#cha.alastor

[spitdrunken]

Heat Relief (Alastor x Reader)

Notes: Reader has a vagina, reader n alastor are both sex-repulsed asexuals, platonic sex for heat relief reasons, extremely dubious consent to noncon, retracted consent, CANNIBALISM AT THE END!

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Heats suck ass.

One of Hell's cruellest jokes has to be you being reborn as a mammal, and all of the inconveniences that come along with it. Heats are the worst of all, up-heaving your entire life and leaving you incapacitated in the progress. Being high on a cocktail of hormones and left in a lust-driven frenzy is never a good thing… But there are plenty of people in Hell willing to take advantage of it. Add to that the fact you've never had that much of a desire to masturbate, and it's a recipe for disaster.

At least you have Hazbin Hotel now. While the conversation with Charlie about temporarily moving your room faaar away from the others, she'd been nothing but understanding and accepting. It was the first time you didn't feel disgusting about going through this every month. She even left you drinks and food outside your door at regular intervals. (Because, while it's very much possible to get through a heat without eating or drinking, being unable to die doesn't make it pleasant.)

After you've spent days using toys to get yourself off, you reek of it no matter how much you shower. The scent has to be chipped away at by time. When you head downstairs in desperate need for a drink, it's a walk of shame. Both of your wrists are throbbing with exertion.

You had wished the bar were empty, but wishes don't always come true.

Angel Dust takes one sideways glance at you and bursts out laughing. The tips of his heels clack against the wood of the bar as he kicks his legs around, one pair of arms crossed over his lap.

"Been having fun, babe? Fuck!" He leans his chin on one hand, swirling around a drink in your general direction with the other. "You were holed up in there for days. Y'know, I know a guy or two that could cut that time in half. Easy. Won't even cost that much."

You're, frankly, too exhausted to think of coming up with a comeback or quip. "Maybe. I'm tired," you respond. As if it isn't obvious. The practically audible roll of his eyes doesn't bother you. You're not into hiring a complete stranger as 'heat relief' even if it'd make your life easier. There's no reason to trust them.

You slide into a stool a couple seats away from Angel Dust. Husk looks at you, his frown relaxing somewhat. He probably experiences something similar, after all. Without any unnecessary words, Husk is pouring you a drink. A mix, though more alcohol than anything else. At the very least it could help you take your mind off of things. It might be what you need.

Even a couple of sips in, you know this is definitely not what you need. Given your exhaustion, the alcohol hits harder than ever and the drink tasted strongly of liquor to begin with. Your head feels heavy. So do your arms. Your legs itch to move. There's zero good reason to keep drinking, but sometimes you like the taste of your own self-destruction. It doesn't take long before you've veered well into 'tipsy' territory.

You can feel the pinprick of a gaze at your back. Static teases at the edge of your hearing. You ignore it.

"No, but, really," Angel Dust starts again. "I don't get why ya don't just hire someone and get it over with. Yeah, yeah, I get it— It's not pretty, you're not making kissy-kissy love-dovey faces at each other, but it's Hell, toots."

This time, you turn your head just far enough to the righ to shoot him a glare. You slam down your glass. A slosh of alcohol spills past the rim, staining the top of your hand and darkening the wood it lands on.

"I just don't like it, okay?!" You spit out, defensiveness flaring up all at once. The idea of some stranger's hands roaming over your body, to have to expose yourself like that in front of someone— To have sex with them, it makes your stomach turn. And, at the same time, hot tears burn at the corner of your eyes. You wish that you weren't like this too, sometimes, but what can you do about it? The alcohol has loosened your tongue. "I don't like to have sex, so why should I pay someone else for the honour of being touched by them?!"

You grit your teeth, eyes burning holes in the counter in front of you. This sucks. This is genuinely just horrible. Before the tears have a chance to spill past your cheeks, or you manage to make an even bigger fool of yourself, you stumble your way off the chair and up in the direction of your room. If anyone had told you anything, it would've been hard for the noise to get through passed your plugged ears. You can't shake the feeling that you're being followed and wriggle your ears as you pull your claws from them.

Still, the only thing you can think of, for now, is to get the hell out of there. You use your newly freed hands to wipe away at the corners of your eyes. You'll cry in the relative safety of your room. It's only when you've arrived at your door that you whip around, bringing you face to face with Hazbin Hotel's most infamous employee— The Radio Demon.

He's smiling, as usual, the quirk of his mouth revealing a glint of yellowed teeth. Alastor's pupils are narrowed into slits. The red, metal ferrule of his cane taps against the floor. He tilts his head at you.

"You are aware that it's quite rude to keep a caller waiting, yes?" You absolutely do not have the energy to deal with this. Why has he decided to cast his eye upon you now, at all times? You haven't been 'worthy' of his attention for even a moment prior. "But, I suppose you may be allowed a bit of leniency… That fellow can be quite a drag!"

You have no idea what he's getting at. If it weren't for the alcohol active in your system, you might've been left unable to speak at all. Right now, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and sleep until you won't wake up without being even slightly hungover.

"Look, um, I was going to head to bed," you say, still teetering on the edge of an apology. Your mouth opens in a jaw and you barely cover it with your hand. "I probably can't help you much right now. Maybe Charlie—"

"Oh, no, no," Alastor intercepts with a shake of his head. "Dear, if I needed anyone else, I would have simply gone to them! No, you've caught my attention today, with your short-lived little speech down at the bar." He takes a step forward. You don't have the chance to move back before his fingers have invaded your space in a flash, wiping away imaginary tears still lingering near your eyes. You flinch after his arm has already retreated.

"That was…" You swallow. You're inebriated, but not far enough gone not to feel any shame about that moment already. "Well. Not great." You slump against the wall next to you. Alastor's eyes meticulously follow your every movement, and you soon find yourself straightening once again.

"Not great in the moment, perhaps," he acquiesces. "But I do believe there is potential for an agreement there between us. You see, much like you, I suffer from a similar… Ailment, shall we say, every month, like clockwork." You're left too speechless to interfere. Whatever direction you had anticipated this conversation to take, it had not been this.

"Much like you, I am not interested in the regular 'relief services' provided by the masses. I want it to be done with as soon as possible. In that respect, I suspect we have a shared interest. Objectively speaking, you are also more attractive than whoever is offering themselves up for a dollar and a dime." A beat of silence falls, the noise of static once again increases. "That was a compliment."

"T-thank you," you stammer, mind still struggling to catch up. It's like you've simultaneously sobered up and gotten even more confused. "So, if I understand correctly… You're saying we should have sex."

"That's how you could choose to describe it, yes. Only as a means to make both our lives a little bit easier. When I heard you express yourself earlier… Well, I would not have used the same phrasing, but I believe our feelings are much aligned! Always the perfect grounds for a fruitful agreement."

"I'm not… I'm not interested in making any kind of official deal," you tell him. One look at Husk turned you off the idea forever. It certainly hasn't done him any favours.

You've heard far too many horror stories about deals in hell gone wrong. In misheard conversations, or illegible fine print— You have no desire to find out that you've accidentally sold your soul to a demon as infamous as Alastor, relegated to being a cautionary tale for centuries to come. Though you will admit that the idea of easier heats is appealing.

"I don't think any kind of 'deal' is necessary in this case, my dear," Alastor says, looking down at his nails and flexing his fingers. "My reasons are clearly laid out, whatever you make of them. You wouldn't lose anything from it— Really, I'm being very hospitable right now, ha!"

Your mind chugs away. Perhaps it's the alcohol clouding your judgement, but it doesn't all sound so horrible, given the right circumstances. Charlie already knows of your heats, you could inform her of this, too. If she thought anything was up, you're sure the Princess of Hell wouldn't hesitate to burst in and help, embarrassing as it might be for you. That's simply the kind of person she is. Beyond that, powerful as he may be, Alastor is still incapable of killing you.

Your mouth is forming the words before you've completely thought them through. "I want it to be here, in the hotel. And if I hate it… Then we'll never do it again."

"Yes, yes, certainly. But it will be my room," Alastor counters. "Nowhere else."

This takes away from your idea of familiar ground, as you've never been inside there before, but it still feels safe enough. You nod, sealing your fate. Even without a tangible deal in place, you're certain that Alastor will hold you to your word.

Afterwards, the whole conversation feels like nothing more than a fever dream. For a few days, you manage to fool yourself into thinking that none of it ever happened. That you'd passed out in bed and dreamed up the whole thing.

This delusion manages to last until Alastor presents you with a strip of pills, informing you that you are to take them in order to line up your little 'predicaments'. Neither of you wants to be in any coherent state of mind for your little deal, it seems. If suppressing your heat through pills like these didn't suck so much, you'd be doing it all the time. But, whether this is the only time you go through with this or not, you only have to go through all the side-effects once.

When Alastor's rut rolls around, you don't need to be told. You can smell it on the air. It sends your temperature spiking, leading your feet to the door of his room without even thinking about it. After putting off your heat with the medication, it seems to fog over your mind more than ever before.

You lean against the frame of the door. Lifting your hand to knock on it brings the sensation of moving through sludge. Everything is so heavy, so difficult. Feverish heat pools in between your legs and soaks through your clothing. The fabric is clammy against your fur.

Your hand barely brushes against the door before it's yanked open. The world around you upturns at once, sending you crashing to the floor. Instead of your face meeting wood, you're caught in… Something. It's long, dark and a little transparent. Through it, your own skin and clothes are still visible. Following the tendril to its source, you find Alastor.

In the back of your mind, a little square untouched by your heat, you'd been worried about how this was supposed to go. What would you even say, would you have to make some kind of awkward small talk before you have sex with each other? That had seemed about as dreadful to you as the act itself. The dancing around the subject until neither of you would be able to control yourself anymore.

Alastor doesn't look like he'd be capable of such politeness or niceties right now. His bow tie is skewed around his neck, one of his gloves missing. His clawed hand, covered in gray fur, slowly clenches and relaxes again. The coat that he's wearing is more tattered than before. There are gashes left in it, around the bottom.

None of that is even mentioning his expression. His smile is stretched wide enough to look painful, a little spit gathered at the corners of his mouth. The pupils are deep, dark puddles you could drown in.

In your hours worrying about the logistics, awkwardness, and shame you had never once considered exactly what you would be in for, here. Alastor is dangerous, he's repulsed by sex, possibly even more so than you, and forced to take part in something he loathes— What had you been expecting? There is no lust there, but he looks ready to devour you whole.

"You kept me waiting," he tells you, every word strained out through grit, yellowed fangs.

You do not get the chance to respond. Entangled in his shadow, he drags you in through the entrance of his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Fear has doused your heat with a bucket of cold water and you let out a short-cut scream as you're dragged into his dark room, a glittering expanse of stars above you.

As you hang suspended in the air for a moment, the full expanse of his room sprawls before you. It smells of dirt and grass, with actual trees growing inside of it. Somewhere in the back, a bush rustles, and the thought flashes through your mind that he keeps other things in here.

"You'd do well not to be distracted," Alastor tells you, something still uncanny about his voice. His mouth opens ever so slightly, this time. A dark, uneven tongue momentarily darts past his lips.

You wish you could say something, anything. But every muscle in your body is tensed up, constricting even your throat. The walls of the expansive room seem to be closing in on you. You cannot actually, permanently, die in Hell by Alastor's mind, you tell yourself. But repeating this over and over again does nothing to soothe your nerves.

You're brought down to the ground, dropped in soft, wet clay next to a small pond in the room. You hit the floor with a wet smack that is anything but gentle. The wind is knocked out of you and you wheeze in a breath, the contents of your stomach sloshing around inside of you. Your nose is clogged with the smell of dirt and still water, reeds rustling as your fingers claw around in the mud in an attempt to get up.

Once again, all of your limbs are pinned down with tendrils and, in a flash, Alastor is on top of you. His hands roam over the lower parts of your body and, at the almost-gentle touch, your mind is starting to turn to slush again at the knowledge you'll have sex soon. Heats are truly incapacitating and, even with the smell of the pond and mud, Alastor's pheromones hang thick in the air. It's a scent that has your face scrunching up, metallic and sharp.

Your bones still echo with pain in response to the smack you made. "This isn't what we agreed to," you manage to force out, your body trembling.

Continuing on from touching, his claws have started to cut through what little clothing you're wearing on your lower half. Anything above your hips is left untouched. At one point, the nail catches on your skin and you jump.

"We would relieve each other's heats, in part with sex," Alastor says, the corners of his mouth trembling. With both of his hands yanking away the scraps of your clothing, you finally realise what is so wrong about his voice: It's raw, unfiltered through the usual filter of his microphone. "Other than that, I do not think we made any agreements that I could break. I cannot hurt you. Permanently, that is. If, in my 'excitement', I leave a little damage… I hope you'll accept any advance apology for that."

A thick string of drool slides through the gaps in between his teeth and drips down onto your chest, darkening the fabric. Your heart is racing and your head is rolling around the floor, multiple overlapping parts of you screaming over each other— Self-preservation, fear, shame, disgust, but there is nothing you can do about any of it.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, imagining yourself in the comfort of your nest, cooped up in your room, anywhere more comfortable than here. Oh, right now, how you could wish that you could turn off your rational mind completely. The opportunity soon presents yourself as your thighs are nudged apart and you open your eyes just in time to see the tip of Alastor's cock nearing your entrance. Other than pulling his clothes a bit to the side, he hasn't shed anything.

A loud, guttural noise is ripped from your throat as he forces himself inside of you, cramming as much of his cock in your slick hole as he can in a single movement. No matter how sex-ready your body might be because of your heat, that doesn't make it comfortable. There are no slow grinds to loosen up your insides and get you used to the movement. If there are any tears, at least they'll be healed by the time he's done with you. Mud is caked thick underneath your nails and the tears dripping down your face add to the softness of the mud.

(you asked for this and you agreed to this but this is nothing like what you expected, what you wanted, and it is simultaneously worse and better. because you would have never wanted him to touch or caress you like a lover but, right now, you feel no better than a piece of meat.)

But when you open your mouth, as much as you want to scream or cuss him out, all that leaves your lips is a whiny, needy noise thanks to your heat. Your pussy has stretched out to fit him and the pain is gone. In response to your noises, your pheromones that must be filling the air, Alastor shows no response. Not even a twitch of his ears or nose. Instead, all that he busies himself with is the same, selfish thrusts, rapid and purely chasing his own pleasure.

If you weren't high on hormones, none of this would've felt remotely good. Now, though, with the pain ebbing away bliss takes it place, shooting through your limbs every time his hips meet yours with a smack. Your hand sneaks in between your legs and you rub vigorously at your engorged clit. The consequences of doing such a thing with hands so dirty as yours is something for the you of tomorrow to worry about. Aided by your hand, you cum in no time at all, walls spasming around his cock.

It's the first time Alastor lets out a noise other than his heavy panting. At your pussy clenching around him, trying to milk him, he lets out a groan. More spit drips down on your chest and, finally, you look up at his face once again. For a little while, he'd been nothing but a set of thrusting hips to you, too focused on the pain and the intrusion to remember who he is, what he is.

When you do, you wish you hadn't looked. His composure has only crumbled further. His smile has spread wide enough that his lips have started to curl in on himself, a little blood clinging to his lips from where his teeth cut through his bottom lip. He's pounding into you at a pace that has become bruising and, at this point, you can't imagine it feels good for him either. Your mouth hangs half open, a constant stream of little noises leaving your mouth.

Your orgasm has washed away the worst of your heat. With the increased clarity of mind, your stomach twists and turns and, once again, you close your eyes. The sensations are too much, the knowledge of the fact that you're having sex with someone you don't even like, platonically or romantically, digging gashes in your mental state. You should've never agreed to this. Your heat had egged you on to go here, but you'd taken those pills all those days. (In a little corner of your mind, perhaps you'd told yourself that it'd be worse if he forced himself on you when his rut rolled around and you weren't in heat.)

You listen to the ceaseless rustling of the plants at the edge of the pond and feel yourself retreating into the back of your head, trying to forget the rest of your body. You're a little thing huddled in the back of your head, gazing out at the world through your skull, and nothing else is attached to you, that is all that you are.

With another snap of his hips, Alastor finishes inside of you, spurt after spurt of cum filling you up. You let out a long, shuddering sigh. The sloppy thrusts, the gasps for air and the rolling of his eyes are all indicators that this is about to come to an end— A heat relief service indeed, but at what cost? You'll have to avoid him like the plague for the rest of your stay here, that's for sure.

You crack open your eyes. You are greeted with the sight of Alastor's mouth opening for the first time, teeth seeming longer than ever, saliva almost literally pouring down on you. Alastor is past all point of reason, panting so hard it leaves clouds in the air. A rumbling, like the growling of someone's stomach, reaches your ears. Before you can move even a muscle, he strikes.

His fangs sink down into the meat of your shoulder, tearing through the fabric of your shirt as if it were mere paper. You scream so hard your throat erupts in pain, violently bucking against the tendrils still holding you down. With every twitch of your muscles, they seem to solidify further. His tongue slathers the broken skin and torn muscle as you wheeze in a breath, tears and snot running down your face.

Alastor's cock has hardened inside you once again. It seems that he's satisfying two hungers at once, now. Black spots dance across your vision. Even if you can't die permanently, you seem to have a painful road ahead of you; until he's had his fill, that is.

[spitdrunken]

I haven't seen him on your blog yet, but, do you have any thoughts on Alastor?

My thoughts are that i do genuinely like him BUUUUT I'm probably never really gonna write 'general nsfw/dating hcs' like I do about other characters just because I enjoy the aroace vibe of him too much HAHA Honestly, not 100% saying I might not in the future but just putting that out there!

I have some thoughts though! I have a couple of little works for him in the drafts, I've just been busy lately to really put the time and effort in to really nail his character...

notes: cannibalism mentions, heavy dubcon implied

One of them where you help with a yearly occurence that has to do with his deer nature (and no, it's not a rut, it's not anything sexual, haha), and it gets a bit... gross. But also kinda sweet? I'm working on it, lol.

Other one is a thought wherein Rosie and Reader are dating, and Alastor just hangs around you two together... A lot. I don't know, Rosie and him are def just friends, but I like the idea of this guy being in like. A QPR with Reader with a lot of specific unwritten rules, and he doesn't even know what a QPR is lmaoooo. Like no one knows what's going on between you two- Least of all you, haha.

Last one,, is more of a general cannibalism fic (entirely non-sexual within the story,, it's just straight up cannibalism. but it's sexual to ME) which involves Cannibal Town Mob characters, Rosie, and Alastor. Essentially, I have been thinking a lot about the idea of demons being able to make money in hell by willingly selling parts of their body to Rosie and the others! ...It all regrows eventually, and in Hell, there are enough desperate souls.

One nsfw idea I do kinda like is, if Alastor were to have like a rut/heat thing like i've seen some people say on here, it would be the worst time of self-loathing for him HAHA basically, him just being purely driven by instinct and hating absolutely every second of it, if that makes sense. but he's still doing it.

So, those are some of the thoughts I'm working on about him! But I feel like I would struggle a bit taking more general requests for him because my thoughts for him are so specific i guess....... ace2ace connection between us right there LMAO but pls do feel free to send in asks ^^!!!!

[spitdrunken]

notes: alastor x reader. content warnings: gore (broken bones + amputation), cannibalism

You groan, and try to ignore whatever’s trying to prevent your second death. 

“Oh, wonderful! You haven't died yet!! Now, listeners, could any of you have expected survivors in such a filthy warzone? What a twist!” 

You’re being roused to consciousness by a cheery voice laced with static, and something poking repeatedly at your face. Your eyes are crusted shut, your throat so parched it hurts. It was easier when your awareness was fleeting.When your right arm twitches, the worst pain you’ve ever felt once again blossoms up your arm, forcing your eyes wide open. Any hope of peace is dashed. You’re back here, surrounded by the remains of a ruined, broken city, laid beneath a red sky. 

The stranger is tall and imposing, his smile showing an array of sharp teeth as he waves his microphone back and forth in front of his mouth. You have no idea who you’re looking at. He’s some kind of… Deer? You’re not quite sure what he’s supposed to be, and you absolutely do not have the energy to spare to contemplate it. You’re a complete stranger to this area, this place, that you can only assume is Hell. You wandered into some kind of conflict on day one, and your fate seemed to be sealed. You’re not so sure anymore.

You shouldn’t look. You know you shouldn’t. You can’t help it, though– Not knowing is somehow worse. When you take a glance, the sight that greets you matches your last memory. Your arm is crushed underneath a large rock, pinning you to the ground. Your hand barely pokes out underneath, bent the opposite way it’s supposed to. You tried your best to lift it, but to no avail. In the end, the pain, exhaustion and inhalation of fumes knocked you right out. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him narrowing his eyes. 

In the blink of an eye, he smashes down his cane just above the break in your arm. You lurch forward, choking on your own spit as your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Your breaths are wheezed in and out, chest moving in stuttering movements. You’re practically foaming at the mouth. The world blurs around its borders, tears only burning at your eyes for a moment before running down your cheeks. The microphone is shoved in your face the whole time, catching every little noise, every little wretched sob or whimper of pain, until the stranger lifts it up to his mouth again. 

“Now that I’ve got your attention, a little warning…” He bows down in your direction, and gestures at your arm. "Careful! If you move around too much, you might lose more than just an arm! You really are in quite a pickle here, yes, it’s safe to say your arm’s been absolutely blown to smithereens! " You’re still so out of it you can hardly respond, can hardly process what’s going on around you. “But, don’t fret, I’ve arrived to save those such as yourself from such a horrible, slow death!” 

That catches your attention. 

“R…Really?” You barely manage to croak the word out, in between your crying and gasping. His eyes narrow into slits, though the stranger’s grin remains unfaltering. 

“Certainly! I may be a lot of things, dear, but I’m no such thing as a liar! Right, listeners? You all know I would never dare to lie. Though, hm…” He taps his chin repeatedly, like he’s genuinely considering some kind of prospect. “Even if I removed that big hunk of rock for you, I don’t think you would have much use for it anymore, don’t you agree?”

You stare up at him quietly, mind struggling to keep up with what he’s getting at. The corner of his eye twitches, before he lets out a loud, and very clearly fake, laugh. “Alas! No interviews, folks! Ah, well, we all can’t be born for a main part on the stage, can we?” Tinny laughter blasts out from all around you. “Well, you can see for yourself!”

He plucks the debris from your arm like it’s no more than a pebble. Your bones crack at the shifting of the weight, and the removal can’t exactly be described as a relief. It hurts like a bitch. He chucks the rock over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. In the distance, you can hear someone crying out at the impact. 

“Now, don’t be shy! Take a look.” Morbid curiosity takes hold of you once again. The skin is broken open where the debris made impact, a jagged part of your bone sticking out from your flesh. Strands of flesh cling to it like the last strings of a decaying rope, just barely keeping your arm together. “See? It’s a lost cause, truly. To keep from bleeding out, that thing really has to come off!” He speaks as if he’s pitying you, but there’s not a hint of change in his expression. 

“Wait, wait, wait–” You desperately try to sputter, to no avail. You can only stare in horror as a flame flickers to light in the stranger’s hand. The bottom of his cane collides with the middle of your chest, pinning you to the ground. He slowly, slowly lowers the flame to your skin, the heat increasing by the second.

“Won’t you show some appreciation and smile for me? You’re never dressed without one!” You can’t force one onto your face. Silence hangs thick in the air for a moment. “Well, as they say, the show must go on!” The flame makes contact with your skin, just above the elbow, and you can hear your flesh starting to sizzle. You bite on the inside of your cheek to try and distract yourself, blood spurting into your mouth. The scent of burnt flesh, your burnt flesh, fills your nostrils. The pain is excruciating, and you bash your head against the ground as you flail around. Even in this amount of pain and distress, you try to keep quiet, no matter how much it feels like your skull is about to explode. He hits you across the face with his cane, finally making you cry out. It’s heavier than it looks, and blood trickles down your face from your broken nose. Still, the pain pales in comparison to your arm. 

He takes his sweet time burning his way through your flesh, occasionally making some smart-ass quip that’s lost on you. Your ears ring with audience laughter. You’re breathing through your mouth because your nose is clogged with blood, and you taste your own scorched meat on your tongue. No matter how much you swallow, you cannot get rid of it. Black spots dance across your vision and overtake it. 

You must have blacked out for a minute, because when you come to again your arm aches and pounds and burns and burns and burns– Or, not your arm, your stump, as the stranger is holding your arm and waving your hand right in front of your face. The wrist is folded over and with a snap, the flesh tears away. He lets out a “whoops!” and barely catches your hand before it hits the floor.

His eyes bore into yours as he cradles your hand. He’s been so talkative this whole time, that the silence strikes you as incredibly discomforting. You can hear him sniff. Right in front of you, he pops one of the fingers from your amputated hand into his mouth and bites down. Your bones crunch in his mouth, and blood gushes past his lips. He swallows it in a single gulp. You jerk your head away and start violently retching, but there’s nothing in your stomach that you can regurgitate. 

When you finally turn back around, the stranger has moved mere inches from your face, and you jerk away, slamming the back of your skull against the pavement out of instinct. His eyes are wide and pupils distorted, smile impossibly stretched out further than before. “You… Your flesh…” His hot, deep breaths waft against your skin. Droplets of drool drip down onto your chest. A loud, overlapping form of static vibrates through your whole body and pushes down all around you. Then, when you think you might explode, it stops. He pulls back while looking down at you, head slightly tilted. His hands still tremble. His eyes dart around all over your body. 

With a snap of his fingers, a roll of bandages appears. He chucks it at your chest. The arm holding his microphone is stretched back, as far away as it can possibly get from him. He talks lowly and slowly. “Wrap those around your arm, and you’ll live.” He inhales deeply once again and licks his lips, which he somehow manages despite still grinning. “Scram now, but don’t even think of dying before I find you again.” 

Collecting every ounce of energy that you have left in your body and forcing your shaking legs to their absolute limit, while every instinct in your body screams its agreement with him, you push the bundle of bandages tight against your chest with the arm you have left, and run.

[spitdrunken]

notes: alastor x reader, graphic violence @ reader character, but not very detailed. cannibalism description, manipulation, unrquited feelings. alastor is nooot nice he’s terrible. this is just a vague ideadump before i forget this. none of the fics about this dude are dark enough for my liking HAHA maybe i’ll write something full for this later

i’ve been thinking so much about alastor killing you it’s unreal. my idea just being that he tortures you and broadcasts your death right on radio... i was also thinking of maybe making ‘you’ some really messed up fan of his like, someone who WANTS to be killed by him. this is such a difference from the norm that it might actually catch his attention for a little. (he always seems to be looking for things to quench his boredom, after all.) dude would definitely play a laugh track while you’re bleeding out underneath him. 

in general i just really like the idea of manipulative alastor as well just... i dunno, i wanna imagine that he would try and make someone completely dependent and in love with him once for his own entertainment. the romantic feelings are completely unrequited, btw. maybe he’d have a little fondness for you? but like more in a ‘pity for a lesser creature’ kind of way, pitying you for ever believing him. he would never see you as an equal. maybe these two ideas could build off of each other,,, with the willing torture being the finale of his grand efforts. 

(CANNIBALISM WARNING.)

 i want him to be just gross and touchy and for it never to be quite sensual or close to romantic enough. and during the torture then,, like him leaning in for a kiss, but when kissing you all he does is take the opportunity to bite off your tongue and swallow it. you’re still lucky, he doesn’t usually spend so much time with anyone <3!