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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

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D.I.L.F. (2) – Foreplay

Summary: Your mother has a new love interest. You are stuck with her boyfriend.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader (for now...)

Characters: Franklin Clay (the losers)

Warnings: implied/intended cheating, heavy daddy kink, fingering

A/N: Y/M/N = Your mother's name (or stepmother if you don't want to imagine your mom being a b*tch)

D.I.L.F. masterlist

<< Part 1

“No, you will listen to me now, Y/M/N,” Tony grunts into the phone. He’s just done pretending he doesn’t know about your mother’s infidelity. “I’m a genius, a billionaire, and a desirable man. If you want to fuck the pool boy, go ahead. Tell him to send one of his colleagues from now on.”

You poke your head around the corner, listening closely as your mother’s boyfriend is about to break up with her. It’s the first time you are happy she messed a relationship up because you cannot deny the feelings you have for Tony.

“I don’t fucking care!” He yells into the phone. “We are done, Y/M/N. Lose my number, and forget where I’m living. And just you know, the credit cards won’t work from now on.”

He hangs up the phone and throws it against the wall. “Shit. Another relationship is down the drain. I should go for prostitutes from now on. At least they don’t pretend to like me to get my money.”

You take a deep breath. This is not the time to make a move on Tony. He seems to be down because of the breakup, so you will try to distract him with another swimming contest.

“Hey, Tons,” you act like you didn’t listen to his conversation with your mother. “How about we are having this swim contest now?” You grin. “I bet I can beat you again, old man.”

“Old man?” Tony splutters. “Wait you little shit.” He points a finger at you, smirking. “I’ll beat you this time.”

“I bet you will go down,” you sass back and put your hands on your hips. “Let me change into my brand-new bikini and I’ll beat you in no time.”

“I let you win last time, brat,” Tony steps toward you to size you up. His pride got hurt in more than one way lately and he won’t lose another contest. Not today. “You will beg me for forgiveness.”

“Cute,” you peck his cheek. “That still believe you can beat me. I’ll be right back, Tony.”

You chuckle at his pissed expression. “We will see!”

“We will!” You run off to change into your bikini. “I’ll beat your sorry ass!!”

“Ready, pipsqueak?” Tony watches you walk toward the indoor pool. He gasps as you pass him by, smirking to yourself. You’re wearing a pink two-piece bikini made of strings that barely covers your modesty.

It shows a huge amount of under-boob, and just about covers your nipples. The bottom is no better. It’s a bondage-style piece that only covers your most private parts. Anything else is visible to Tony who can’t take his eyes off you.

“What’s this?” He points at your bikini bottom. “I thought you bought a bikini. This looks like some strings you put together.”

“It’s my brand-new bikini,” you coo, and run your hands over your body. If you must play dirty and distract Tony to win the swimming contest, you’ll play dirty. “Do you like it?”

“What did you pay for it? A buck?” He cocks his head to glance at your crotch. His tongue darts out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

“More like two hundred.” Your heart flutters as Tony subtly checks you out. He roams your body with his eyes, humming as you explain how sexy you feel wearing the bikini.

“They fooled you, darling. Half of that thing is missing.” Tony concludes. “I would’ve bought you a nicer one, with a little more fabric.”

“Less fabric, means I’m faster.” You grin. “I’ll beat you. Now, stop trying to avoid the unavoidable.”

Tony looks at you, bewildered. “What?”

“Your ultimate defeat.”

You jump into the pool, giggling as Tony follows suite. “I’ll defeat you, little brat.”

“You can try, Tons.”

“Alright. This is the ultimate contest,” he looks at you. “Ready or not, you are going to lose. You will not beat me!”

“Ready if you are,” you mirror his smirk.

“We will count to three and start. Who reaches the other end first three times in a row wins,” Tony explains the rules you know so well once again.

You give him a thumbs up. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three,” you call out and start to swim. Tony chases after you, almost passing you by when you cry out in pain. He stops swimming toward the end of the pool to swim toward you.

“Tony…” you struggle to stay above water. “My right leg is cramping. My thigh.”

“Shit,” he’s by your side in the blink of an eye. Your wrap your arms around his neck, holding back a smirk when he wraps one arm around your waistline. Tony moves his free hand to your thigh to carefully massage you. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” you purr and lean a little closer to his face. “Your hands work magic, Tons.”

He chuckles. “You scared me there for a moment, darling. How are you? Can you get out of the pool on your own?”

Tony is still massaging your thigh when you start to whine. “It hurts. I need you to help me.”

“I’m trying, darling. Let me just try something else,” he presses his thumb to your aching muscle.

“No. Not there,” you pout. “Let me show you where it hurts.” He drops his hand from your thigh and lets you guide it toward your crotch. “There, Daddy. It hurts so much.”

“Y/N,” Tony fights the urge to slip his hand inside your bikini bottom. He just broke up with your mother and cannot do such a thing. Even though, he fell for you a long time ago. “How much does it hurt?”

“So…so bad… Daddy,” you move his hand up and down your crotch. “Please. I need you to help me.”

Tony looks you in the eyes, searching your face. “You sure?” He cocks his head. “I need you to say it, darling.”

“Yes. Daddy.”

“Such a dirty girl,” he finally moves his hand inside of your bikini bottom to run one finger up and down your slit. He flicks your clit, watching your lips part. “Do you want me to play with your naughty pearl?”

“Yes. Daddy…”

A hungry pair of hazel eyes watch Tony and you in the pool. Clay dips his head, enjoying the show so far.

“I’ll be waiting for my turn then, my friend…”

More tags in reblog.

D.I.L.F.

@arioneway

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tw: daddy kink #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark fanfiction #D.I.L.F. (2) – Foreplay

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the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes · 8 months ago

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𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 20

Soon-to-See-Corpse and What's in a Frame

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: Alastor finally takes you to the soon-to-be-corpse so you can have your fun, and yet…what's this? He said it would have your name on it.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Cannibalism, Murder, Knife, Blood, Gore, Tentacles, Demon form

When you blink, you find yourself on one of the many ruined rooftops of disputed territory just outside of the entertainment district, still in Alastor’s arms. It is far later than you’d anticipated; the night sky in Hell is a familiar one. You hear screaming and howling in the distance, see fires and explosions. The turf wars don’t stop, even after darkness falls.

He sets you down gently and then takes your hand. A light breeze flutters about your dress and hair. It teases Alastor’s, and his ears are twitching too. He looks magnificent.

He leads you over to a door, behind which you hear the sound of muffled wails. When he opens it, you see a body bag that wiggles with someone desperate for escape. You grin wickedly at Alastor and begin to unzip the bag slowly to reveal the contents inside.

The smell of fresh blood hits your nose before you see its innards. You consider teasing Al about starting the fun without you, but then, as you unwrap the sinner’s bound form, you see his once pristine white collared button-down shirt soaked with blood and torn open.

There, carved into the flesh of his chest, is your alias in large, glistening letters.

THEIA

The flesh wounds are oozing, dripping. You kneel to look at it. You don’t bother to look at anything but his chest, the bright red letters are simply begging for your touch.

So you do.

You trace your claws over every letter and rejoice in every whimper you hear escape from around the gag in this canvas’ mouth.

As you dig your claws into the meat of the tortured flesh, Alastor asks you as he leans on his cane, eyes half-lidded and pleased with himself, “Do you like your surprise, chérie?”

You have half a thought to ask him what this sinner has done, what he did to deserve this fate, but then you realize: it doesn't really matter, and you don't care.

You tear your gaze away from the display of devotion in front of you to focus on the man who created it. Your eyes flash red. “You said it would have my name on it.” You murmur quietly.

He drops to one knee to be closer to you as he asks, “Would you give me the honor of telling me your name, ma très chère?”

The name you haven’t told a soul. The name you’d told Rana she had to stop calling you after that day, for fear that those who knew it would find you. “Iris you hadn’t asked me that, mon point focal.” The look in all of your eyes, on your body, your dress, on your belt, and on your knife, are half a plead and half a promise. Please understand.

He manifests a knife, and carves just below it with a practiced hand even as the canvas twists and squeals.

IRIS

The knife vanishes from his hand and he turns to you, as if asking what you think of his work.

You grab his face and kiss him. He freezes for a moment, and you worry you’ve gone too far until he grabs yours and pulls you closer to him. A soft moan escapes your lips without your consent, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

When you both part, you can hear his slightly elevated breathing. Yours is too.

“It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” You reply, and it’s true. “Thank you, mon point focal, mon donateur.” He flushes, but before he can reply, you unzip the body bag completely and pull the petrified, trembling, sobbing man out of it.

If it weren’t for the gag you might have heard pleads, beseeches, desperation for mercy, but even if he could, it would fall on apathetic ears. Not deaf, never deaf to those delicious sounds.

You turn to your bestower, for that is what you have just called him, and you realize in your passionate kiss, that you’d left this man’s blood on your man’s cheek. That just won’t do.

“Mm, I seem to have made a mess of your face, bien-aimé. Can’t let good blood go to waste dirtying such a handsome complexion. Allow me to lick it up for you.”

At a loss for words, Alastor pulls you towards him in lieu of a response and you use your deft tongue to collect the tangy, delicious liquid. The flavor of the sinner's blood mixes with the taste of his skin. Your eyes flash red and you smirk wildly at him as he reels you in for another kiss.

It is passionate this time, and far more urgent. It’s as if he’s chasing the blood to sample it himself as he slips his tongue inside your mouth to mingle with yours. You moan again, slightly louder this time, as you pull him even closer to you. It’s almost inaudible, but you feel radio static as he releases a soft moan of his own.

When you separate again, he is staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. Your eyes flash red and you shiver.

It takes a particularly urgent noise from the mess at your feet for you to remember what you had come here to do.

“Alright,” You decide as you tie his shirt in front of your name, obscuring it from all but the two of you, “Time to let him go.”

“Surely you don’t intend for him to get far, ma très chère?” Alastor asks from beside you with a raised eyebrow.

“The whole point is to let me hunt, remember? I can’t chase if he doesn’t run. Besides, I have eyes all over this city.” You shrug and grin at him wickedly, your eyes flashing again and the shadow of your tentacles emerging from your back. “There’s nowhere he could run that I couldn’t find him.”

Alastor gives you a wicked look of his own. It makes you shiver again and you debate on giving him another kiss, but then he cuts the binding on the sinner’s legs, leaving his arms and wrists bound behind him and the gag in his mouth. With one hand, he picks the man up by his bound wrists and walks swiftly over to the edge, his gaze never leaving yours, to dangle him over the one story drop. “Ready, mon méchant truc?”

His wicked thing, You think to yourself as you stand. That I am.

You walk to where he’s standing to look your prey in the eyes for the first time since you unzipped the body bag. There are four of them. Delicious. You lick your lips. “When he drops you, I will give you five seconds to run in the direction of Vee Tower. If you do as you are told, I will grant you the mercy of eating your eyes after I kill you. Disobey, and I will pluck them from your skull and draw your suffering out for hours until I am satisfied. Have I made myself clear?”

The sinner nods vehemently. Alastor looks pleased.

You reshape your dress into a backless number that gives you freedom of movement but lets it billow around your legs.

“Alright, mon donateur, release him.” You croon.

As Alastor’s hand opens, you let out a howl and release the form from inside you that has been aching to escape.

Your body contorts and elongates, growing in size and shape. You release your tentacles from your back and hiss with relief as they emerge from their confines. The Thousand Eyes on your tentacles blink out in wonder and satisfaction of finally being put to good use. Your spine cracks and contorts as you tower over Alastor in his humanoid form.

When you leap from the building, the ground shakes and rumbles for a moment. You are still much taller than he stands.

The look in his eyes is one of sheer delight, fascination, and a third thing you struggle to name. “You look positively radiant, mon monstre! I look forward to the show!” He calls you his monster as he calls to you, and you bend down from your great height to kiss him as best you can manage. Given your tongue is nearly half his height in length alone, it’s more of a lick than a kiss, but he seems more than thrilled from the look you receive in response to this attention.

You let out an otherworldly screech and then close all of your Thousand Eyes to open the dozens in the entertainment district.

Looks like this prey decided to follow directions. You discover gleefully as you catch him running past the tailor shop in the main square.

“F̴͚͕̑̊͂͝ͅÖ̵͈̜̼̰̜͈́̀̀͐Ṵ̶̠̉̔̕N̸̢̙͙̠̟̱̫̔͝D̸̙̠̜̽ ̷̪̱͉͐̕H̵͔̻͙͖͆̀I̵̫̒̾̉̄̄̀̓͝M̵̲̝̝̥̒̀̆”

You bellow as your smile widens impossibly and you lick your lips.

“Lead the way, ma très chère; I’ll follow shortly!”

“Ḏ̵̘͂̔O̴̯̝̓N̷͕̔'̷̲͓̭̌̿̓Ṫ̷̢̟͔̊�� ̸̏̕ͅT̴̞̤͒̀͜Á̶̠K̶̦̟͖̍̑̋Ë̷͔͙͉́ ̵̞̟̐̋ͅT̶͚̟́͆̕͜O̷͔̜͔͠Ŏ̶̡̅͆ ̸͖̪̇͜L̵̫̓O̴̧̠̒̈́̚N̴̖̐̀Ḡ̴̡̧̻.̷͖̝̐̆ͅ ̴̱͕̐́̈́Ḭ̸̟͗̋͠'̷͚̐̏͝Ḷ̷́L̶̲̬̽͌̔ ̶̓͜B̵͖̉Ě̸̱̪͈ ̸̞͋̂W̵̙͓̔A̶̠̳͈͐͘I̶̦̽̑͝Ţ̵͉̜̃Ị̵̝̓͐͊N̸̼͈͊̓G̵̗͈̈́̈̀ ̵̣̠͇̅͑̑F̸̛̹̹̤̆Ŏ̶̾̀ͅR̷̡͇̻͋̾̌ ̴͚͋̈̎Y̴̨̺̑̌Ȍ̷̼͇̖̍U̷̖̭̚,̴̟͖̓̇́ ̴̲̻́̚M̵̤͕̯͠Ợ̸N̶͚̟̼͛ ̴̢̐͗̑Ṕ̶̛̝̲͝Ǫ̷̪͛̂̃Ȉ̸͓͐͑N̵̦͐T̸͉̉ ̸͖̥͖̇̾̚F̶̻̝̈̋O̸̡͓͒̀̈C̷͍̭͈̽̒Å̸͉L̷̲̽̇͝.̷͉̠̥͆

You give him one last saucy smirk and manifest directly in front of your prey. You see all the cameras around you turn to watch you in an instant, and everyone nearby freezes in place, watching too. Perfect, you think, Time to start the show.

Doing just that, you let your prey run again, let him slip through the streets and throng of people, dodging and weaving, let him think he might escape—before you manifest directly in front of him once again.

“I̸̠̣̽͒ ̶̪͎̰́́̅͒͑̓T̸̹͎͕̈́͜O̵̲̜̅̃͊͘Ĺ̴̺̒̓̓̕D̴̙͍̽̌ ̶̬̦̜̣̜̪͗Ỷ̵͔̲̯̎O̵̢̠̬̾̇̔̈́͒Ǘ̸͚̘̗̰͎͓̈́̐͝ ̶͔͚͍̺̽͌Ṭ̴̭̠̙̿̋H̴̩̤͒͘ͅĘ̸̛͕͔̅́̑̽̀R̵͉̬̺̊̔́E̵̩͎̠̟̔̉͜ ̸̟̻̅̍͠͝W̵̧͆͆̒̐̏̉A̶̺̟͘S̸̤͉̍̽͗̀̋͜ ̷̙̙̭̖͖̆̀̄͘N̸̰͠O̵͎͖̤̼͆͌̿̂͠Ŵ̶̱͔̣͇̤͗H̵̱͖̝̎̂̉̓́É̷͚R̵̢͎͇̩̓E̶̮̘̺͎̐̏͘̕ͅ ̸̫̱̫͒͑̈Y̴̯̲̜͐̇O̶̲̤̐̑̀U̷̥͐̀̊̓̚ ̵͇̺̥́C̵̞̣̰͔͉̀͘Ǫ̵̜̭̏̑̑̓͝Ŭ̷̳̮̫͑͑͋͘͜͝Ĺ̶̥̹͕͉̞̙D̴͈̲̏ ̴̨̫̿̅͑̽R̷̛̝̲̱̹͌̑̃͐͝ͅU̶̡̩̭̜͍̻̓̾͂͛͑̑Ǹ̷̛͓̾͆͝.̵̧̼̊̽”

You snark as you see Alastor manifest from out of the shadows beside you.

“Look at you, mon monstre. Having some fun, are we? Good for you, ma très chère!” He leans on his cane, eager to watch your performance. The lights flicker around you as he does so.

You screech in delight at his praise.

You have fun at first, starting with pulling off your prey’s legs, one and then the other, so he can only crawl uselessly away. The sound he makes when you rend limb from torso is forced and tortured. It’s a symphony of screams. You almost consider removing the gag from how beautiful it sounds. Almost. It’d be a waste to hear his pointless blathering and ruin this so far perfect night. His blood leaves crimson streaks as he drags his limp torso behind him, his nails breaking and bleeding as he struggles for purchase on the uneven sidewalk. He is moaning, writhing, all the while desperate and begging.

After he crawls a few feet, he collapses, and when he fails to pull himself upright, you croon,

"̸̲̮͓̐̐̆̋G̵̢̨̛̥͎͈̮̝͂̄I̷̺̺̚V̵̨̢̤̤̗̙̦̇̊͂̀̾I̴͍̎͛N̷̛͍̤̏͝Ǧ̴̡̝͒̿̈́̈́͒̒ ̴̲͖̭̥̤̮͐ͅƯ̶̤͈̼͌̀̿̒P̸̢̛̩̭̯̬̎ ̵̢̜͒̐͛̄̚A̷̠̐́Ļ̵̰̕R̴̖̉̾͊͠E̷̤͕̩̲͖͐̄͊͘͜ͅA̷̢͉̮̩̎́̔͊͐̅͆D̷̠͚͆̓͑̀̕Y̵̧̛̖̔͘?̴̧̩̘̜̬͉̪͒̆͋̐̀ ̶̳̠̍͂Ş̷̗͔͙͈̝̕Ṵ̷̒̇͋̓͊̚R̴̘̣̉̔̐́̚͘É̸̗͓̤̟̣̰͛̽̃́̚͝L̷̞̙̺̪̲̈͋͒Y̷̨͒͝͝ ̵͔͔̜̟̣̲̩̐̈́̀̉͑̚Ÿ̶̼̻́́͊O̵̪̯̳͍̮͎͖͛Ǘ̵͙̮̫͕͈̔̂̓̀͑͘͜ ̶̯̫͓͌̏D̴̹̦̤̑̎̽́͠Ö̴̺͇̦́̔͝N̴͈͊̽'̵̪̆T̸̺͓̞̉ ̶̢̛̘͚̻͎͕͕͌̋̒͘̕S̵͈̺̮̗̐̕͝T̴̻́͛͑I̷̡̱̼̪͐͆L̴̳̝̖̭̀́̒Ĺ̵̮̤̎̒͗̃̈́͂ ̶̟̮̹̹͖͇̊͆͘͠Ǹ̸̘̻͎͓͌Ẻ̴̜̆͠Ę̷̂̀͊̆̐D̷̨͇̬̦͎͔̎͐̾͗ ̶̧̘͙̝̖̳͙̆̍̍͝A̴̠͗́͗̈́͘͝R̸̺̜͖͇̼̫͋̒̎̏̌ͅM̸̛̤̰̩̱͗̄̄͆̂͠S̶̡̳̪̿̌̉̾̊̍̓,̶̣͒̉͜ ̴͔̪̗̝͈̙̺̒̾̈͒̊̀̿Ţ̸̻̟͉̀H̴͓̀͛͆͌̕E̶̫̬̾̓̐̑̾̚N̵̖͗̉̽.̶̮̲̱̦̬͘"̷͇͓̮̜̻̾

You roll his bleeding frame over to look him in the eyes as you tear one arm off and then the other. Once again, his shrieks are a chorus of song, a melody you’re composing for yourself with this shell of a sinner as your instrument. You screech with sheer euphoria once again as it hits your ears.

“Now, ma très chère, as much as I’d like to watch you eviscerate him with your bare hands,” His eyes turn to dials and his antlers start to elongate as he considers the idea. Your Thousand Eyes shiver at seeing him lose control even as he continues, “don’t forget that lovely little knife of yours, hmm?”

Ö̷̱̱̖͚̜̯͉̟̃̒́͌̈͊̏̃̍̓͠͝F̸̪̬̜̗̫̙͚̉͒̾̃̄͊̈́͋͒̕͠͝ ̶̡̹͓̬͖̭̌̏́̃C̷̻̳̭͍͎̱̱̠̥̀Ŏ̸̥̫̈́͂̀̈́̒͛͐͝͝ͅṲ̴̫̯̈́̾̇͐̍̀̈́̎͘͘͘͝Ř̶̳̯͔̞̦̞͔̼̺̝̙S̵̪̭̫̭̤̊͆͌͑͘̚͘͜Ȩ̸͚͎̭̟̩̑̈̊̋̈́̏ ̸̨̛̗̝̝̯͍̻̟̬̾̾͂̈́̽͝͠ͅN̴̨̧̠̲̘̂͋͛̌̈́͆͝Ǫ��̼̻̱͕͓̟͉̻͓̩͚̈̐̊̌̅͒̐̂̎̾͑͆ͅT̵̳̥͇͙̟̯̝͚̥͕̙̫̲̂́͑͌̒͆̕̚͠͠,̷̡͈̰̻͐ ̵̲͎̔͝M̴̡̮̻̼͔̟̺̺̜̗̠̱̦̍̄͒̓͑́͂̚͘O̶͌̎̄̎̏͜͝N̶̢͙̱̙̜̭͇̲̘̪̮͚̭̈̆̀̋͂͊̔̐̈͘ ̶̨͚̫̯̠͚͔̙͓̜̒̑̽̔̄̅͑͜D̷̛̥̼̣̲̱̰̬̤͍̏̐̋̈́͋̈́̐̿͊̄͘͜͜͠Ǫ̸̛̲̱̹̖͉͉̫̹̳̣̝͑̑̄̎́̔̌͛Ń̸̡̛͙̰̖̆͐͂͑͒Ạ̷̪̠̳̻̓̇̆̎̾̇T̸̜̦͈̈́͊̃̍̽̽̄̐͐͐̍͠E̶̖͊͒U̷̮̳͐̆̈́̇ͅR̶̲͑͛̈́̀͠.̶̧̝̥̞̻̝͈̗̗͛͑͌͐͘

You let yourself shrink down to your normal proportions but leave your Thousand Eyes out to see, to witness. They do not look at the terror-stricken torso and head in front of you, however. All Thousand Eyes are fixated on him. You unsheath the knife and your middle eye trains on him too. He knows where to look, knows that you are not just watching him, that he is your focal point, your purpose. Your gaze is locked with his as you plunge the blade into the soon-to-be-corpse at your feet. “For you, mon point focal, mon tout.” You declare as your blade pierces flesh, carves so deep and so pretty, slices through the beautifully carved words on his chest, obscuring them. You twist until it hits bone then pull it out and plunge it inside again.

And again.

Lights flicker and bulbs pop as blood splatters and sprays; you drench yourself in it, soaking through your dress and into your skin. You do not hold back as you cackle with unhinged, maniacal satisfaction, pleased at the sensation of tearing through this canvas of flesh and muscle and fat and bone.

When the light in his eyes dies, you remove the knife from his chest and lick the blade clean, careful not to cut yourself, your gaze never leaving his, not even for an instant. You blink out of sync so it never falters.

You watch him with compulsion and captivation. Even with this many eyes watching, you still cannot understand the expression he makes. It cannot be what you hope it is. Surely it’s not lust? You blink the thought away as you let your eyes flutter out of sync again, then return the blade to its sheath.

Your tentacles pluck the eyes from the corpse, one right after the other in quick succession. The squelching of their removal makes you squirm with gratification.

“So, beau, would you like to share in the feast?” You croon as you saunter in his direction, and your tentacles drop the eyeballs into your palm. The ones that aren’t busy with purpose twist and curl and writhe, waving teasingly at him, a dance all of their own.

You notice the power fluctuate as Alastor pulls you into his arms. It dims as he eats two of the eyeballs from your palm and you pop the other two into your mouth, chew, and swallow.

More bulbs break and wires hiss, overlord's overload eminent.

The two of you smirk into the nearest camera, then he pulls you in for a searing kiss. He slips his tongue into your mouth again, and you relish the taste of the eyeballs mixed with what is unmistakably him, a taste you worry you might start to crave. Perhaps you already are addicted to this taste, this sensation, of his lips on yours with desperation, want, need. You moan, and he moans too, louder this time, loud enough for anyone who might be watching to hear. You moan louder at the thought, and he does too, and you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, slotting your body against his.

The power dips and dims, then crashes around you, and the two of you are bathed in darkness.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket repeatedly as what you don’t doubt is a spam of churlish and livid texts from Velvette flooding your phone. You ignore it as you lose yourself in the feeling of Alastor’s lips on yours.

You break the kiss to steal some air into your lungs, and he chases your mouth, peppers your face with kisses before he latches onto the side of your throat. “Al—” You choke out a moan as he licks and nibbles at your flesh, “We should—” You stumble over your words as he licks blood off of your neck, “We should go.”

Barely a breath after you’d spoken those words, he is using his shadows to envelop you, his lips still affixed to your skin.

A/N: Theia is a fucking terrifying monster and I adore her gruesome side! I had way too much fun tearing this random-ass sinner apart, almost as Theia did. I hope y'all found satisfaction in this long-awaited horror.

Chapter 21 is smut, mostly. Tentacle porn and some of the most nauseatingly affectionate making love I've ever written, plus some crucial plot at the very end.

First || Chapter 19 || Chapter 21

#the demon of a thousand eyes #theia #demon of a thousand eyes #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel oc #alastor x reader #eye #eyes #eye puns #eye puns as a coping mechanism #tw blood #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #tw tentacles #tw knife #tw demon form #murder as foreplay

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