to your own loins, and you squeezed his shaft in your hand as you eased his waistband down over it.

Alastor feigned insouciance, but you could see the color rising in his cheeks, and feel his growing hardness under your touch. There was a matching heat in your own cheeks too; up until now, Alastor had been the one to set the pace, centering your pleasure, but now you had him in your hands. It was a surrender of the thing he found most precious- control.

You pressed your face to his stomach and then his mons as you stroked his cock, burying your nose in the coarse hair there and breathing in. He smelled like Alastor; like musk and woodsmoke and formaldehyde, and you felt the shivering intake of breath that he gave as you pressed your cheek against the silky-soft skin of his shaft, kissing your way from the base of his cock to the tip. Alastor made a show of turning the page of his book, but when you lapped up the salty liquid beading at his tip with your tongue, he actually gasped, his free hand going to cover his mouth.

You looked at him, questioning, challenging, but Alastor used the few seconds reprieve to recover his composure.

True to form, Alastor did recover, his eyes losing a little of their glazed look. “I hope you plan to finish what you started,” he said, his gaze going back to his book. You waited for him to finish turning the page before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, careful to curl your lips around the sharp edges of your teeth, and sucked as you pumped his shaft with your hand.

“Fuck,” whimpered Alastor, and the noise went direct to your core. His eyes were closed, his teeth digging into his smiling lip as you stroked the underside of his cock with your tongue, pressing the head of his cock first against the roof of your mouth, then against the back of your mouth as you took him further in, saliva dribbling from the imperfect seal of your lips all the while. “Love,” he whined, though you doubted it was a confession, more likely a reflexive cry, a sweet nothing in his throat.

Alastor put his book down, pages open on the bed, and reached for you. You took his hand, twining your claws with his as you moved your mouth over him, going from pressing the head of his cock to the roof of your mouth to as far back in your throat as you could get him, the deepest point leaving you with your nose pressed to hair wet with your saliva, and then back again. His reaction told you that you were doing well; the quickening of his breathing, the spasmodic jerks that his hips made when you took all of him in your mouth- not enough to make you choke but enough to make your eyes water- the way his fingers gripped yours, and best of all the noises he made. Each cry he made was sweet enough to be intoxicating; to make your cunt throb and your cock ache, and you were sure that if you had ever told him your name it would be on his lips right now, in between the profanities and the broken cajun french.

You crawled between his legs as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off, your free hand cradling his balls as you took him in your mouth again, and between ragged breaths he reached for your antlers, fingertips brushing the perfect, sensitive spots that only he knew, a single tentacle extending from his back and resting at the back of your knee. It was an offer of a good ending for the evening, one that would leave you fucked out and content, deeply asleep on top of him, and it was a lie to say that it wasn’t a tempting one.

But you had other plans; you were feeling bold tonight. Gently, you moved his hand from your antlers, lifting your mouth from his cock with a soft pop, and took a moment to appreciate him being a flushed, panting mess for you. You stroked the tentacle, taking it in your hand. “I want to deflower you,” you said, as evenly as you could manage. “Let me fuck you in the ass.”

Alastor paused, his eyes registering surprise but not disinterest, and you gave him a few seconds to think about it. “You are welcome to try,” he said, finally, and for anyone else you would have offered reassurance. That you wouldn’t hurt him, that he didn’t have to do it. But Alastor had already swallowed so much of his pride in acquiescing to your request that any offer of reprieve would just have him doubling down, so you simply took him at his word, reaching into the dresser for the lubricant. It was one of the preparations you had made for Vox’s visit, a tube from the supply usually kept in the cupboard under the hotel’s front desk, along with the toothpaste and other single-use toiletries.

“Must I do all the work?” Alastor asked, a little archness layered over the desire in his voice as you applied lube to his tentacle, your palm spreading it across the smooth black surface.

“I’m not enough of a sadist to open you with my fingers,” you replied, wiggling a sharp claw at him, and his face split in a silent laugh. His tentacle coiled over your lower back as you crouched between his legs again, twining round your forearm and leaving the first few inches in your hand. You could feel the tension in his body as you touched him again, tracing fingers over his hip as you licked his cock, slowly, from the base to the tip.

He was expecting it to hurt, you realized as you took his cock in your mouth again, feeling the tension in his stomach and in his thighs, held open for you. He was expecting it to hurt and he was letting you do it anyway. You breathed out through your nose as you sucked his cock, pushing the head up against your epiglottis with a tilt of your head, and felt for his entrance with the knuckle of your index finger, stroking the tight ring of muscle with a feather-light touch before guiding the tip of the tentacle to it and pushing it in, your hand around the tentacle controlling the depth. You kept the motion shallow and slow at first, letting the lube on the tentacle spread to his hole, your mouth on his cock slow and unhurried. His body lost a little of the tension as he realized that you weren’t about to bully your way in, and you used that slack to fuck his tentacle a little deeper into him, motion slow and measured to not damage him as he took the thicker section of the taper.

Alastor gave a debauched noise that went straight to the base of your cock, eyes fluttering closed, and you held him by the hip as you kept up the pressure, his tentacle squelching into him now through the generous amount of lube, your lips and tongue and throat up and down on his cock. You could probably slide yourself into him now, smooth and easy as anything, and the thought made you twitch, but you gave him the tentacle a little longer, enjoying the way his breathing hitched at the nadir of each stroke, the salty taste of him as his cock leaked precum.

When you lifted your lips from his cock, he was staring at you again, eyes blown and dark.

“I need your hips a little higher,” you said, reaching for one of the pillows, but Alastor rolled his eyes and extruded another tentacle from his back, curling it under him to raise him up. The view it gave you was pornographic; legs spread, cock hard and angry red at the tip, glistening with your spit, his own tentacle stretching out his hole, lubricant dribbling out around it.

You eased his tentacle out of him, the soft noises he made at the sensation making your whole form ache with desire. Freeing your own cock with a quick movement, you lined yourself up with him, letting the head of your cock kiss his entrance. The sensation made you shiver, the skin there hot and slick.

Alastor’s expression told you that taking him in this position rather than from behind had been the correct decision. His smile was still there, but his ears were flat against his skull, uncertainty in his eyes alongside desire. You paused, palms on his hips, thumbs on his waist.

You could feel your pulse beating in your throat and in your groin. You didn’t want to harm Alastor, didn’t want to upset him, not with him vulnerable beneath you like this. You cared about him. “We can stop if you want. Just say the word.”

Alastor gave a scoff deep in his throat and used the tentacle looped around your back to push you into him.

The feel of being inside him was enough to make you forget to breathe for a second; his intense warmth and tightness and slickness around your cock. You’d worked enough of his tentacle inside him that you’d slid in easily, and you found yourself falling forward a little as you bottomed out inside him, his cock pressing up against your stomach, a snail trail of wetness as his precum spread across your skin.

Alastor’s smile was indulgent as he watched you struggle for breath, and he raised his head to kiss your forehead. “Do I really feel that good?”

“So good,” you said, your voice low and frank and thick with static, and Alastor’s answer was a purr, a vacuum tube hum from the back of his throat.

“I feel the same, you know,” he said, attempting a conversational tone and failing, slipping into a tone lower in his register, cock twitching against your stomach. “Every time I’m inside you, all I can think about is spilling myself.”

That statement sent heat to your face, doing nothing to help you acclimatize to the exquisite feeling of him around you. You bit your lip as you willed yourself to stay hard for him, reminding yourself that if you came in him now he was unlikely to let you try again. And you couldn’t let that happen.

Fingers round his sharp hipbones, you rolled your hips, easing out of him before pushing yourself in to the hilt again. If he’d watched you indifferently it would have been easier to keep hold, but Alastor was already half-lost, thick distortion resounding in his throat and through the cavity of his thin chest. His hands were on your back, claws flexing, tearing fine parallel incisions in your skin, but somehow the pain only ripped a libidinous growl from your throat, serving as an accent to the pleasure you felt. Alastor’s heat was slick and searing and perfect around you, and you narrowed your focus to him, only him.

You watched his face- the subtle change in expression behind the smile that he doggedly held, the way his eyelids fluttered, the way his larynx bobbed when his breath caught. You listened to him- the way he moaned and cursed in turn as you rutted into him, and the ragged edge to his breath. You felt him- his hard cock pressed between the two of you, twitching every time you hit the correct angle with a downstroke, his claws in your back, and the exquisite constricting heat of his ass.

Alastor’s breath grew more ragged, his voice more distorted, and you grinned as you felt your victory draw near; Alastor filled and spent on your cock. Alastor gave a growl, a low thrum of power, and you were caught off-guard as a third tentacle from his back curved between your legs and slid frictionless into your soaking cunt. You had been ignoring the ache there, but now, with a tentacle squelching into you, it was painfully obvious how much you had needed to be filled.

With Alastor’s tentacle stretching you, its movement compelling your rhythm, your already tenuous grip on yourself slipped, the cusp of your orgasm threatening with every stroke. You were close, too close, but so was Alastor, and you fought to make him cum, angling your hips in the way that made him tremble even as he forced you to adhere to his beat, tentacle curling in you with mirrored cruelty.

You came together; both gasping, both twitching, Alastor into the palm of the hand that you shoved between you to catch his seed, and you inside him, hot and deep and quivering.

“Alastor,” you whimpered, your whole body seeming to twitch with your first aftershock.

“Darling,” breathed Alastor, with as much awe as you had ever heard in his voice. “Oh darling, don’t you move.”

Your stomach fluttered as you looked at him, and you realized, perhaps belatedly, that this was something like love. You licked his cum from the palm of your hand, then held yourself over him, careful not to put weight on his injury. The expression on his face was one of clear, perfect bliss, with you inside him and he inside you.

You could feel yourself softening inside him already, beginning to slip out of him, and he wrapped an arm round you, pulling you onto his chest, not seeming to care when you lay over his wound. The claw marks he’d made on your back stung with the pressure, but you found you didn’t care about that, either.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #bottom alastor #antlerplay #hazbin x reader #alastor tentacles

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