ladymothbeth

[ladymothbeth]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you

character: alastor warnings: 18+ for mature themes (no smut) minors do not interact, fem!reader, pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (possessiveness; reader is nothing more than a silly little doll for alastor to play dress up with), implied size difference, a hint of blood words: 1.1k

Alastor is a creature of habit, a man of routine. He has his daily rituals, his rigorous schedules, his lists of tasks, all performed to perfection each and every day. 

And Alastor likes to begin his mornings in a very specific way. 

You know the procedure by now inside out, upside down, could recite it backwards, if he so desired you to. 

By the time he wakes you, he’s already laid out your outfit for the day; intimates, dress, socks, accessories, all spread in an immaculate flat lay on his seldom-used bedspread. 

You are always expected to adorn yourself with the garments he’s selected, to pull on each and every piece all on your own, fabrics lovingly caressing your exposed flesh as his gaze slithers after the material, leaving burning smudges on your skin.

But, of course, you can never do it all completely right—not like Master can. 

Because it always ends the same, this little morning sacrament: with Alastor fussing over you—straightening out a bow, smoothing out a wrinkle, tugging up a sock, readjusting a sleeve.

There is always something wrong he has to fix, to make perfect. 

And the finishing touch, the finishing touch is always for Master to add. 

A leather collar, as red as his eyes and adorned with a heart-shaped tag, his name in an elegant scrawl engraved in the platinum. He’s always so tender when he fastens it around your neck, after he has thoroughly approved of your dressing for the day, more tender than you’d ever thought him capable of; more tender than he ever is otherwise. 

It’s all just another way he claims you, degrades you, announces that you are his—his to decorate, his to desecrate, his to do whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

That pretty little silver heart that rests so daintily against your clavicle, that rises and falls and glitters with each of your gentle breaths, will never let you forget that. 

Today, as it is with most days, he has chosen a white colour palette. 

Sitting in his usual armchair with his legs crossed, folded hands resting in his lap, he watches as you undress in front of him, left vulnerable and raw to his gluttonous glare. It stings, his gaze razored and slitting into your skin, prickling as it rakes over your unprotected form, leaving you feeling hypersensitive, overexposed, like he’s stripped away some fundamental layer and left you barer than bare.

Yet to the untrained eye, he would appear only mildly interested, possibly even teetering on indifferent, but you know him better than that.

You are not the untrained eye—not anymore.

You know that the glowing in his gaze is brighter, bolder and more brilliant than normal as he sharply catalogues every action—pretty silk slipped off, dainty lace sliding on. 

You know that his pupils are abnormally large, having gnawed away at his irises in their attempt to consume the scene in front of him—a scene he’s witnessed a hundred times before; a scene he never tires of nonetheless. 

You know that his smile, usually sharp and stretched, is a little bit softer around the edges, a little bit sweeter as it seals hungry teeth behind curled lips.

His chest swells and deflates with calm, even breaths, his unblinking gaze holding yours for a moment—in, out, in, out—and you stand still as a statue, waiting.

Such a good little pet he’s got himself. 

He lets the moment linger for a little, basks in the exquisiteness of your obedience, allows that sweet suffocation of your compliance to grow until it’s nearly unbearable, until you’re struggling to keep stationary under his unrelenting stare, until the weight of it is crushing, compressing your ribs, flattening your lungs as you anticipate his approval.

Finally, he nods, and then, you begin.

First, the intimates; pure snow-white lace encrusted with tiny crystals, dainty material skimming your flesh in a faint caress, clinging to your supple curves as you fasten hooks and adjust waistbands. 

Next, an ivory milkmaid dress, complete with cinched puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, the corset top outlining the natural lines and bends of your torso, skirt flaring slightly at the hips and flowing into loose pleats around your thighs. Little white flowers detail the garment, embroidered in silk across the linen, blooming with each of your graceful inhales. 

Then, a pair of white thigh-high nylons to garnish the outfit, adorned with tiny white polkadots, sleek and sheer as they hug your legs. 

He doesn’t miss the ripple of chills that follow after his eyes as they glide up your body, trailing the curled knuckles hooked in the band of your stockings. Nor does he miss the delicate shiver that dances up your spine, or the tensing of your muscles as you linger in limbo beneath his stare, anticipating his next order.

No, he witnesses it all.

And he smirks, huffing out an airy snort, your frame flinching with the sound.

“Does my gaze make you uncomfortable, dear?”

“No, Sir, of course not,” you respond immediately; well-trained, obedient. 

“No? Then why has your body gone rigid beneath my eyes?” 

“I just—” you begin, faltering a little, a small frown on your face. 

Suddenly, he rises, stalking toward you calmly, both hands clasped behind his back. That infamous collar, held securely in his grasp, jingles with each of his steps, such a delicate sound for something so sinister. 

Stopping an inch or two from your face, your head snaps up, the motion instinctual, eyes wide and subservient—searching for guidance, awaiting your orders like the good little girl you are. 

A palm wreathes around your jaw, points of his claws pressing into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, revelling in the soft pained yelp that hitches in your throat, tangling on a gasp.

“Do you feel like a piece of meat, on display for your owner?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Crimson searches your face, slow and scrutinizing, lids narrowing slightly as his smile sharpens.

“Nothing more than a pretty little prize to be paraded around on my arm, proudly and in public?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Leaning down, he grinds his forehead into your own, inhibiting your gaze from fleeing his, neck bent at an unnatural angle as he looms over you. He stares at you for a moment, scarlet so bright it hurts to look directly into, so brilliant you’re sure it’ll leave sunspots blotting your vision when you finally look away, but you don’t dare to blink. 

Slim fingers flex around your jaw, tightening, and his claws pierce your cheeks—shallow little pricks that’ll be unnoticeable in a few minutes, dots of blood rushing to fill the tiny dents. His tongue laves over each in a single, slow drag, wide and wet as it cleans the wounds and streaks his tastebuds with copper, sealing them with a thick salve of saliva before pulling away. 

“Good,” he finally murmurs, the word a puff of breath wafting across your face, warm and woodsy. “Because you are. And Master likes for his things to look presentable.” 

[ladymothbeth]

you make a mess of me

character: alastor

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, blood + blood eating, periods, dry humping, biting (hard enough to break the skin), toxic relationship, noncon, possessiveness + entitled behaviour, pet/master dynamic, unintentional overstimulation + multiple orgasms, unrealistic amount of period blood, slashing/cutting the skin, alastor is getting off on the pain he’s inflicting on you

notes: this fic is extremely dead dove and involves alastor eating your period blood among other things. it gets gross; please read the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: lose control by teddy swims

words: 3.8k

The first day of your period is always, by far, the worst. 

Because the first day of your period is the heaviest, the bloodiest, and, according to Alastor, the tastiest. 

Which translates to: Alastor spending the entirety of the first day with his head buried between your legs, hungrily slurping blood from the most intimate part of your body, large claws curled around your hips and pinning you to the mattress, rendering you completely helpless beneath his grasp—defenceless against his vicious tongue, trapped at the mercy of his insatiable addiction.

You’ve lost track of time at this point, lost count of how many times he’s unintentionally made you cum, lost consciousness more than once, elusive and slipping from between your fingers, an intangible mist that you can’t seem to keep a solid grip on—something that melts in the heat of your palms as you squeeze too hard, too desperately. 

But that promise of pleasure always seems to draw you back into the light of wakefulness, presses gasps of air into your lungs and shocks your mind from it’s muddled fog.

It’s building once more, a dense heat roiling low and slow in the pit of your stomach as it furls in on itself in an almost lazy manner—a ball of fire that grows hotter and heavier, pulses larger and larger as it expands, flares with every swipe of his nose against your swollen clit, singeing surrounding organs, consuming bordering tissues, boiling the blood in nearby tangles of vessels—until it stops, dims, dies once more, withering away to simmering little embers, yearning to catch flame all over again. 

His unintentional edging eats away at your tattered sanity, renders you delirious for release, little fingers tangling in his bangs and yanking, a pitiful attempt to grind his face into your cunt, to catch your slick little nub on the tip of his nose.

The laps of his tongue, once soft as velvet, have turned rough against your licked-raw cunt, every drag of the wet muscle along your slit more painful than the last, sending tiny spikes searing through your gut.

It hurts, but it doesn’t stop you from being a greedy little thing, craving another orgasm, for that sweet, sweet relief that rushes through your exhausted body, that releases the tension building in your muscles, each graze against your clit coiling fibres tighter and tighter until your entire body has gone rigid, aching for reprieve. 

For what it’s worth, Alastor doesn’t really seem to care—if anything, he encourages it, the hands on your hips aiding in your movements as your pelvis rolls up, the motion pushing another rush of warm blood from your hole. His tongue wiggles further inside of you, curls into a hook in response, siphoning the substance from your core into his throat with keen little growls exhaled out his nose.

It turns him into something primal—past animalistic, past inhuman, something ineffably sinister, all of his senses sharply honed on his singular task, antlers sprouting branches the longer he eats from you, the worse the pain grows.

He eats your blood like a starving man, with such vigour you’d think he’s never tasted something so delicious, obscenely drinking from the center your body—a delirious attempt to drain you of your essence, dangerous teeth just barely sealed behind puckering lips and an avid, twisting tongue. 

It sounds disgusting, the crude smacks of his lips and working of his tongue echoing throughout his bedroom in thick squelches, his chin and his cheeks and his mouth drenched in your combined fluids—blood and spit, hurt and hunger.

It’s ritualistic in a sense, the way his tongue sprawls, swirls into your body, cups, and then darts back, scooping blood and tissue down his throat before forming a point, the tip circling the dips and contours of your cunt, sure to clean any remnants his messy eating might’ve left, before repeating the cycle over again.

Anguish turns stifling as he smothers himself with your core, time gone syrupy as it drips by dense glops, unhurried and unavailing. His tongue feels coarse against your once silky skin, now abraded by his incessant feeding, his methodical motions having caused tiny fissures to sprout along your hole.

Any faint flickers of pleasure have been completely eradicated now, morphed into torrid cinders that scorch your skin, pitchy wails scratching at your chest.

Something suspiciously similar to stop! shatters in your throat, your fingers burrowing further into his hair, knuckles rooted against his scalp right next to the base of his antlers, and tugging. 

He growls against you, the sound vibrating deep within your cunt, little tremors that snuggle into your flesh like worming maggots, a moan prying past your lips. A large palm flattens between your hip bones and presses down firmly, eliciting a squeak from your chest as it tries to milk your uterus from the inside out, desperate for more blood.

Another sound of frustration echoes behind his sternum, the fingers curled around your hip flexing, his talons further puncturing your flesh.

It isn’t enough for him.

Because, really, when has it ever been? When will it ever be? Your Owner has always been selfish when it comes to his precious pet. 

There are already tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, streaming down over your temples in shimmering little trails. Droplets of salt glitter, suspended in spiky lashes, as your eyes flutter, blinking rapidly to clear your bleary vision and dislodging more water in the process. 

Wordlessly, his head lifts from the apex of your thighs, elbows dimpling the mattress as he uses them to hoist his torso up, nosing along the junction of your hip with one deep inhale and letting the scent of fresh blood, trickling from the tiny piercings his claws have left, lead him. 

His tongue, pigmented a dark crimson, unfurls from his mouth to flatten against your flesh, bathing over the little wounds in slow, deliberate laves. But that isn’t enough, either, a starving snarl ripping from his chest as he repeats the action, this time dragging his lips along, too, using them to encourage another bout of blood from the cuts as he sucks, hard. 

It’s so strong, so forceful it has tiny tangles of vessels snapping beneath the skin, spilling enticingly into the surrounding tissues. A cry rips from your throat, back bowing off the bed as a bruise rapidly develops under his mouth, yet another mark he stains into you. 

But staking such weak, insufficient claims isn’t what he’s here for today.

Something dark rumbles in his chest, the type of greed that’s borne in his core, that rattles his ribs as it aches to escape, to consume more and more and more. 

Sharp teeth sink into supple flesh with zero resistance and scrape, effortlessly removing the first layer of skin and freeing the blood pooling beneath it. His avid tongue instantly sops up the substance, smoothing over the wound and pressing down powerfully, procuring another torrent of crimson. 

But his rapacity still remains unfulfilled—if anything, it’s only grown in its appetency. He needs something deeper. 

With another slow, deep sniff, he trails the tip of his nose along the expanse of your body, hunting for something thick and pulsing and allowing instinct to guide him, ears pricked and tuned into the frequency of a steady, strong pounding—and he finds it just above your belly button. 

Stopping, he licks the area once—a long, broad stroke of his tongue, gliding across your skin and leaving a viscid smear of saliva in its wake. 

Then a claw is puncturing your skin, slicing across your stomach in a controlled line, scarlet immediately seeping from the laceration, the tip of his talon missing your aorta by a hair.

It burns, a yelp sticking in your throat, tangling on a sob as you cough around it, spine arching instinctively. Cooling tingles skitter across the new incision as he breathes out a single puff of air, admiring, before his mouth latches over it. 

“Alastor!” you sob out, fingers curling against his shoulders and tugging, his name a garbled mess on your tongue. “What are you doing!”

“Hold fucking still,” he growls into the fresh injury. “Or I will rip your aorta out with my teeth.”

You know he won’t, know he values you far too much to kill you—his precious pet, his perfect little plaything, his prized possession—but that doesn’t mean that he won’t bring you alarmingly close to death—again. 

Even still, and as fun as that is, he’ll never fully go through with it.

Because you’re so fucking obedient—he’s never found someone so dedicated, so devoted, so fucking desperate to please him, to go above and beyond and make him proud, all without a contract. 

And he’s never giving that up. 

Besides, he’s grown quite fond of you. 

Predictably, you obey his order the instant it leaves his lips—never a single wisp of defiance drifting through your murky brain—squirming calmed, even as your body quivers in pain. 

He’s still for another moment or two, letting that delicious anticipation build, before he dives back into feeding, digs his tongue into the wound and tears it wider, another gush of warm blood rushing to fill the new gaping. 

Another sound of pain cracks through his bedroom, jagged and crisp, and he nearly whines into your stomach, the wriggling of his tongue turned vicious. 

It burrows into the wound, tip hooked as it plunges through the sticky substance, writhes under slippery tissues and broken capillaries in it’s quest for more, the rough voraciousness of it all sending spears of pain shooting through your stomach. 

You’re well past the point of sobbing now, unintelligible pleads spilling past your lips soaked with spit, garbled and howled, but your nails scrape at his scalp, fingers tugging a little on his antlers, a moan vibrating against your flesh as his hands wrap around your hips again, holding you still. 

He feeds on the stomach wound until the blood ceases to flow freely, until it requires too much effort on his part, blood working hard to begin congealing the gash only to be split open by his siphoning, over and over and over again.

Only then does he continue his exploration, scouring your body, nose curving over your ribs and outlining your breasts as claws slit superficial little slashes in your flesh, tongue swiping over them in experimentation, until finally he finds another heavy throbbing, right above your collarbone. 

His breath, pushed from his lips in harsh, fast little pants of hunger, is infused with your blood, the stench of bitter copper stinging your nostrils as it wafts across your skin. It collects in damp little droplets against your neck, his tongue once again unfolding from its cavern to press, hard and flat and wide, against your jugular. 

There’s no licking this time, no slow haul of the slick muscle to glaze the canvas before the inevitable incision, just his tongue held smooth and still pinned over the vein, feeling the steady rush of blood. Saliva drools steadily from the corners of his mouth, drizzling onto your chest in thick glass cords, tinted pale pink.

A shiver scampers up your spine as his irregular huffs ghost over your wet skin, chills erupting across your flesh. For a singular instant, everything is still, stagnant—your breath and his teeth and those wandering claws, the only constant being the pulsating thrum of your blood beneath his tongue—before his fingers are moving again, one palm curling around your neck to hold you still as a keen talon slices into your flesh once more. 

A scream curdles in your throat, stifled by the hand still collaring your neck, his mouth latching over the wound to lap at the blood. Searing pain radiates from the site, shooting along your jaw and shoulder, and your spine arches off the mattress, struggling beneath his body. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” you’re sobbing out, the plead spilling from your lips in a continuous sticky stream, letters tangled in threads of spit. “Please, Al—Master, please!” 

Something dark vibrates against you, rumbles from deep within his chest and spills into the wound his tongue is prying open—a warning, or a denial, you can’t be sure—as his hips keep you pinned to the bed, his thighs spreading yours wide, his knees sinking into the mattress. 

You’re trapped under him, helpless and vulnerable to his vicious attack as his lips pucker and his tongue wiggles and his teeth scrape, collecting you beneath their edges. The pain is excruciating as he devours you, as you thrash and cry and tremble pathetically, your efforts entirely in vain and failing to deter him like at all, your ceaseless struggling barely a hitch in his routine. 

“Please, please, please,” your chanting, bloated tears weighting your lashes, lids fighting to stay open. “Please, Sir, it—it—Stop!”

A roar ruptures in his throat, rough and loud, and he yanks himself away from his meal, raising his head to glare at you.

“Have you forgotten your purpose, pet?” he spits, flecks of your blood splattering across your cheeks, a smatter of crimson freckles. “Hmm?”

A large hand twines around your jaw and squeezes, hard enough that your cheeks hollow and your mouth puckers. His claws dig into your face as he forces you to look at him, his nose brushing your own. 

“Does Master need to make you write it out a hundred times, again?” 

“No,” you weep, head trembling in a poor imitation of a shake, still locked in place by his bruising grip.

“Then what is it? Why do you exist?” 

“To serve you.” 

“How?” 

“In—In any way you want me to, Master.”

“Exactly,” he purrs, but the word is razored, teetering on the edge of vitriolic. “So be a useful little pet, like you’re supposed to, and let Master take what he owns, what he’s owed.” 

And so, you do. 

Because you’re nothing if not faithfully, blindingly obedient to your owner. 

His grip relaxes, and your jaw raises, neck bowing off the sheets, offering itself to him unabashedly—your body, your blood.

Something nefarious spreads across his face, stretched smile curling at the edges as it reaches his eyes, a malicious little melody playing on the back of his tongue.

He takes a moment to admire your sheer obedience, your willing and unwavering faith him him, a claw tracing the newest injury, leaving behind a shallow outline in your flesh. 

A whimper falls from your lips, but you don’t dare to look away from him, even as the tears lacquering your eyes finally overflow again, streaming down the sides of your head to collect in your hairline. 

“Good girl,” he says, and although his voice is soft, the compliment is sharp—mean, mocking, hardened by a layer of patronization. 

“Th-Thank you, Sir.” 

And then he’s plunging his tongue back in, mouth sealing over the wound tightly, another shill squeal clawing at your throat. Yet despite the white-hot pain it inspires, his saliva stinging the new contour, you do your best to hold still, to be good, body quivering with the immense effort. 

“Christ,” he mutters, the word muddled with blood as he rubs his mouth into the cut. “Your suffering is so fucking delicious.”

His statement is so sick, tinged with a vile sort of pleasure that churns your stomach, acidic bile collecting on the back of your tongue, the revolt so overwhelming that you almost don’t feel it, twitching against your hip as it fills with blood, hot and hard and straining as his pelvis beings to shift, rutting in irregular little motions.

For a moment, you can barely believe what’s happening, mind numb with terror and shock. For a moment, your mind refuses to believe what’s happening, scrambling to scrape together some sort of patchwork excuse for this behaviour—maybe he was just moving to get more comfortable; maybe it meant nothing at all—but the rutting fails to cease, uneven and unskilled, a moan shuddering his breathing, and your body freezes beneath him.

If he notices, he doesn’t seem to care, the rocking of his hips never slowing, another muffled sound of pleasure seeping into your skin. 

They’re sweltering against your neck, those little noises of ecstasy, every little moan and whine and grunt huffed out damp and humid, beading in little dewdrops on your marred skin.

“M-Master,” you gasp before you can stop yourself, wiggling a little beneath him to confirm your suspicions and whimpering when his cock throbs in response. “You—You’re—It’s—”

“What?” he pulls back slightly, chest rising and falling against your own with ragged little breaths. Something smug plays with the corners of his smile, twinkles of sadism shining bright in his eyes.

He’s going to make you say it.

Your gaze flees his own—it’s too intense, eyes watering with a fresh bout of tears, pins of embarrassment pricking your cheeks. “It’s—”

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

Immediately, your stare snaps back to his, wide and submissive. 

“It’s hard,” you force words from your tongue, face twisting in a wince as if they were painful to say. 

“What is?” 

“Master—” you flounder, head shaking a little. 

“Go on,” he urges, grinding his hips into yours, slow and purposeful. “Tell me. You’re a big girl.” 

“Your cock,” you nearly whine, eyes squeezing shut, fat tears leaking from the seams. “Your cock is hard.”

“It’s your fault, you know,” he murmurs, tongue rolling over your cheek thoughtfully, leaving watery streaks of blood smeared in its wake, mopping up the salt and swallowing it down, growling a little. “Crying out in pain like that.” 

“Alastor,” you sob out, head shaking in messy little motions. “I don’t—I’m not—”

“It’s quite cute, the way you’re trying to act as if you don’t love this,” he pants, another gust of tangy metal nipping your nose as it wafts across your face, his forehead resting against your own. 

Inhaling deep and measured, his ribs expand against yours, sharp bones digging into soft flesh, a gentle tremor coursing through his form as he nestles his face into your own, noses bumping together. 

“You can’t fool me, pet. I know you too well.” 

His thigh hitches higher, wedged tightly between your legs, shoved up against your cunt, the abrupt action eliciting a gasp, your eyes snapping open to search his own. 

“I can smell your arousal, silly,” he says, voice low and smooth, nose tracing along your soiled cheek until his lips are at your ear. “In fact, it’s so strong that it’s overwhelming your blood.” A chuckle reverberates along the cartilage. “I know my pet is a nasty little girl.” 

Barbs of humiliation flush through your body, white-hot and searing through your veins, and he laughs again, a dark and malicious strain that vibrates from his chest into yours.

“Now,” he begins, the word slimy against your ear. “You’re going to be a good little girl for me and let your Master finish his meal.” 

It isn’t a question, nor is it a request—it’s an order, and it’s an order he knows you’re desperate to obey. 

Because, really, you live for him now, don’t you? Live to please him, to serve him, to make him proud. Because you’re nothing without him now, aren’t you? All of your self-worth wrapped up in your Owner, all of your purpose derived from him, all of your validation sitting heavy on his tongue, desperate to suck those vague compliments and shallow praises from his lips, to swallow them whole, always ravenous for more. 

Because you’re just as greedy as he is, in a way. And he knows it. 

And he loves it. 

His hand wraps around your throat again, pressing his claws into the delicate flesh slow and forceful and procuring new trickles of blood, cascading down your neck in ribbons of crimson.

A groan spills past his lips as he nuzzles his cheek into the tiny wounds, daubing his face with you while his hips begin to increase in speed and force.

Starched cotton chafes the wound on your stomach as he humps away at you, the thin, firm muscles sculpting his thigh flexing against your cunt with each of his movements.

“Ow, ow, ow,” you’re weeping, stuttered by the hiccups catching in your chest. 

“Aw, does it hurt? Huh?” he lifts his head slightly, glowing eyes scouring your face with voracity. “Am I—f-fuck—hurting you?”

The rolling of his hips judders a little as you bawl out a confirmation, gnarled and weighted with spit on your sloppy tongue, a whiny hiss sucked through the gasp of his clenched teeth. 

It all hurts so much, the grinding of his shirt against the slits he’s carved into you and the rubbing of his thigh against your sensitive cunt and the digging of his tongue into his newest infliction. 

Sharp teeth bury themselves in the fresh slash, persistently oozing on your neck right above your jugular, and gnaw at the borders, raw skin splitting further beneath their razored edges. Another scream gurgles wetly in your throat, the pitch sound mangled by a sob, his responding gruff sound of pleasure seeping into the wound he’s feeding on, white-hot and buzzing. 

The hair framing your temples is saturated with dense salt, the strands beginning to crust and dry in flat little knots against your skin, casualties of the beading sweat and ceaseless tears. 

The flesh of your cheeks feels heated and sore, gone tight from the thick streams of dried tears that stain them, tiny remnants of salt streaking your face.

He must be getting close already, snarls panted out against your shoulder, uncoordinated movements accelerating with each noise you make, faster and faster and faster until finally his teeth sink into your unmarred shoulder, a scream piercing the atmosphere as his hips stammer, grinding hard, and then still. 

A vicious shudder courses through his entire form as his cock throbs, body rippling beneath the force of it. Hot cum fills his trousers, sticky and thick and so, so much, viscous dollops leaking through the fabric. It’s tacky and blazing against your hip, the little jolts of his pelvis rubbing it in crude bands across your skin. 

Your fingers tighten, clinging to him, desperate for the comfort only he can bring, even as his strong jaw flexes and his teeth burrow deeper into soft flesh, embedded at least an inch or more, his tongue laving in messy strokes over the blood-slicked skin bunched between his lips.

“Master, Master, Master,” you’re sobbing into him, his breath harsh and stinging against the bite. 

Everything aches, muscles pulled taut from agony and anticipation, heavy with tension. Tiny pricks of pain erupt across your body in waves, conjured with each brush of his clothing. Sobs and screeches have left your throat ripped open, every rush of air feeling like an inhalation of razor blades. 

You’re still speaking, still chanting out his honoured title, but your ears have gone numb, your own voice unrecognizable, nothing more than a distinct vibration in your chest. 

It’s only when his cock is beginning to soften that he finally dislodges his teeth from your body, licking over the carvings of his mouth once, twice, three times for good measure before his head raises to look at you. 

The sight is stunning, kicks the breath from your lungs and the fog from your brain, attention suddenly honed on him, tuned into his frequency. 

Strokes of crimson paint his jaw in messy smears, his tongue licking at the blood coating his chin, streaking it further. It’s almost artful in a sickeningly intimate way, how he’s been glazed in you, your blood staining the lines of his teeth and the curves of his gums, his skin shimmering with his own diluted drool. 

His breathing is still frayed, cedar dyed with pungent copper breezing over your face in gentle huffs. A knuckle skims the edge of your cheek, gaping gaze following it’s trajectory, his claws varnished a glittering scarlet, only a shade or two brighter than their natural colour. 

“See?” he pants out, question airy on his tongue but infused with malice, eyes refocusing on your own. Something sinister tugs at the corners of his lips, broad smile stretching wider. “Was that so difficult?”

#alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x you

[ladymothbeth]

Devils Desires

Alastor x female reader x Lucifer Morningstar

Summary: Charlie pushes you and lock you in a room with the king of hell and The Radio Demon, Both Al and Lucifer want you and want you for their own... and ONLY their own

A/N- shush, Alastor is hot. okay

You were clueless about how you ended up in this situation, being dragged by the Princess of Hell, Charlie, into a room. You had no idea what awaited you there or why you were being dragged, but there you were, utterly confused.

"Charlie? What's happening?" you asked, noticing her guilty expression. "Charlie?" Before you could react, you were shoved into the room and heard the door lock behind you. Turning towards it, you started banging, demanding answers. "CHARLIE? WHAT THE HELL?" Then you heard her muffled voice on the other side. "I'm sorry! They wouldn't stop talking about you!" They? Who were they? That's when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You turned around to find the room occupied by two imposing figures. Each emanated power and charisma, sending shivers down your spine. On your right stood Alastor, the radio demon, with his cane in front of him and his claws resting atop the microphone. His smile was both charming and unsettling. On the left, leaning against the wall, stood the King of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar himself, his piercing gaze fixed upon you with undeniable interest.

Panic surged within you as you realized the gravity of the situation. Trapped in a room with two of the most influential and dangerous beings in Hell, there seemed to be no way out. Alastor's smile widened as he approached you, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

Meanwhile, Lucifer, still leaning against the wall, also sported a wider smile as he observed you, a mixture of curiosity and interest evident in his expression. "Indeed, it seems we have an unexpected guest," he remarked, causing your heart to pound with tension thick in the air. Lucifer then eyed you up and down before pushing off the wall. "And quite a delightful one at that," he added, arms crossed, smirking.

You had no idea of their intentions, and you couldn't believe Charlie, of all people in this hotel, had betrayed you like this. Caught between the intense gazes of the two powerful beings, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach.

As Alastor stepped closer, his tall figure looming over you like a predatory shadow, he addressed you directly. "Tell me, my dear," he said, locking eyes with you, "Do you have a preference? A choice between the Devil himself and the Radio Demon?" Alastor tilted his head, his smile unwavering.

Before you could respond, Lucifer stepped into view, causing you to step back, palms sweating. With graceful strides, he approached, a smile almost revealing his intentions. "Surely, you must see the appeal of aligning yourself with the ruler of Hell," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Why settle for a mere demon when you could have the Devil by your side?"

The tension escalated, leaving you torn. Before you could make a decision, Alastor leaned closer, his claw grazing your hip, his voice a seductive melody as he whispered, "Imagine the thrill of being by my side, my dear. Together, we could conquer Hell itself, rewriting the rules to our liking."

The sensation sent shivers down your spine, but before you could dwell on it, Lucifer pulled you towards him, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Consider the possibilities of aligning yourself with the ruler of this domain," he urged, his tone resonating with centuries of authority. "With me, you could have anything your heart desires."

Amid the silent offers, you couldn't bring yourself to decide. With newfound resolve, you stepped forward, addressing both Alastor and Lucifer with unwavering determination. "I appreciate your offers, truly I do," you began, your voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions within. "But I refuse to be swayed by empty promises and false allure."

Alastor's response was swift. "I can offer you even better promises," he said, his claw tracing your jawline, resulting in a song and a whirlwind of movement as you found yourself spun between the two. Eventually, the door swung open, revealing Charlie. Your hair was disheveled, and you were breathing heavily as you ran to her, her eyes widening in surprise.

"They—they need help," you explained, gesturing to both the Radio Demon and the Devil, who wore proud smiles. You kissed Charlie, knowing that this was far from the end of the ordeal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N- I'm a Alastor girl forever and always but I'm hearing y'all out about the king of hell ;)

[ladymothbeth]

The Radio Demon & the Billboard Doe (6)

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! OC

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst/Fluff (& Humor!)

Word Count: 2.7K

6. Ducky

“Okay, so is it true that your birthday is October 31st?” she asks

“Haha, no.”

“Really? When is it then?”

He puts his finger to his chin “Nobody was really keeping time when I was created, so I’m not really sure.” He grins at her “I was never ‘born’ either, so it’s a bit of a moot point. When’s your birthday?”

“November 1st,” she answers “I was born in 1997.”

“Wait, what year is it on Earth?”

“Well, it was 2024 when I died so…”

“Golly! That’s it? It feels like it’s been an eternity!”

“Well, that is an eternity to us!” Voe laughs

She had been spending a bit of time with Lucifer since he had consoled her the week before. She was in his tower now, just getting to know him a bit better, trading information about each other.

“Is your hat your crown?”

He glances back at his top hat on the desk “Yeah, kind of. It has a crown in it.”

She gets giddy “Can I wear it?”

“Sure!’ He hands it to her and she squeals all excited

She takes the hat and places it on her head, taking selfies with it on.

“You wanna take a picture?”

“You want to take a picture? With me?” he seems shocked and caught a bit off guard

“Fuck yeah! Come here!” she reaches for him and he comes into the frame of her camera “Okay let’s do silly faces.” They make funny eyes and stick their tongues out, laughing at themselves the whole time

“Can we do cutesy pictures?” He asks

“Of course King!” She presses her face against his face and they both do cute little smiles, he blows a raspberry against her cheek while she laughs when a knock is heard at the door

“Come in!” Lucifer calls

It’s Charlie. She comes in sounding bright as ever “Hey Dad I just wanted to see if you-“ She stops in her tracks, retreating into herself “Hey Voe.”

“Hey,” she waves at the Princess

Lucifer sits up straight “What did you need sweetie?”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out or talk, but I see that you’re busy so I’ll-“

“No no, me and Ducky were just finishing up.”

“Ducky?” Charlie questions while Lucifer blushes

Voe stands “That’s me. I suppose I can head out. Bye Luci,” she bats her lashes at him going to walk out “Oh!’ She takes the hat off of her head and hands it to Charlie “Put that back please?” exiting the room.

She takes the elevator down to the parlor, where Angel, Niffty, Husk, and Alastor are occupying the space. Occupying the same space, but all doing separate things. She heads over to Angel, who’s lying on the couch texting on his phone.

“Hiya,”

“‘Sup?”

“Just editing these pictures.”

“Don’t make ‘em too bright,”

She snorts “That’s a rookie’s mistake. I’m a pro.”

“Okay pro,” he smiles, his gold tooth shining in the parlor light “What’s the picture of?” She tilts her phone over to show him the photo “Is that Lucifer? When was you taking pics with the big dick in charge?”

Voe smirks “Just a few minutes ago, then Charlie came up and-“

“Interrupted you ‘bout to get dick from the big dick?”

Voe turns pinkish and pushes the spider “Uhh no!”

“Mhmm, I know how you get down dollface.”

Niffty crawls into her lap “Can I see Mommy?”

Angel raises his brow, Voe whispers “I don’t know, she just started calling me that.” She puts the phone in front of Niffty

“Ooo, look at his claws! *Rawr*” Niffty bares her little claws

“Real close to your neck toots” 

“Okay, it’s not even all that.” Voe rolls her eyes

Angel seems very unconvinced, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes.

She turns to the kitchen where Alastor is focused on yet another meal “What you cookin’ today Bucky?”

“Something casual,” Alastor responds “Just spaghetti.”

“Better not be breaking the noodles,” Angel says vaguely threatening

“What’s wrong with breaking the noodles?” she asked him, now rubbing Niffty’s hair.

Angel looks at her disgusted “Everything,”

“Such as?”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it,”

She shrugs “I just assumed you would break the noodles. Like, does everyone not break them?”

“I can’t believe this. W-what am I hearing?”

“You break the noodles Bucky?”

“Of course my dear.”

Angel covers his ears “I’m living in a hotel of heathens!”

Voe looks around “Everyone I’ve ever known or seen cook spaghetti has broken the noodles. I mean, how else would you fit them in the pot?”

“You’re supposed to boil the bottom and then push the rest in!”

“How do you know when to do that?”

“You keep watching it!” Angel curls up into a ball “This conversation is painful!”

Voe shrugs “Maybe it’s just a Black person thing.” She turns around toward Alastor “Are you Black?” Voe asked the Radio Demon, getting microphone feedback in response. The others stare at her “What?”

“Hey! How would you feel if someone asked you if you were Black?” Angel chimed in 

“I’d feel fine, and I’d answer. Because I am Black.”

“Really? I thought you were Italian like me.”

“Okay, first me being Italian would not preclude me from being Black, and second, why does everyone think I’m Italian?” she pinches her fingers together

“First of all, your hand gestures, second of all your accent.” “I’m just from New York!”

“Hey me too!”

“That doesn’t matter!” She turns back to Alastor “Are you Black?”

Alastor’s brain doesn’t know how to process that question, so he is frozen in place while Voe sits and waits for an answer.

“Hey.” She goes up to him to make sure he hears her. “Are you?”

He turns to face her, his smile static and unnerving “Why?” his eyelid is twitching

“Well, you’re a Louisiana boy, and you said that your mom made that jambalaya recipe, and you speak French. And also you break the noodles”

“So?” Angel asked from the couch

Voe turns to acknowledge him “So…that sounds like a recipe for a Creole.” She turns back to Alastor “Are you?”

“N-no,” he lies

Voe watches him for a few moments after he answers. She does not believe him but does not press him, as she can finally sense his unease with the question, and decides to get more information later.

_____________________________________________________

“So what exactly does it mean to be an Overlord?”

Voe stood in the parlor in front of her mounted smartphone and waited for the audience to give her responses.

be a bad bitch

be Bomb

be powerfll

“Well, that can’t be it. ‘Cuz if that was it, I’d already be one!” She tosses her hair back over her shoulder.

the Vs are overlords

yeah!!

true true

“Oh, they are, are they?” Voe strokes her chin with her index finger “But like, what does that mean?”

being an overlord is about owning souls mamas

“Owning souls? Is that why Velvette asked me to sign away ownership of mine?”

you work for velvette???? no wayyyy

i wish she owned my soul :(

tbh i’d give you my soul if you asked

“Wait,” she acknowledges the last comment “You’d give me your soul? Just like that? You wouldn’t want anything for it?”

hell yea!

fuck yes

i’d get to see that ass evryday that’s enuf for me

Voe ponders a bit more “Wait, so how many of you would want me to own you if I was an Overlord?”

Lots of commenters sent in hand emojis, indicating that they would want to be owned by her. She smirked at the thought of gaining that kind of power.

back in the day you had to kill other overlords

that’s what the radio demon did

he was killin’ all them bitches!

“So, Alastor is an Overlord?” She leans into the camera to read the comments

yeah!

he’s like the most powerful one

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

that’s debatable

i think the vees are btter tbh

“Okay, you guy’s spelling mistakes are driving me mad!” she huffs in frustration

BITCH GOT HIS ASS KICKED :P

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

REMEMBER THAT SHIT???

YOOOOOOOO

“What are you talking about?” She asked the live

yooo she got here after the whole shit with extermination day!!

“Extermination day?? What the fuck?! Explain, now”

 BASICALLY EXTERMINATION DAY IS WHEN HEAVEN COMES DOWN AND KILLS US LIKE EVERY YEAR, SO WE DON’T LIKE OVERPOPULAT E OR WHATEVER

AND LAST EXTERMINATION DYA RADIO DEMON FOUGHT THE LEADER OF THE ANGELS

adam

YEA ADAM

and adam kicked his ass

HE RAN AWAY LIKE A PUSSY

“Um, ew gendered language. And oh, this is not something I knew. I love all the tea being spilled tonight.” She pretends to drink from a teacup

NAH HE WEAK FR

tbh you could prolly kick his pussy ass

“Well, I don’t wanna fight him. I don’t really fight men.” she leans back from the camera “I destroy them from the inside.” she clenches her fist with evil intent in her eyes. “Wait, if he’s an Overlord though, does that mean he owns souls?”

FUCK YEAH

he owns mad souls

HIS BITCH ASS OWNS ME

Voe sits and ponders this new information. If Alastor is an Overlord and had this much power at his disposal, why was she given so much leeway? 

“Does he get like really rampage-y when he’s mad?”

hell yeah

can’t believe you’ve been there all this time and haven’t heard all this stuff

THIS BITCH BEEN UNDER A ROCK

he use to rip peoples souls apart and put them on his radio broadcast

“Ohhh, that’s why he’s called the Radio Demon.  Okay, that makes way more sense, because I deadass thought it was because y’all knew man’s was obsessed with radio and old 1920s-looking shit and I’m like how did y’all figure that out? Like, did he tell y’all that? Like why would he tell y’all that?”

wait wym girl??

nah do tell

1920s shit like what??

“Oh, like obviously he’s obsessed with radios, but like he won’t let Charlie update the TV, even though he’s not the one that has to watch it. I’m like ‘Girl stand up for yourself!’, but she don’t. He also gets mad when he sees other people using their phones. Like, how you mad that other people are enjoying tech after 1930? Like, we not making you use it. And he still looks at me sideways when I talk about being an influencer. He told me ‘that’s not a real thing’, like obvi, it is!” She starts laughing as she remembers something “BRUH, guys like a few weeks ago, he saw my speaker, which looks like this,” she lifts her speaker into the camera “ and was like ‘that’s not a speaker, it is a box with small holes in it.’ and I’m like ‘no???’ and I stood there and explained to this GROWN ASS MAN how Bluetooth works, and when I was done, he looked at me like this.” She tilts her head to the side and opens her eyes wide to an exaggerated degree, to look stupid “like his brain didn’t work or something” She starts cackling and clapping at how amused she is with herself.

girl

GIRL

oooo you in trouble lmao

BITCH WATCH OUT!

NAH WE BOUT TO SEE THE TUMBLE OF THE CENTURY XD

“Hmm?” her laughter dies down, she raises a brow “What?”

Alastor clears his throat behind her, and she turns to meet his gaze. “If you have something to say, my dear, say it to me. Not to your little ‘fans’ on your little picture box.”

“Well, the thing I’m recounting was a conversation we had, so it’s not like you were unaware of it. Or did you forget?” She crosses her arms “Fossil,”

Alastor widens his eyes, surprised at her boldness, given the things he knew about her. This was the direction she wanted to take their relationship in? After the things he’d seen? 

“My dear, did we forget your bout of tears because I did not want you touching me?”

A blush rises up her neck “I told you I wasn’t crying. And that’s not even why I was upset.”

“Really? And why were you so upset? Apparently, you cried to Lucifer? Or so I’ve heard.”

“I was upset because you’re an ass, and I didn’t cry to Lucifer. He just happened to be there. Why does it matter to you anyway? Why are you keeping tabs on me? Why do you need to know what I’m up to and who I’m with hmm?”

“Why do you need to talk about me?”

“I don’t. My viewers just brought you up, and I told them something that I thought was funny. You can relax Bucky, you are not the center of the universe.”

Alastor looks at her full of condescension, and dissipates into shadows. Voe turns back to her still going live. “Yeah, trot along deer boy.”

girl i was already planning your funeral

I THOUGHT WE WAS GONNA LOSE U :’(

see? pussy

“Okay, I’m still not liking the gendered language,” she speaks to the screen

____________________________________________________

“Who is it?”

“It’s me!” Voe opens the door, leaning in “Ducky,” she bites her lip, teasing him before entering

Lucifer slaps his forehead “I cannot believe I said that in front of Charlie.”

“Me either, but I’m owning it. I’m a cute little duckling.” She laughs sitting down next to him “What’s up on the agenda Your Majesty?’

“I told you, you can just call me Lucifer,” his eyes are kind and soft

“I know, but I like the power dynamics involved.” she makes her eyes seductive

Lucifer’s neck turns red and he loosens his tie slightly “I’m just sorting all my rubber ducks.” he tells her

“Hmm,” She reaches over him for his top hat, and the blush rises further up his throat. She places the hat on her head “I love this thing,” 

He stares at her and sighs, smiling. He blinks regaining his thoughts “Did you want to see them?”

“The ducks? Sure!”

He gestures to his creations, she starts touching them. He clears his throat “I saw your live by the way. Good job, standing up for yourself,”

Voe widens her eyes “The King of Hell watched my live?”

He laughs “Yeah! I’ve been watching them since I met you!”

“Wow, I am honored!” She smiles really big and it’s sweet

“Oh c’mon, it’s not anything more special than us sitting here and talking.”

“I’m honored for that too.”

He waves her off “It’s nothing.”

“No,” she touches his hand “I really am honored. I’m being serious. You’re the King of Hell, who knows what important stuff you have to be doing. Including making these ducks! But you took the time to console me when I was upset. I mean, I’m pretty important, but compared to a King? It really means a lot to me. Thank you.”

Lucifer’s eyes are watery while listening to her, but he scrambles to hide it when she looks back up at him

“Is this a Charlie duck?” She holds up one that looks like his daughter

He blushes “Um, yeah. I made it for her, but haven’t found the right time to give it to her.”

She looks through them further “And Vaggie!”

Lucifer mumbles under his breath “Oh, Vaggie”

“Here’s Niffty, and Husker, How did you make one of Angel? And-“ she looks back at Lucifer with wide eyes and a laugh dancing on her lips “Is this Alastor?”

Lucifer’s blush takes over his whole face “I make them when I’m feeling intense emotion.”

“Wow, I’ve never seen a rubber duck look murderous before. Oh-“ she picks up a little stick “Is this its tiny cane?” She laughs in delight “These are amazing. You have to make me one, please. I will pay you.”

“Oh no no no, definitely not. If I make you one, it’s on the house.”

She moves closer “Not if Lucifer, when. You are going to make me a rubber duck that looks like me.” She walks her fingers up his chest and pulls on his bowtie “Understand?”

He swallows “Yes ma’am.”

“That’s right, be a good boy for Ducky.” she winks

A/N: Hey! Here to remind you to PLEASE comment when you're done reading! Comment and reblog to let me (the author) know how much you liked it! Thanks, and have a great day!

[ladymothbeth]

Beauty is Terror…

I love drawing mad characters. Some subtle, others not so much. I would’ve drawn more but I got a hand cramp. They love each other your honor. As mad as they may seem, they stand together… forever until eternity is no longer a plane of existence.

Bonnie often would go to church to keep her image but to also destroy the darkness that sets behind closed doors, for she will kill any man who lay a hand on a woman, man or child…. And she will make it agonizingly painful until they ask for it to end.

#hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel oc

[ladymothbeth]

HE'S SO BASTARD IN THAT THO

Hi, will u do a human alastor x side mistress reader, so basically he has a wife, but he doesn't really love her, so when he's on the air he has sex with his side mistress in the radio tower. His side mistress knows he's a serial killer, by the way. You don't have to do this if u don't want to. I love ur fics.

By the Gold Ring on His Hand

Synopsis: He loved you and only you. You were his to cherish, to adore, to worship. Sweet words he whispered softy, promisingly, into your ear. Sweet words he also whispered softly to his wife.

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of murder, heavy manipulation, cheating

Tags: human!alastor, alastor x reader, gn!reader, reader is the other wo/man

MDNI

You've always revered Alastor.

You were entranced by the way his smile never broke. The way he seemed to take control of any situation he was put in. The he always managed to just charm the socks off of anyone he's ever met.

You loved the way he made little corny jokes. You loved the way he danced—barely drunk from the bottles of rye he downed.

And oh, did you love the way he spoke.

You could listen to him all day on the radio, just absolutely smitten and melting where you stood. 

The one thing you didn't love about Alastor—the one thing you despised, really—was his wife.

That naive little thing. So meek, so quiet. You always hated the way she would cling onto his arm at parties. Loathed the way she'd shyly smile at everyone, including you.

There was just no way that delicate stupid girl could satisfy someone like Alastor.

Alastor needed, deserved, a real partner. One that had enough of a spine not to be stepped on, at the very least.

Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him more; to caress his thighs that perfectly framed your head. You wanted to feel him beneath you, reassure your heart that he was here with you.

You groaned as your longing was denied. You felt Alastor press his shoes harder against your hands, pinning your palms to the floor. The fingers in your hair tightened their grip, guiding you more strictly down his cock.

It was enough to cheer you up a little. Although your touch was declined, the little vibrations your sounds made clearly still had an effect on him. You felt a little proud knowing something as small as you moaning around him pleasured the hefty cock in your mouth.

The reality was far more bitter, though. Not that Alastor would ever let you know that.

Truth be told his grip was a warning. He had explicitly told you to be quiet, to keep your hands to yourself. But you seemed to be so adamant on testing his patience today, as you were refusing to do both.

Alastor's smile strained just a tad bit more in annoyance as he spoke into the microphone. "Hate to finish up the broadcast with some sour news, but someone's gotta keep you lovely folks up to date!"

You continued to bob your head between his legs, hidden from the rest of crew by the control panel. You made sure to drag the flat of your tongue over the under side of Alastor's dick each every time you lowered your mouth to his crotch. If your ministrations did anything for him, you couldn't really tell.

His voice was perfect, not a tone out of place as he continued his broadcast. You've never seen a man so well put together while having someone's mouth serve them so reverently.

"Seems the coppers found a couple more for the good old wooden kimonos last night. Grizzly sight it was—so I heard. Hate to be the ones to dig those poor souls out."

Even though he was the one to put them there in the first place, you suppressed a laugh. Not that you were complaining, though. It was part of how you and Alastor finally got together, after all.

Alastor finished up his broadcast, and you continued your slow little prayer on your knees. He waved his staff away when they tried to approach, simply sending them off with a friendly jest that he'd meet them at the bar after he cleaned up his work station.

It was only when the lock clicked behind his crew did Alastor finally acknowledge you. His lovely smile was intact, but you could tell his mood was a little soured by the way his brown eyes narrowed at you from behind his glasses.

The hand gripping your hair pulled you off his cock, a pathetic whine escaping your lips as he did so.

Alastor tried to ignore the—rather off putting—sight of a thin string of fluids connecting your mouth to the head of his dick. He bent down closer to you, keeping his gaze locked on yours.

"My dear, I thought I told you to be quiet while I worked." His voice was as sweet as ever.

You chuckled lightly, you wanted to move your hands to cup his cheek, bring him even closer to you. Perhaps even for a kiss to lift his seemingly bad mood.

The moment Alastor so much as felt your fingers twitch, he stepped harder on your hands again, keeping them pinned to the floor and away from him.

You opted to shrug your shoulders sheepishly instead. "I may have gotten carried away," You responded coyly "You just taste so good."

Alastor did his best not to cringe, choosing to tighten his smile. Ah, you were in one of your moods again, he thought.

"Then why don't you go ahead and have your fill of me now." His hand left the back of your head, resting instead on the sides of his chair as he leaned back. The gold band on his ring finger momentarily caught the light and drew your attention to it.

Your chest tightened just the slightest bit. You absolutely hated the reminder that Alastor wasn't fully yours. That he'd still go home to his stupid wife at the end of the day.

But not for long, at least that's what Alastor had promised you. And not right now. 

You ran your tongue along the thick vein of his cock, from the bottom, up its shaft, and smiled at the sight of his hips bucking up to your touch.

"In your mouth now again, darling." It didn't sound like a request, but you obeyed faithfully anyway. You were rewarded with a soft sigh as you welcomed him back in your warm mouth.

You'd bet your job that his sweet little wife never pleased him like this. Skittish thing like that would probably run at the thought of putting her lips on a hard dick.

Well, her loss is your gain.

You were so far gone in your own head that you hadn't even noticed Alastor wasn't looking at you.

No, instead his head craned towards the ceiling of his studio, eyes closed and tired.

He was trying to focus on the physical sensations you brought him, not that he had much of an interest in it in the first place, but he tried hard to concentrate. All he had to do was finish, and he could finally leave. Leave you here with some sweet promises, and not have to deal with your disgustingly loving gaze on him until maybe his next shift on Monday.

Not that spending time with his wife at home felt any more appealing.

He pushed the thoughts away, willing his mind to stay on you instead. He thought he can finish, at least he could feel the bottom of his gut tightening just a tiny fair bit.

He focused on the way your tongue felt as it swirled around him. How your lips stretched so softly to fit his shaft. How you practically drooled over his cock. How you—

You were noisier now that you knew you were alone, and it wasn't doing Alastor any favors. A rather loud moan cutting through his mind and it almost made the coil in his gut loosen completely, his shoulders tensing instead.

No, no this just wouldn't do. He had much more interesting plans tonight than to sit there and buy your silence with his cock.

His hand reached out once more, much less gentle than it was before. With less grace and care, Alastor's hand rested on the back of your neck, before harshly pushing you down as he bucked his hips up.

Your eyes were wide, a surge of panic filled you at the suddenness of the sensation. His dick hit the back of your throat and you tried to pull back immediately.

Alastor's other hand came up to the back of your head to push you back down. Your nose pressed firmly to his skin as his cock pushed past your throat. 

Your arms strained as you tried to use your hands to push him away, but Alastor merely stepped on your fingers harsher to get you to stay.

"Ah, fuck, darling. Stay like that. Oh that's lovely." You thought you heard him say.

He was finally looking down at you. The way you heaved as you choked on him. The way your body spasmed to get away. The way panic filled your pretty tearful eyes. 

Your throat tightening around him as you tried desperately to breathe felt miles better than whatever you were trying to do before, and it was exactly what he needed.

"Finally," He breathed out softly, almost in a moan, feeling the coil in his gut finally snap. He pressed you down, just the tiniest bit more and you felt his warm seed flow down your willing throat.

"There we go, dear." Alastor's harsh grip in your hair loosened, slowly petting through your locks. The hand on your neck remained, locking you in and rendering you unable to pull free.

Your eyes flickered up to him, part of you ready to beg for mercy, but one sight of his dazed smile made you pliant. Your body relaxed into his touch, simply letting him ride his high out with your bruised throat. 

He must have just gotten carried away, that's all. Simply something new he never got to do with his stupid wife. 

You felt his softening dick slowly pull out of you, his shaft dragging across your tongue and you finally pulled free with a choked gasp of air.

A gentle hand tipped your face back to meet Alastor's before you could be too dramatic. He pressed a gentle, chaste, kiss to the corner of your lips to calm you.

"You'll have to forgive me, my dear. Your body just makes me feel far too good—just couldn't hold back." The charm practically oozed from his smooth tongue.

Your gaze softened immediately. Your hands, now free from beneath his feet, made their way to his cheeks but he easily pulled back.

Really, what on earth made you think he'd let you touch him with filthy hands. Had you forgotten he'd been stepping on them this entire time? Kind of rude, if you'd ask him.

Not that any of those thoughts showed when Alastor simply, gently, helped you up to your feet by your elbow.

"Always so good to me, my dear. How I got so lucky to have a divine thing like you service me, I'd never know." He stood up with you, part of him did enjoy it whenever he got to look down on you in a more literal sense.

He pressed his body against yours, arms on the control panel behind you as he caged you in. His lips barely grazed your ears as he continued his sweet, sweet, praises. "Why couldn't you have shown up sooner, dear? I would have had it all." 

You placed your hand on his chest, failing to notice the way he flinched at the touch. "You still could, you know? All you have to do is leave that naive little thing and I could give you this every night." Your voice was low, seductive, alluring.

Alastor held back an annoyed groan. This again. His eyes rolled, not that you could see it with his head nuzzling against your shoulder.

"We both know I treat you so much better." You continued, hand trailing up to scratch at the hair at the bottom of his neck. "And I'd never hold you back from that little hobby of yours either." 

He chuckled at that, you could feel his lips at the base of your neck. "My dear, we've been through this." His kisses were soft, gentle, barely touching you, just like how he preferred it. "You don't have to feel so threatened by her, it's you that I want."

"Then why don't you—"

A gasp passed your lips.

"Leave her?" Alastor continued your sentence when you couldn't. His warm tongue licked over the reddened skin he bit. "I will, my dear, I will. Things are just a bit complicated at the moment."

More complicated than you knew, really.

He couldn't leave his wife because her dad was a big boss of his station. His ass would be out on the streets in minutes if he ever hurt that shy doll.

But he couldn't just kill you either. Not when your dad was the town sheriff.

He was lucky you were so obsessed with him that fucking you once in a while was enough to keep your pretty little mouth shut.

Honestly, just fuck the day you caught him slicing that man's flesh. That scum was hardly worth all the trouble he now has to go through.

"But I'm working on it." Alastor promised as he finally pulled away from you.

You gazed up into his warm, honest eyes. You adored the way he towered over you, really. It's like you fit together so perfectly—like puzzle pieces, was it? Was that how that cheesy line went.

"And then we can be together?" Your palms move to cup his face, and Alastor caught them on instinct before they could.

But you didn't notice, not when he corrected his actions so smoothly by pressing his lips to your knuckles instead—he tried his best to ignore how filthy they are, just to hide his mistake. "Of course, darling. In fact, I think I can work things out by tonight." 

Your father was going to be alone at the station.

Your eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, my dear. Soon all of this hiding and sneaking around will be a thing of the past." He said, almost with the same amount of excitement as you.

He couldn't wait to toss your body in a ditch next to your old man's corpse.

"But I musn't be late"

He'll miss his chance to slit your father's throat if he lingered any longer.

"Soon you wouldn't have to be jealous of my wife, dear."

After all, the dead don't envy do they?

Alastor willed himself to humor you one last time, pressing his lips to yours before he bid you a good night.

He couldn't have rushed out that door any faster.

Who would have known trying to keep his cover would have eaten up so much of his time? He barely had any left to do the very act he was even trying to cover for.

Honestly, how troublesome.

But no matter, no matter.

He glanced back at the station. He could vaguely see your lovestruck figure through the window. He watched amusedly as you pathetically held your fingers to your lips, absolutely lost on cloud nine.

It won't be long until he was rid of you, and that fact was enough to lift his sour mood.

[ladymothbeth]

I Had To Jump In Before It Was Too Late. .

#alastor rp #hazbin hotel ask blog #alastor the radio demon #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor

[ladymothbeth]

Labeba as a Ledyba

She's @valentinapoeni oc

Draft :

[ladymothbeth]

[ladymothbeth]

"Oh you look pretty soft. Your a moth?"

-michael @heavenly--knight

‴Why, yes indeed, you are absolutely right, sir! And may I inquire as to whom I have the pleasure of addressing?‷

— Elizabeth

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rp #hazbin hotel oc #original character

[ladymothbeth]

Hi! I hope you had a good weekend! Can you do a Husk confession oneshot?

PURRING!₊˚⊹♡

characters: husk x gn!reader

wc: 761

warnings: mentions of alcohol

a/n: it might technically not be a 'confession' but it's something of the sort. genuinely love Husk and love this request <3

"You don’t happen to have any alcohol on you, do you?" Husk asked.

He had been your very first visitor since you had been brought to the hotel's 'nursery' (if you could call it that) after getting wounded during the battle against the angels.

You considered Husk a friend, of sorts…though you two didn’t get along very well when you first met.

You smiled gently when you realised Husk was, once again, here to visit you.

"You think I’d be able to smuggle something like that in?"

"You’d be surprised." He said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Soooo... are ya feeling any better?" He asked, now stepping into your room.

"Better than yesterday, yes." You shook your head. "I don't know if i'm 'being able to walk' better though."

Husk chuckled amused at your words as he sat in a nearby chair. "I really hope you get better soon." He said, in a much kinder tone than that of how he spoke to you before. He didn't seem like the type to care about other people's welfare - but he has been much more attentive to you since the battle.

"Since when have you started being so nice?" you asked teasingly.

He shrugged, raising an eyebrow as if he just found your question confusing. "You're not in a condition to be picking fights, are you?"

You scoffed.

His yellow eyes scanned your face until they met yours, resting his gaze in your eyes.

"Besides..." He continued. "I've always been nice. To you."

You chuckled at his comment. "No, you haven't. We hated eachother when we first met, don't you remember."

"Yeah well but that was simply because you used to be pretty annoying." He said and you opened your eyes pretending to feel offended.

"Perhaps I was not annoying but you were an asshole?" He laughs at your words.

Like genuinely laugh.

And, honestly, that just fills you with a certain warmth that you can only associate with him.

"I wanted to smack you in the face the first time we met" he said, between chuckles.

"And I would've loved every second of it," You said, a smirk on your face appearing as he rolled his eyes.

A moment of silence in which all you two could do was stare at each other.

It wasn't uncomfortable, quite the opposite.

You think you've never felt more comfortable.

"husk, can i- can i ask you something?" he nodded. "could I- I mean, only if you want... but I've always wondered how it feels- your wings." Husk looked confused.

"Umm... can I touch your wings? Maybe?"

"Oh! Uh... yea of course. I mean, I don't see why not" He was nervous, you noticed how his gazed was directed to the floor. Trying (and failing) to hide the redness that had crept in his cheeks.

Gasping at the velvety texture, you ran your fingers along the crimson bend of the cat's wing. You felt Husk shiver behind you, breath hitching quietly.

A low rumbling caught your attention. You paused, face scrunching in confusion. Why was Husk vibrating?

"Husky, are you purring?!" you said as you sat up and practically squealed, eyes gleaming with delight.

Husk tried to avoid your eyes and coughed. Shit shit shit. How could he cover this up? How had he managed to reveal more of his annoying cat habits? He struggled to grasp at a believable excuse before giving in.

"Yeah. Laugh all you like," he murmured, tone the same but gaze turning more unreadable, "Fuckin' hate being a cat." The last part was barely audible as he faced further away.

You frowned, placing a delicate hand on the gambler's cheek. "Husk, I think it's sweet."

The bartender searched your gaze for a hint of sarcasm or lying and found nothing. He smiled warmly, the purring starting louder this time. You smiled and leaned your head on Husk's shoulder, nervously entwining your hands.

Husk took a deep breath. It was now or never. He'd spent days thinking about this; hell, it might''ve been months.

He grabbed your face with his fingers delicately. You looked him in the eyes, which where looking straight at your lips.

A few seconds later, Husk's brain caught up and he wrapped his arms around your waist, unable to prevent the affectionate grin spreading across his face.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Husk leant closer, eyes heavy with something deep that you were trying to understand. He gulped.

"Can I kiss-?"

Before he could finish, his question was answered as you closed the distance between you.

#hazbin hotel x reader #husk x reader #husk hazbin hotel headcanon #cursed cat alastor

[ladymothbeth]

°•៹ ࣪˖⁩ 🥩 || Art with Elizabeth (and her shadow) on the chain of the owner of her soul...

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

`Moth and Deer~

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Art by: @ paann1ka_art from Tik Tok

Honestly, I was tormented about whether to post it or not, because I see a lot of negativity under “Alastor x oc”, although specifically in this art there is no THIS subtext. I'm just surprised that when people publish something about their oc and Al, they begin to condemn them. But when they see similar content with RadioApple, they immediately change. Like...Gurl 🤨

All credits belong to them! I only own my OC

(There will also be a short comic coming out soon about Eli's past as an Overlord with Husk and Alastor! Can't be waiting!)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x you #alastor x oc #original character #moth art #artists on tumblr #digital drawing #elizabeth

[ladymothbeth]

a lill' sketchy Chibis for @ladymothbeth Helluva Boss OC Lady Bethmoth

#I LOVE IT SM #helluva boss #chibi fullbody #sketches #cute #helluvaboss oc

[ladymothbeth]

"Undress my soul, lie next to my naked heart."

IWASBULLIEDTODOTHIS

#hazbinhotel #alastor #he's so babygirl #HE'S SO

[ladymothbeth]

Love at first bite? 😋💙🩷 2020 version was a lot more tame than this one… The bird she is trying to eat is @/AGrumpyBirb (On Twitter/X)

Don't worry… They had kids lol

[ladymothbeth]

Alastor's a what now!?

Alastor x reader

A/N: I hate cats but I love cursed cat Alastor....Catastor?Calastor? Either way, I love him all the same. Also in this fic, the reader has wings :D

In all your years of living in hell and having been acquainted with the radio demon, you had never thought that you'd be able to witness something like this.

You were on an errand run. Charlie had asked you to buy some ingredients that she needed to make the "perfect breakfast" for all the hotel residents. You had agreed because you had to go buy stuff for yourself anyway.

When you returned, you sensed something was wrong immediately as you put your hand on the door handle, your other hand occupied with the bags of goods. You could hear a lot of screaming and shouting, uncharacteristically louder than usual.

You entered the hotel lobby to see a disheveled Charlie who looked as if she was at her wit's ends. Her girlfriend, Vaggie, was trying to calm her down. Emphasis on trying.

"Omgomgomg what are we supposed to do now!?" Charlie screeched as she tugged on her hair.

"Honey, you need to calm down. I'm sure we can find a solution to this....situation..." Vaggie reasoned. She looked just as frazzled and unsure of what to do.

"Charlie, dear-"

"DAD! PLEASE TELL ME YOU CAN REVERSE WHATEVER YOU JUST DID???" Charlie raced towards her father and shook him by the shoulders. The king of hell looked sheepish as he avoided his daughter's terrifying gaze.

"I mean...he'll turn back in a few...I think," Lucifer trailed off.

"YOU THINK!?!?" Charlie groaned as her already anxious state worsened. Vaggie comforted her girlfriend the best she could, albeit failing miserably.

You coughed loudly to make your presence known. The three of them turned to look at you.

"W-what... what is going on?" you asked.

Charlie's eyes started watering as she called out your name, "I-I need your help! I don't know what to do!!"

"Need my help in...what exactly?" your eyes looked over to Lucifer, who was glancing at his feet, looking uncomfortable as the seconds flew by.

Charlie could not speak anymore and she hugged you close, wailing into your shoulders. Your body stiffened at the sudden gesture but eventually, you decided to let her be, patting her back. You looked towards Vaggie for help.

"Its...Alastor..." she started, "He and Lucifer were having their daily fights as usual and Lucifer lost his mind so he may have kinda sorta...." she looked up at the ceiling, "turned Alastor into a cat."

You looked at her incredulously, "I'm sorry...Alastor's a what now?"

Charlie picked herself up from your reluctant embrace and looked at you with teary eyes, "A CAT. HE'S A CAT!"

She pointed towards the ceiling and your eyes followed soon after.

There was a creature hanging onto the chandelier- its eyes glowed a deep red and it had a frightening smile on its face. It was a red cat...that held an eerie similarity to the radio demon.

Your mouth gaped open as you registered what you saw.

"You mean to tell me...," your eyes were locked onto the creature, "That...is Alastor?"

Charlie and Vaggie nodded their heads.

"And...how did he get up there?"

Charlie swung her head around to glare at Lucifer. He averted his eyes and whistled a tune, taking a sudden interest in the wallpaper.

You got the message. It was safe to say that Lucifer had no interest in helping Alastor get down.

"Alright...I'll help get him down and...then we can talk about what to do next."

You unfurled your wings and rose into the air, slowly coming closer to where Alastor....or rather the cat was.

"Al?" you put your hands towards the cat, "It's alright, I'm just here to help you get down."

The smiling creature looked toward your outstretched hand with hesitance. You waited but he refused to accept your help.

Your eyes brightened as an idea popped into your head. During your errand run, you visited the butcher's shop and bought Alastor some raw venison. He had told you about how he liked to eat what he hunted better but you couldn't help it anyway. He looked so damn tired these days, so you decided to cut him some slack.

You called out to Charlie, "I need you to throw me something! You should find a packet of venison in one of the bags I brought in. Just fling it over to me!"

Charlie did as you asked and threw the packet towards you. You caught it with ease and tore away the packaging with your claws. You took a cut of venison and hung it in front of the creature.

"Look, Al!" you whispered, "I got you a little snack!"

The cat's tail wagged as his smile grew larger. His eyes followed the raw piece of meat very diligently. As he was distracted, you discreetly flew yourself closer to him and managed to get him off the chandelier and safely into your arms. The cat immediately pounced on the venison you held in your hand, chewing on it with a happy staticky hum as you flew down towards the duo waiting anxiously.

Charlie's smile grew as Vaggie relaxed.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank youuuuuuu!" Charlie exclaimed, "I don't know what we'd do without you!"

You chuckled, "Don't thank me yet, we still have..." You gestured towards the cat demon, devouring the piece of raw venison, " this...to deal with."

Vaggie turned towards Lucifer, "Is there really no way to turn him back to normal?"

Lucifer scrunched his brows, "I...I really don't know but... he should be back to normal tomorrow."

You put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, "It's alright. We're in this together, ok?"

Charlie sighed as she nodded her head- a tired smile graced her features.

Over the next couple of hours, you held the cat in your lap as you fed it venison.

Husk and Angel Dust had come back to the hotel, a little later, from their club hopping with Cherri, and Niffty in tow.

"Aww, who's cat is that, toots?" Angel asked as he circled around you, trying to take a better look at the new creature.

Trying to save Alastor the embarrassment, you hid his ever-grinning face and chuckled awkwardly, looking towards Vaggie for help.

"They are umm.." the ex-exorcist started, "A stray! Yes, a stray that was infested with...rabies! So you better stay away!"

Angel looked disgusted and quickly took several steps away from where you were sitting.

"Never mind, I'll just go up to my room. See ya!" Angel said as he walked away with a flourish.

Husk gruffed as he sat back down at his usual place behind the hotel bar, taking no interest in the conversation.

Niffty popped out from behind you, "You know, this kitty looks a lot like-"

You put a hand over her mouth as you giggled uncomfortably, "Hahah! I think it's time for me to go and take care of this....little thing!"

As you walked towards the stairs, you glanced at Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer, signaling them to keep quiet about this incident. They nodded their heads feverishly.

You sighed as you shut the door to your room, bending down to let the cat roam to his heart's content.

" I'm sorry, Al," you rubbed your neck, "It isn't much but you gotta stay here till this whole thing blows over."

As he looked around your surroundings, the cat paid no mind to you. His smile remained.

You flopped on the bed, stretching your arms wide over the bedsheets.

"What a wild day, am I right?" you exclaimed.

Your eyes started getting heavy and your vision darkened as sleep overtook you. The last thing you hear as you drift off to slumber is a staticky pur. You feel soft fur curl into the crook of your arm.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of white noise close to your ear. Your body shifted slightly, nuzzling deeper into the warmth that wrapped around you. You felt a claw on your waist dig into your skin comfortably, as you sighed in contentment.

Your eyes slowly opened after a while and you were greeted with the wide glowing red eyes and the ever-present grinning smile of the radio demon.

You screamed like a banshee as you flung yourself off the bed. You could hear the white noise slowly turn into a distinct radio static. The demon who was still in your bed grumbled at the disturbance.

Suddenly you heard the door open.

"Oh god, are you ok!?" Charlie shouted, ready to fight whoever was causing you harm. Her stance faltered seeing Alastor atop your bed, still confused and in a daze.

"Alastor!" she cried as she moved closer to where he was, "Are you ok!?"

Said demon let out a puff of air, "Well, I was having a perfectly good rest, until this one," his eyes snapped towards your frame as you hid your face into the bedside, still on the floor, "decided to ruin my slumber-"

He paused. His eyes finally took note of his surroundings.

"Wait...what am I doing in...this room?"

You raised your head from your hiding place, "You don't remember?"

Alastor looked confused as his smile strained, "Remember...what...exactly?"

Charlie interrupted, laughing rather loudly, "Nothing, Alastor! Nothing at all," she glanced at you, "You were just hanging around with them and fell asleep in their room! Thats all! Right?"

You stood up, chuckling nervously, "Yes, I umm...decided to rest on the floor here...you see? Didn't want my guest to be uncomfortable!"

You thought about what he had said earlier. You had assumed he'd woken up when you saw his wide eyes looking back at you this morning, but it felt like you were wrong. Perhaps he slept with his eyes open?

Alastor let out a hum, standing up and summoning his staff, "I must say, this is quite uncharacteristic of me."

He looked at you, his smile never leaving, "I apologize for the inconvenience I caused. I truly do not know why I am so awfully tired these days."

Your eyes followed his hands as they brushed over a particular part of his coat. You wondered if this had to do something with how he disappeared amidst his battle with Adam.

"Ah well!" he exclaimed jovially, leading Charlie by the shoulder, "We should not tarry, oh not a bit longer! There is much to do!"

The door popped shut, leaving you in your lonesome. You let out a big sigh and slumped on the floor.

"What the fuck just happened?" you wondered, loudly.

✩──────────✩─────────✩

A/N: Alsoooo

Where did ya'll come from? Wowie!

Thank you everyone for your support and for liking and reblogging my fics. It means the absolute world to me!

Love ya'll to the moon and back!

[ladymothbeth]

Alastor - [ CONTROL ]

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ CNC ] + [ SLIGHT BONDAGE ] + [ MENTIONS OF BLOOD ]

( as always lmk the artist for the fanart so i can tag them properly thanks)

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Hours.

You’d been at Alastor’s complete mercy for hours…

All because you dared to tell him ‘no’ once. You hadn’t meant to let the defiant response out but in the moment you were overwhelmed and extremely emotional.

It wasn’t your fault that every emotion you felt doubled in intensity during your heat, triggering a less than agreeable version of yourself, and consequently making your giving nature highly restrictive.

How could you give anything to anyone when all your mind could comprehend was taking from them? Using anything and anyone for pleasure or downright zoning the rest of hell out to think about doing it nonstop.

You couldn’t function properly like that and Alastor took advantage of your distracted state time and time again.

He’d spawned into your room, proclaiming he had a task for you to complete, one that ruined your solitude and would take all day.

“My dear, return this to Rosie for me,” he set a stack of books on your disorientated bed, not at all bothered by the glare you shot him as your head peeked from under the heavy duvet you’d curled into.

Couldn’t he see you were busy?

Nearly encompascited at this point, unable to speak without whining, and noticeably shaking as if your body was withdrawing from some awful drug.

In a sense, it was, but withdrawal wouldn’t cure your state.

However, Alastor refused to leave until he heard a response, standing stock still beside your bed with that devilish smile plastered on his face, and the sight drove you mad.

He was so infuriating, looking over you all the time, demanding one thing after the next, and always acting smug…

Telling what to do, when to do it, and how..

Controlling nearly every move you made with a single look, languid gesture, and passive command…

Oh, how you hated being under his unruly thumb but every time hatred surfaced a dull annoying wave of arousal would follow.

Alastor owned you, the essence of your soul, and yet every instinct and nerve you possessed was more agitated by the fact that he wasn’t staking a claim on your body as well.

So, out of pure spite, and slight uncharacteristic boldness you sat up on your knees and got right in his face. Alastor’s gaze raked over your flustered body as you carelessly unraveled yourself from the covers, almost bare in his presence if it weren’t for the oversized dress shirt you’d put on, but he wasn’t given much time to admire your smaller frame trying to size up his larger one.

His attention no longer mildly revolving around your exposed skin but rather the spiteful “No,” you hissed out.

That was new…

Alastor could’ve sworn your soul was his and not your own…which meant refusing him should never be an option.

You watched as his eyes narrowed at you, his grin widening as anger clouded his aura, but unlike other instances you didn’t shrink away or apologize.

No, you decided to take it further. Wanting to push the radio demons limits since he so proudly proclaimed that ripping your soul to pieces wouldn’t be a bother to him.

Maybe then he’d touch you or at least end your suffering through this heat.

“What did you just say to me?” Alastor seethes, static overriding his voice more than usual as you smile at him defiantly and repeat yourself loud and clear.

“I said: No. So, fuck off and find another poor soul to do your bidding…”

Alastor for the first time in a long time since his arrival in hell felt hot rage course through him as you collapsed back into bed like you’d won whatever argument you thought he was entertaining.

You heart was racing as you curled back into the covers, core throbbing with anticipation as his eyes burned holes into the back your head, and the demeaning silence seeming louder the longer he stared.

His ears twitched, smile almost a wicked snarl as his anger began to manifest into physical prowess. “Surely, you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares what you want or think…” he seethes, letting his natural voice ring freely through your room.

Not a good sign at all…not for you, anyway…

A sharp searing pain entraps your throat, a very familiar green chain binding itself to your neck, and with one swift tug on it Alastor has you up on your knees facing him again.

You instinctively wrench your head back, teeth gritting together as your hands fly up to claw at the materialized collar, but your efforts for freedom prove useless when Alastor yanks the restraint so harshly it chokes you for a solid minute.

“I’m more than willing to correct that assumption, darling. “ His lips brush yours as he speaks, sending shivers through you with every word, but you find the will to respond defiantly.

“You wouldn’t dare…” you snicker at the overload, attempting to jerk back from him again, but failing miserably as Alastor pulled the chain taut around one hand while raising the other to grip your jaw.

His claws dug into your cheeks, nearly drawing blood from the sheer pressure he enforced to keep you still, and you only complied when the pain became distracting.

You’d surely have marks left on your face but it was worth it. At least then everyone might realize how much of a fight you put up with Alastor, that despite being indebted to him you fought for freedom every chance you got, and had the scars to prove it.

Though he did find your stubbornness amusing most of the time, at this particular moment you were taking his patience too far and he was well aware it wasn’t intentional -more so a side effect of your predicament- but what was the fun in excusing your behavior on a technicality?

You would need to learn your place one way or another.

“Is that a challenge, little doe?” Alastor held your gaze, his shadows beginning to emerge and slither around your body. The ghostly chill they emitted never faded, cooling your burning skin as each spectrum bound your wrists, snaked around your thighs, and twisted up your entire torso. Alastor hummed in approval as the shadowy tentacles tightened, pressing the red linen fabric of the shirt to your skin, accentuating every curve you had and gradually riding the hem of it higher up your thighs.

You jolted feverishly, relived to be touched finally, but beyond agitated with your current position. Every shift and twist of the shadows sent a surge of arousal to your core, causing slick to drip down your legs, and the sensation threatened your ego.

Were you really about to cum from being talked down to and restrained? By Alastor no less, the very reason you’d lost free will, but the only demon you fantasized about constantly…

“Don’t look so fearful, my dear. I only wish to teach you a much needed lesson….” You stiffen as a shadow passes over your clothed cunt, sliding back and forth at his will, and easing more cum out of you with every motion.

“S-stop..” you moan softly, wanting to fall forward against his chest as your thighs trembled, but you’re kept perfectly balanced without Alastor’s direct support. He watches, drinking in the way your defiant expressions dissolve into lucid pleasure induced hazes, and keeping careful track of how fast his shadow slithers over your cunt. Your head drops as the world starts to spin around you, everything feeling fuzzy as the knot in your stomach tightened, and any resolve you had left fading quicker than you anticipated.

A perfect picture of submission…

Alastor dipped his head then, leaning over you to get a taste of your skin, teeth nipping at your ear, and his tongue dragging along the flushed skin of your neck. “Mmmm….d-don’t,” you whimper and shake, unconsciously arching your body closer to his as your eyes slide shut, but he simply ignores your pleas. His subtle licks and bites progress to intentional kisses, earning desperate moans from you, and desiccating what little self respect you had left.

It was hard to think straight, wanting to come undone already, and your cunt clenching around nothing with only his shadows dragging across your slit in a set pace. String after string of wanton moans leaped from your throat as his specters fondled your body, squeezing your breasts, swirling your waist to keep your hips rolling against your will, and securing your arms in a painful bind behind your back.

Alastor tugged on the chain occasionally, laughing into your ear every-time you choked on a sob or preemptively gasped for breath, and the contrasting sensations left you unprepared and incredibly delirious.

“N-nigh…ahm���m! Hah…hah…ah…” you struggled one last time, losing strength as your legs buckled indirectly shifting your balance to one side. Alastor let you fall, finding your state pathetic, but amusing.

His shadows never ceased as your back hit the mess of covers on your bed, seeming to get bolder as they slithered under the dress shirt, and held your legs apart to give the owner of your soul a clear view of your drenched cunt.

Alastor took quite a good look too, slowly lowering himself to be face to face with your heated core as he spoke down to you, “My, my…you truly have some worth to me now, mon chere…. I hope you don’t mind if I have a taste…” The stag peered up at your flushed expression, smile widening seeing the panic in your gaze flicker with eagerness, but the animosity ever present.

Hate.

You truly did hate Alastor.

He found it the most appealing aspect about you, a girl so desperate for power, now naively giving it away to him after failing to attain any.

A hatred he could consume, taunt, and use to keep you in line.

Even now, as his tongue replaced the shadows task of ravishing your cunt he could feel the waves of anger merging with satisfaction pouring straight out of you and into his waiting mouth. He hummed against your folds when you hips lifted sparactically, wordlessly begging him to go further, push your harder over the edge.

“Fuck…fuck! N-no…y-yes!..” you cried endlessly, out of breath as he lapped up your essence, “So…indecisive…” Alastor drawled against your cunt with a smirk gracing his slick lips.

You attempted to sit up, struggle, or scramble away from him altogether but his shadows wrestled your small body down into submission again. The air grew thick, laced with hushed radio static, and faintly distinct screams of the many souls Alastor had ripped and devoured to shreds mixed together. It was a warning to you -a threat in Alastor’s definition- and you broke into a cold sweat as he sat up on his knees to glare down at your trembling form.

Alastor tilted his head, red eyes threatening to dilate, and a green hue starting to flicker around him.

“Move again without my explicit permission, my dear, and I’ll fuck you within an inch of your pathetic life before ripping what remains of your precious soul to pieces…”

Fear, wouldn’t begin to describe the blood chilling emotion that flooded you as his smile became eerily soft, not at all reaching his eyes, and the distortion in his tone reaching new heights as he lowered his face a millimeter from your own.

“Understood?” Alastor quipped, addicted to seeing your hopeful eyes darken with despair and lust when he threatened you into submission, “U-understood…” you mumble in return.

“Splendid! Now,….where was I?…”

The stag observed your restrained state, presenting a false sense of confusion as his shadows continued to toy with you, and when an inkling of a moan threatened to fly from your drooling mouth a tentacle invaded that space too.

Alastor chuckled lowly, finding the sight of you choking on the spectrum delightful, and your distressed gasps for air dwindling to pleasured whines becoming music to his ears. They flicked atop his head, perking up when you rolled your eyes to the back of your own while the shadow swirled in your throat as if searching for more warmth in your fragile body.

“Ah, I remember now. You were in need of my gracious assistance….” Alastor’s hands found your legs, claws grazing your damp thighs just hard enough to leave light red marks in their wake, and he only stopped scratching your skin to grasp at your ankles. He jerked your lower half closer to his own with a singular tug and you nearly gagged on his shadow as a yelp built in your chest from the rough movement.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as the need to breathe weighed on your lungs, hips unconsciously rolling to press harder into his obviously large erection, and in any other circumstance you’d fight for air over urging Alastor to fuck you…

But the thought of enduring your heat cycle for another minute erased any sense of logic you’d been clinging to since he’d barged in.

You needed him.

You needed Alastor to have his way with you… breathing be dammed…

He read your actions like a memorized book, snapping his fingers once to remove the shadow from your numbing mouth before bringing a hand up to cup your jaw. Alastor’s fingers squished your cheeks as he angled your head up to look at him directly.

Desire.

You desired him now, desperately.

Hate was no longer swirling in your watery eyes.

What a wonderful sight…

“Say it, mon chere…” Alastor spoke uncharacteristically quiet as you stared at him through your tear heavy lashes, “Ask me for help like the polite and sweet girl I know you to be…”

All your pride vanished, heat engulfing your body in waves as the need to be in control of yourself shut down completely hearing his gentle encouragement, “I need…” you began in a timid whisper, but Alastor clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he corrected you with low hum, “Mm mm, darling…where’s that ‘please’ at, hm?..”

“P-please!…ahmm…” you paused as a shaky whine tumbled from lips, shock coursing through you as he finally grinned his hips in rhythm with yours, “Please…help me…need your help…please A-Alastor…”

You babble, begging as he asked you to, and forgetting to care about how indecent you looked while doing so.

Alastor hummed in approval, letting you face go to unbuckle his belt and remove his bow tie before shrugging his jacket off. You watched in slight awe as more of his physique was brought into view. Alastor had a lean frame, seemingly slimmer than most demons at his power level, but that was all but an illusion apparently.

He was tall, hovering above you at a massive seven feet and another few inches, an evenly placed mass of muscle to match, and pale grey skin adorning a few scars. His usual demonic form portrayed him as prey but as you saw him now….he was far from the definition.

You were a bit terrified he’d unintentionally tear you apart in the current state he’s in -no antagonized version needed.

“There’s no need to be so afraid of me, little one…” Alastor mused at your wandering eyes, head lowered to the crook of your neck, and his tongue licking a long stripe over the skin there before he bit down hard.

“Hah!” You screamed in pain as his sharp teeth penetrated your skin, dark blood spilling into his mouth as he T asted your flesh, and no amount of your crying made the radio demon relent his greed for it.

You were tempted to kick around, smack him hard, and resist, but the memory of his very malicious threat ceased any fight or flight response you’d developed while under his control.

Alastor grinned, retracting himself from your throat with a lick of his lips, “You’re such a good girl… so well behaved for me now…” he praised you tenderly.

You shivered as he kissed the wound he made, his compliments causing a blush to burn your cheeks, and your stomach to so several flips.

“I could just eat you alive, sweetheart….” He panted into your ear, clearly feigning like a predator on the hunt for prey, and for once you were glad to be his next victim.

“Please do…m’ all yours…” you mumble in return, dazed out of your mind as he laughs while pushing the head of his cock past your drooling folds.

“Never forget it again, my dear. Ever.”

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Idk if is should turn this into 2 parts are not. I’ll see how you all like this one first and decide from there. Bye, loves! ❤️ Tune in again soon! ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Him + Lana = Perfect Combination 🥰 credit to creator ❤️