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slutforalastor · 12 days

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Confessional

Human Priest Alastor has a particularly committed parishioner with an unholy request. NOT APPROPRIATE FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Tags: SO MANY CHURCH REFERENCES, light voyeurism, temptation, bloodletting, church AU I guess if you wanna get technical, way too many big words for plotless smut

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

You kneel before a shadow, crossing yourself. You know the shadow's face, having spent countless Sundays smiling from your lips and weeping from between your legs during his service. You know that he can see you, perhaps even recognizes you. You're aware of the purpose of confessional, the supposed tenants guiding the practice, but you are not here to absolve yourself. You seek indulgence, not purification.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven months since my last confession. These are my sins. I harbor impure thoughts, thoughts that I know have been given to me by the Lord. He is guiding us towards a union, perhaps to conceive, but for some holy purpose, regardless. There can be no other reason why you'd occupy my every waking thought, why my maiden's bed feels so cold and empty, as though incomplete without your body next to mine. Each and every night, I sin in that bed, allowing my own hand to guide me to an incomplete release. It never gives me any feeling of blessing, only of deeper desire to blaspheme. My soul is forever lost without your faithful shepherding, Father."

The shadow moves, clears its throat, no trace of emotion to be gleaned from his intonation.

"My dear child, you seem lost, confused. As a man I am flattered, perhaps even humbled, by this confession. But you must hold steady against these impure delusions, for God has placed me on a different path."

His rebuke only serves to hasten your desire. You feel yourself laden with honeyed need, leaking against the inside of your thighs through your underwear. You know he can see you kneeling, prostrating yourself before the judgment of your holy superior. Still on your knees, you lean back, hiking up the fabric of your skirt, pushing your hips up to present your ruined panties. "Holy Father, you are a servant of the Lord, are you not? Would you deny that one of your flock is in need? Would you leave them to temptation in solitude, with only their hands, the devil's playthings, for companionship?"

His voice betrays the first sign of will being tested. "This could just as easily be a test, a bit of trickery from the Devil himself."

"Who better to rid me of devilish desire than one who speaks on God's behalf? Who baptizes the young, unifies lovers, grants last rites to the condemned? Serve your Lord and banish this Devil from my loins, if you be pious, if you be merciful."

His voice is trembling now, thick with an intent you had hoped to provoke. You are intriguing him, winning him over. Summoning your courage, you draw your underwear down to your ankles, clumsily preening your sex the same way you have been whenever the heat between your legs burns like Hellfire. "See for yourself how the Lord makes me a conduit. Would you call this the will of the Devil? The need of a woman for a man?"

"I have taken an oath..." he stutters, choking on his own words.

"An oath to serve your parishioners... Would you bear witness to sin, knowing you can make it holy?" you bleat, the lamb on the altar, bound by ropes fastened to your soul. The Priest stands, and you can see his shadow making the mark of the cross, muttering a prayer to himself. Your self-defilement doesn't even slow, the low, wet sounds of hungry flesh accepting your phallic substitute the only sound in the confessional. In another moment, you hear the door opening, and your savior stands framed in the light of the jamb.

"Bless you, Father," you moan. He shuts the door, and in the dimness, you capture the full depth of his radiance. His brown hair drapes in front of his eyes, standing as a buffer between those nearly-black irises and the small circular frames that grace the bridge of his nose. A nervous sweat shimmers on his dark skin. His cassock is disheveled, his silver cross hung up on one of the higher buttons, collar greyed at the edges from sweat.

"We must make haste to rid you of this curse," he breathes, tugging at his collar. Thinking on its symbolism, he detaches it entirely, leaving it hanging on the doorknob. With rough strength, he brings you to the chair one could use to confess face-to-face, bringing your arousal level with him when he drops to his knees. He inhales, something within that bouquet seeming to pique his interest. "You reek of unholy desire."

"It has tormented me, Father."

"I can see now what you mean. It would be irresponsible to leave you in such a state. I shall grant you this mercy, my child. God will heal you through me."

With a slight tilt of his head, he partakes in your communion, his lips brushing over the outermost of your folds, murmuring a prayer against the electrified nerves. You can feel every syllable evoked against your body, sending ripples of heaven cascading through your system. You are certain that God's holy presence is being imparted from the teasing edges of his lips into your body. His tongue parts from between his pursed, muttering lips, lapping at the inside of your sex, searching for something buried deeper still. Your hands dare to caress his head, guiding him towards the spot he seeks. Charting into fresh territory, he stakes claim to it, his eager tongue seeking out places you've yet to even map yourself. Each press of it is a blessing, the burning ache in your flesh the doubtless throes of a demon being flayed from your soul.

"My dear, I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged. Your taste is divine."

Your fingers dig into his thick locks, pressing him to persist even further, to reach past the purgatory of your desire. You feel his nose grinding against your most sensitive spot, something you have never had a name for, feeling every time he inhales and exhales, his mouth far too preoccupied with more concerning matters. You are fighting to keep your carnal affectations from becoming any louder than a whining wail you smother in the small of your throat, lest it be loosed completely unrestrained.

"You're doing well to keep your voice lowered," he praises you. "You are a true servant of your Lord."

"I-I am in his service," you affirm, your words snaring every time his tongue darts against your walls.

"Your dedication deserves to be rewarded," and he pushes himself as far as the limitations of flesh permit, lodging his lapping extremity so firmly within that you startle nearly upright, sharp nails that bite against the fabric of your clothes urging you back down. "He says 'be still and know that I am God.'"

You groan against the scripture being branded on your innards, a new sensation creeping across the tensed muscles of your legs. With a muffled moan, he is baptized in your release, and he offers a satisfied sound of approval. Your legs quake against the ceaseless undulating of his attentions, finally extricating himself when he's had his fill of you. He runs the long, thin thing that just concluded making a mess of your insides over his glistening grin, still slick from your consecration. Your focus drifts downward, to the crook that will shepherd you to salvation tenting the fabric of his soutane.

"Traces of habitation still remain, my child. We must take measures to save your spirit." He undoes the lower buttons of his robe, exposing himself to you, as he would have been in Eden. You can feel it against you, afire with purifying heat, sliding against your sopping entrance with anticipation. "Accept these rites."

"Bless me, Father," you whine, grinding yourself against him.

"Please, dear, call me Alastor." It's not permission; it's a demand. He waits, poised against you.

"Please give me your blessing, Alastor."

His lips curl into a grin, his canines so jagged and long that they're the first teeth you see. "God answers all prayers in good time." With a shove, he enters you, your teeth clenching, your breath shorting at the feeling of this union. He can't help but let a pleasured grunt leave his lips, and he catches your eyes as the last inch of him slips inside, brushing an errant strand of hair from your eyes. You feel cold, flushed at the overwhelming relief of finally being face-to-face with what you'd thought could only be in a fantasy. He gives a thrust, testing the waters, shaking your faith. You whimper against the force of it, still growing accustomed to the sensation of being taken. "Do you feel the sin drying up? The demonic need being purged?" Alastor wonders, driving himself into you with ever-increasing force, his restraint abandoned. "In its place will be holy admiration, a want to submit, as all of God's good creatures must possess."

"I will be a good creature," you promise.

"The best their ever was," Alastor croons, his jagged incisors hunting for the soft of your neck, carving runes against the submissive skin, seas of red pooling in the canyons. "Will your blood run black, as a demon's, or red, like the dust of the Earth? You have the allure of a succubus, but the taste of a virgin." His nails ribbon your collarbone, leaving oozing trails like spilled wine. He partakes of this communion with the same vigor as before, drinking it like an elixir. Your nervous hands grasp against his back, enfeebled fingers digging into the fabric of his clothing. Through all of this, his rutting has never slowed, increasing in desperation when he samples your blood. When he pulls away, you can see it trickling against his teeth, his tongue dragging over the surface to crudely clean them.

"I have dreamed of this, Alastor."

"Our lord works in mysterious ways," he assures you, clawed fingers still tracing thin rivulets across your skin. "I am nearly at my limit," he pants, burying himself against you. His thrusts finally slow, each push against you deliberate, purposeful. With his body laid against yours, his mouth is laid by your ear, and you can hear every facet of his breathing, every pant, moan, and inhale he makes broadcasting into your brain, the only sound you can hear. You are as close as he is, and you wrap yourself around him as he pumps into you one final time, his holy fire coating your insides, his assured breaths becoming high-pitched whines as he spasms against you, driving you to your own climax. It is nothing like what you've made yourself feel; it sends shockwaves through the taut fibers of your lower half, makes you cry out in uncontrollable lust, leaving your limbs clenched around Alastor as the last of his climax is left spilt within. You feel his chest heave with a deeply drawn breath, his sigh in your ear scattering chills across you. "Do you feel purified, dear?"

"I worry that I will have further need of your services, Alastor."

He pulls away from you, his smile sadistic yet sincere. "The clergy lives to serve, after all."

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #radio demon x reader #the radio demon #Priest!Alastor #Human!Alastor

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slutforalastor · 16 days

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Entered a dtiys on instagram for our deer 🦌 (badumtiss) radio demon

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slutforalastor · 16 days

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"𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢!" 📻🦌

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slutforalastor · 16 days

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have you Tried a Ship between Charlie and Adam

You know, I can't say that I have! I can envision a few scenarios, all of which involve Vaggie never falling and being Adam's right hand rather than Lute. It's kind of cute to imagine Charlie still falling for Vaggie during her first meeting with Adam, taking advantage of him to get to her, and accidentally catching feelings along the way when she sees Adam's softer side? It's hard to ship Charlie with anyone except Vaggie when they have such a nice dynamic and make such a cute couple, and even harder to make a scenario up where a guy that was actively looking forward to murdering her for the duration of the show wants a relationship with her.

Thank you for the ask!

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel adam

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slutforalastor · 16 days

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"Ah, he's got this problem." Your friend Mimzy waved her hand. "You know how animal demons get. I'd take care of him myself but I wouldn't want to spoil our working relationship. We go way back, you know."

Slowly, you nodded. "You'd consider it a personal favour?" That was how things worked in Hell. A consideration for a consideration. And dealing with the Radio Demon in rut was hardly a small favour, even if it did play well to your preferences.

"To me, yeah." Mimzy smiled broadly. "Just take him to a private room in the back and see that he's calmed down before it's time for the show. If he's cranky he's gonna start eating people, ugh." She fluttered her hand again. "Don't worry, though, he's an absolute sweetheart."

Seeing the Radio Demon turn sideways to get through the door, eyes glowing red and his huge rack of antlers festooned with cables, you were starting to doubt Mimzy's definition of sweetheart.

THIS POST CONTAINS MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS. 18+

Content: Rutting, antlerplay, role reversal, give and take, banter, mutual masturbation, light femdom, biting, marking, a lot of flowery language for smut

You'd heard the stories and rumors, saw the occasional report on VNN, but you'd yet to encounter the Radio Demon for yourself. Even pushed to the edge where something resembling humanity plunges into dark depths of depravity, he's maintaining a grip on decorum, his wavering smile barely forming the syllables when he introduces himself as Alastor, his voice impossibly mimicking the sound of a mono recording from a bygone time. Mimzy is going to owe you big-time.

"I'm doing well, sir. I have to say, you look like you've had an awful day."

"It is... most inconvenient," he stammers, shaking his head like a beached animal trying to throw off water. Just as Mimzy had requested, you'd waited for him in the private room, and you're still laying in the bed, your body draped across the two rows of firm pillows, down to your lingerie for his ease. With wobbling steps, he begins to close the distance, loosening his bowtie.

"I really must insist that this matter... stay between us." The restraint he's displaying seems as though it's taking every bit of faculties he can spare; his breathing, his sight, his ability to stand, all seem to be sustained with the minimum amount of effort possible. Even glazed in electric red, you can tell his eyes are focused intently on you.

"Who would believe me, anyhow?"

"... Too true, no one would dream of calling me a liar," he agrees, pulling his waistcoat off and leaving it in a heap on the bureau. His undershirt is the same deep red, intersecting black stripes making a cross across the center of his chest. He rolls his sleeves up, then sets his cane on top of his waistcoat. "Any... sensitivities I should know about?"

"I like being kissed on the neck," you venture, playing it safe for opening bids.

He laughs wickedly, the glow casting light further than it could reach before, his antlers growing another section in size, branching out that much closer to the ceiling. "Oh, Mimzy didn't tell me you'd be so pure. Surely you have something more entertaining than that?"

"You think I do this sort of thing often enough to have an itemized list?"

He tuts at your attempt at banter, removing his shoes and leaving them in the gap under the bed. "I don't have time for experimentation, my dear. I'm asking if you think you can handle what I have to give."

"I've handled everything so far," you smirk.

"Let's see how you handle the best, then," he mutters. With a wave of his hand, a black tentacle rises to wrap around your midsection, pinning you in place. He's climbing onto the bed, teeth bared like an animal seconds from pouncing. There's hunger in his eyes, desperation in his motion, a frantic bent to the way he's starting to falter, his kayfabe crumbling with every push of his knees. He's got your legs open, mounting you, and you can feel something alive and thrashing, barely contained by the slacks tenting away from his midsection. His eyes are narrowed in ravenous anticipation, his hips pressing him into you, etching his longing lengthwise against the fabric of your underwear. You feel your upper teeth against your lip, knowing that despite all your talk, you can't hide how appreciative you are of his straightforward approach.

With a hoarse exhale, he fumbles with his belt, the restraining tentacle slipping southward to yank your panties down. Your eyes catch a glimpse of how prepared you are for what's coming next, the evidence staining a dark spot in the light fabric. The Radio Demon hikes his slacks down to the midsection of his thighs, the tip of his firmness kissing against your entrance, his erratic movements keeping him from slipping in. You take it in your hands, which makes him rear up in ecstasy, a hissing growl punctuating the reaction, and align it directly where it needs to go. With a thrust motivated by nothing more than primal need, he forces himself deep into you, grunting in satisfaction at your breathy gasps when it settles into your apex. He gives you little time to adjust, burying himself into you with harsh, crushing strokes, the red in his eyes leaving a tracer every time you shut your eyes against the force of it. His hands are against your forearms, pinning the both of them on either side, and when your head goes back, he finds the crook of your neck with his teeth, his tongue, his lips, seasoning you with scratches, leaving welts from kisses and bites. They sting like fire, they excite like aphrodisiac.

"Is that what you mean, my dear? Is that what you're looking for?"

You whimper something that sounds close enough to assent for him to grow bolder, making a map of your body, marking a trail, carving canyons, raising landmarks that stand red and pulsing against the canvas of your skin. All this in the throes of his rutting deep into you. It drives you mad, your legs wrapping around his waist, bidding him to see just how much of his mind he can lose.

"God, your fucking taste. It'd be such a shame to just devour you, though. So many uses for the whole." Or maybe you're using the homophone of that word to make him seem kinder.

A flailing hand finds your throat, freeing your arms by necessity. You catch onto the rack of black antlers nearly driving themselves into the headboard, using them for leverage to arch your back. You can't tell if you've irritated or excited him with your little move, but the result is the same; he's pressing you with enough force that you can feel the force of it in your midsection. You're seeing red, the sound of him making a mess of you ringing in your ears, two organs vying for sensations yet to be experienced, every other part of you a mere pretense, a chorus playing ensemble to the true performance. And he's reaching the climax of it, his bucking hips shaking your entire frame. You can feel every shift of his disposition in the bone of his antlers, and you hold on for dear life as his urge rushes into your lower half, filling you with thick heat. You're moaning unconsciously, letting him keep you impaled for as long as it pulses with diminishing vigor, feeling every twitch in his shaft as it empties itself. Finally spent, he releases you, the tentacle unwinding from around your waist. Your fingers, knuckles sore from strain, release his antlers, and you extricate yourselves from one another. You can feel his seed weep from between your legs, your breathing rapid, your skin slick with sweat. He collapses onto his back, his legs still entangled with yours, the fabric of his slacks a strange texture on your drenched skin. Straining, you lift your head up, seeing that despite his exhaustion, his cock hasn't calmed one bit.

"Still... not satisfied?"

"This damnable rut..."

You pull yourself up, your lower half numb and leaving a trail of translucence as you crawl to the space between his legs. You wrap a hand around him, and he breathes a hissing inhale that tapers into a low, long groan.

"I didn't ask you..."

"You look like you're in misery, you really don't want the help?"

"I am in no position to keep going..."

"So let me handle it."

You can see the conflict playing out in his expression, but his hips gently bucking against your hand tell a different tale. "Not a soul can know about this."

You nod your assent, giving the part that needs it more of your attention. It's as lively as when he was frotting it against you, throbbing with want, coated with spend. It makes a marvelous lubricant, the wet sound of skin against slick skin nearly obscuring his quiet moans.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have sensitivities of your own, sir."

"Surely you can't mean..."

Your free hand dances like a bird across the branches in his horns, his vocalizations and submissive thrusts suggesting that you have stricken quite the nerve. He's already oozing pre into your palm, a searching hand walking a blind path between your legs, caressing you in kind. You've got a wild idea, just crazy enough to sound worth doing. There's a real chance you'll never cross each other's path again, might as well indulge. You spot a path that ends in a blunt point in his rack, and take it into your mouth, flitting your tongue against the rough material, firm and tasteless, but eliciting such a response from him that you'd not dare release it. His fingers are stroking you with all the effort they can muster, his thrusts weak but sincere.

"Cannot believe... you're getting away with this," he whines, his voice so submissive compared to the one you first heard that it threatens to send you over the edge. Why not press your luck? You straddle his waist, inching him into you margin by maddening margin. He's got no more clever quips for you, his curled claws clutching fistfuls of ruined bedsheets. The view from on high is a pleasant one. A few more motions, and you feel that sensation alighting in him once again; you're ready to join him. His whimpers go up an octave, the crackling filter in his voice thickening, distorting. For the second time, he climaxes inside of you, your own orgasm arriving in tandem. The both of you cry out, his subdued and sweet, yours unrestrained and carnal. You fold into him, his initial reaction wanting to pull away, but he grants you this favor, letting you find the crook in his neck in parallel. He speaks unfiltered, more as Alastor than as the Radio Demon.

"You know, it can be so hard to find willing assistants for these difficult times. Perhaps I could call on you again, my dear."

Maybe it should be you that owes Mimzy.

#alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #radio demon x reader #the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel

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slutforalastor · 17 days

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Testing out not having the mature content filter on 😆

Changing of the Guard

Or, Lute Puts Adam in His Place

THIS POST IS 18+, NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS.

Content: Femdom, pegging, light humiliation, kissing, slight angst, bible verses used as justification for femdom.

On with the show!

Another year, another extermination. The First Man is the first one in and the last to leave, the portal to Heaven closing behind the tail of his robe, slick crimson shining on either side of his axe. It's a pain in the ass to clean and re-string, but when you ask for an guitar that you can wail on and whale on someone with, you can't complain too much. And he's got even less to complain about this year; they should call him the Great Flood with how many kills he racked up this go-round, and he's made an interesting side-bet with his favorite angel that he's itching to cash in. The fact of the matter is, apart from exterminations, Heaven doesn't have much in the way of long-term distractions, and Adam is all too eager to mix things up. As the invading force coalesces in the barracks, Adam spies just the one he's been wanting to speak to.

"'Sup Lute, 'nother great extermination, same as always."

Removing her helmet, his second-in-command whips around, snapping to a salute, index finger brushing a loose fringe of platinum blonde hair from in front of her vision. "Of course sir, never felt more focused on my work."

Given that he invented the concept of game, Adam immediately picks up what she's putting down. "At ease, Lieutenant. Had a lot of motivation this year, did we?"

"Don't play coy Adam, you know damn well I did."

"Straight to the point as always, Lute, that's why you're my right hand."

"I doubt that's the only reason."

"Well, the great rack doesn't hurt, but hey, you implied it, I just said it."

"Astute observation, sir."

"So it is. Anyway, no more foreplay, onto the main event. I got two eighty-nine this year." It's like a mic drop, and he does a gloating victory dance.

"Impressive, sir."

"Impressive? It's a new fuckin' record, is what it is!" His celebration grows cockier, literally dancing circles around the stony-faced Justicar.

"Two ninety-six." She replies flatly.

Adam stops mid-mambo, his eyes wide, jaw slack. "Come again?"

"Two. Ninety. Six."

"That's… well hold on, fuckin'… Viola!" He calls out to another of the enforcers, serious prude but with a head for numbers. An impartial judge in this matter. "How many kills did Lute get?"

"Two hundred and ninety-six, General."

His head whips back around to Lute, a sly smile curling up one side of her lip, her yellow eyes never looking colder.

"I believe there's something you owe me, General."

He always removes his mask last. Lute's freed him of his heavenly robes, leaving him in just his briefs and that silly electronic display. She knows his secret shame, his deep-laden anxiety that his true self is what scorned his previous lovers, that the mask is his shield. But she loves to leave him defenseless, vulnerable, and there's nothing he can say to stay her hand this time. He's too proud to publicly renege on a deal. Even if it means debasing himself in private.

They've holed themselves up in Adam's private quarters in the barracks with dismissive insistence that they have administrative work to attend to. No exterminator sticks around right after the yearly invasion, and even if there were a straggler, they wouldn't dream of coming in without being told to. She's got him all to herself.

Now Lute's the one tracing cocky circles around him, down to her last layer the same as him. "What's the matter, Adam? What happened to that confidence?" She muses, dragging sharp nails across his back. She can see the prickles awakening across his skin, track how his tendons tense at the slightest touch. She's going to etch every moment of this into her memory.

"Hey, fuck you, okay? God forbid a guy want to set the mood instead of getting straight into it, I thought chicks liked that kind of stuff."

Back to his front, she snakes a hand around his waist, bringing his body against hers. "I've been in the mood since you shook my hand. I don't think I can maintain decorum if you make me wait much longer."

"Fine," he pouts, lifting the mask off of his face. As his messy brown hair tumbles down to form a curtain against his face, it still can't hide the fact that he's red, unwilling to meet her look. Even though he's taller than her, she has no trouble catching his face in her hands, looking at him with the first emotion he's coaxed out of her today: desire.

"Get on the bed," she orders him.

He does as she commands, muttering curses under his breath the entire time. She lifts a foot over the edge of the bed, pressing it firmly against the bulge in his briefs.

"You can be mad at me all you want, but this part of you doesn't lie."

He's wincing, his mouth turned into a pouting scowl, but his hips paint a different picture, pushing submissively against her grinding heel. "Like I wouldn't be able to get it up."

"Still with the mouthing off, huh? Always have to get the last word in." She sifts around her bag, producing the piece de' resistance of her grand design: A thin, phallic device, cast in angelic white, with a white leather harness to hold it. She can hear Adam's breathing get heavier as she fastens the strap to herself. Once it's in place, Lute approaches him, surrogate erection nearly pressing against him.

"Kiss it."

"Aw, c'mon, what? You can't seriously expect me to-"

"You said anything. That was our deal."

He's stammering, unable to look anywhere but at the thing between Lute's legs, knowing where it's going to end up. "Y-Yeah, but I didn't think-"

"Oh yeah, I get it, sir, you thought you had it in the bag. I guess I just wanted it more."

With a scowl, he leans down, pressing his pursed lips against the tip. "Guess I'm just surprised you'd go for this kind of stuff, considering how faithful you are." He's stalling, trying to make her second guess this little arrangement.

"'In the same way, the women are to be worthy of respect, not malicious talkers but temperate and trustworthy in everything.'" Lute replies evenly, adjusting it to the perfect position, then dousing it with oil.

"Yeah, fine, but what about submitting to the man?" Adam says, desperation now dripping from his words.

With a shove, she puts his back against the mattress, yanking his briefs down without hesitation. She lifts his legs into the air, eliciting a sweet gasp from him, lining herself up with where she'll be making her debut. He flounders, his body quaking against her. She wants to drink it in like ambrosia, the sight of her General, her so-called superior, reduced to a wordless mess before she's even broken his seal.

"You're not my husband," she reminds him, breaching past his last line of defense. He lets out a breathy whimper, immediately clenching around her. Laying herself against him, she maneuvers her mouth against his ear. "This is gonna be a lot harder for the both of us if you don't relax."

"D-don't you think I'm f-fuckin trying?" He hisses, his words coming out in panting intervals, struggling to calm his nerves.

"Adam…" she calls for him, and his face turns to the same angle as hers. She presses her lips against his, making him moan again, this time into her, grinding his erection against Lute's stomach. His tremors taper off, and she feels the tinge of give she needs to inch herself further inside. His moans aren't sweet and subdued, now; they're the confused arrythmia of an elated beast. Every time she pushes another margin of herself into him, his cock twitches pathetically, desperate for the sensations it's grown accustomed to. Taking pity, she wraps a hand around it, making his whole body jerk, a reflexive cry catching in his throat. A few sympathy strokes coax a slick coating of pre from him, and she hears him whine "Oh God…"

"God's not watching this," she scolds him. "It's just me."

"Lute…" he corrects himself, and the sound of her name, spoken so meekly from a throat as confident as Adam's, emboldens her to push further in. A high-pitched squeal lets her know that she's found his prostate, his cock pulsing in her hand like it has a mind of its own.

"I've waited a long time to see you like this, sir," she confesses, grinding herself against his aching sensitivity.

"Is it… everything you imagined…?"

"Even better than that, sir."

She starts moving, stimulating his walls with sensations he's never experienced before. She commits every expression that runs across his face to her subconscious: the way his eyes squint when she slides in, his hands clenching the bedsheets. The way his mouth opens slightly further when she strokes his cock in time with her thrusts. How his eyes show her submission, fear, pleasure, bliss, in a way she can't predict.

No one gets to see this side of him but her. No one knows him like she does. No one would be less suspicious than her.

"Lute, I'm gonna…"

"Yeah? Keep saying my name, then," she orders him, her delicate strokes working up in intensity.

"You gotta be… fuckin' kidding me, you're already…"

She stops her hand in place, clenched in a circle around Adam's throbbing length, making him whine in protest, bucking his hips against her. She doesn't relent, keeping the pressure on him with her strap while he moans in frustration.

"Fine, fine, please, Lute. Fuck, Lute, Lute, Lute…" She can see his arm draped over his eyes, tears strung in the corners of them like jewels. She lays across them, kissing the tears away, feeling him thrusting against her bare skin, desperate for any stimulation. She can sense the rising tension, and pushes her mouth against his in time to stifle his cry as his orgasm rocks his entire body, making him arch his back, his seed hot and thick as it erupts through the gap between their two bodies. She gets a wicked idea, lifting up his back end, her pseudo-cock still buried to the hilt, and masturbates him, letting the rest of his climax end up covering his face. His erection betrays his deeper feelings about what should be a humiliation; it twitches enthusiastically as soon as his orgasm touches him, despite his protests and the deep crimson hue his skin takes on. He can't even summon up words; he just whimpers like the bitch she's made him into. With a satisfied groan, she pulls out of him, the both of them panting, slick with sweat and fluids. Adam, stricken with realization, scrambles for his sheets and scrubs the semen off his face, muttering curses so unholy Sera would put him in Limbo if she could hear them.

"The fuck was that about, Lute?"

"You said anything. And besides…" She pats his still-firm cock, making him shiver from the sensitivity. "I know you liked it. Now what do you say I make it up to you?"

Rolling his eyes, Adam rolls over to be on top, Lute pulling him by the back of his head into her lips.

Better savor it while I can…

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slutforalastor · 17 days

Text

Changing of the Guard

Or, Lute Puts Adam in His Place

THIS POST IS 18+, NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS.

Content: Femdom, pegging, light humiliation, kissing, slight angst, bible verses used as justification for femdom.

On with the show!

"'Sup Lute, 'nother great extermination, same as always."

Given that he invented the concept of game, Adam immediately picks up what she's putting down. "At ease, Lieutenant. Had a lot of motivation this year, did we?"

"Don't play coy Adam, you know damn well I did."

"Straight to the point as always, Lute, that's why you're my right hand."

"I doubt that's the only reason."

"Well, the great rack doesn't hurt, but hey, you implied it, I just said it."

"Astute observation, sir."

"So it is. Anyway, no more foreplay, onto the main event. I got two eighty-nine this year." It's like a mic drop, and he does a gloating victory dance.

"Impressive, sir."

"Impressive? It's a new fuckin' record, is what it is!" His celebration grows cockier, literally dancing circles around the stony-faced Justicar.

"Two ninety-six." She replies flatly.

Adam stops mid-mambo, his eyes wide, jaw slack. "Come again?"

"Two. Ninety. Six."

"That's… well hold on, fuckin'… Viola!" He calls out to another of the enforcers, serious prude but with a head for numbers. An impartial judge in this matter. "How many kills did Lute get?"

"Two hundred and ninety-six, General."

His head whips back around to Lute, a sly smile curling up one side of her lip, her yellow eyes never looking colder.

"I believe there's something you owe me, General."

"Hey, fuck you, okay? God forbid a guy want to set the mood instead of getting straight into it, I thought chicks liked that kind of stuff."

"Get on the bed," she orders him.

He does as she commands, muttering curses under his breath the entire time. She lifts a foot over the edge of the bed, pressing it firmly against the bulge in his briefs.

"You can be mad at me all you want, but this part of you doesn't lie."

He's wincing, his mouth turned into a pouting scowl, but his hips paint a different picture, pushing submissively against her grinding heel. "Like I wouldn't be able to get it up."

"Kiss it."

"Aw, c'mon, what? You can't seriously expect me to-"

"You said anything. That was our deal."

He's stammering, unable to look anywhere but at the thing between Lute's legs, knowing where it's going to end up. "Y-Yeah, but I didn't think-"

"Oh yeah, I get it, sir, you thought you had it in the bag. I guess I just wanted it more."

"Yeah, fine, but what about submitting to the man?" Adam says, desperation now dripping from his words.

"D-don't you think I'm f-fuckin trying?" He hisses, his words coming out in panting intervals, struggling to calm his nerves.

"God's not watching this," she scolds him. "It's just me."

"I've waited a long time to see you like this, sir," she confesses, grinding herself against his aching sensitivity.

"Is it… everything you imagined…?"

"Even better than that, sir."

No one gets to see this side of him but her. No one knows him like she does. No one would be less suspicious than her.

"Lute, I'm gonna…"

"Yeah? Keep saying my name, then," she orders him, her delicate strokes working up in intensity.

"You gotta be… fuckin' kidding me, you're already…"

"The fuck was that about, Lute?"

"You said anything. And besides…" She pats his still-firm cock, making him shiver from the sensitivity. "I know you liked it. Now what do you say I make it up to you?"

Rolling his eyes, Adam rolls over to be on top, Lute pulling him by the back of his head into her lips.

Better savor it while I can…

#hazbin hotel #smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #nsfw #hazbin hotel nsfw #pegging #femdom #If you're curious the Bible verse Lute quotes to Adam is 1 Timothy 3:11-16!

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slutforalastor · 18 days

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you never thought this day might come, sat down with the Radio Demon's head in your lap, his gaze lazy and half-lidded as he allows you, generously, so generously, to touch the pronged antlers that extend from the top of his head. His lips pass soft white noise as you run a finger from the base to the tip of his antlers, the vibration that you can feel beneath the hard exterior somewhere between the hum of a domestic appliance and the throb, throb, throb of a heartbeat

You can feel Alastor's shoulders tense up whenever you put too much pressure on them, his calm breathing briefly interrupted every time you push his sensitivity past his tolerance. Each time you find yourself being too exploratory, you correct yourself back to the safety of gentle strokes, letting your fingertips soak in the unique texture. They are somewhere between the firm smoothness of exposed bone, like his teeth when they drag across the topmost layer of your skin, leaving perfect streaks too shallow to bleed, too pronounced to refute their creator, and the spongy give of delicate flesh. You know the trust he's imparted to you to be given this kind of access; not only does he so limit incoming touch, but resents any reminder of his reincarnation as a prey animal.

"I'm surprised you're okay with this," you murmur to him, so unwilling to compromise the sanctity of this moment.

"Only because it is you," Alastor assures you, his tone just as hushed.

You continue, relishing in this opportunity. You explore every hook and divot of the black extensions, marveling at the current of demonic energy that pulses through them. It was your impression that they only grew when Alastor was angry, but not quite: any overwhelming passion, be it joy, theoretically speaking, or fear, or sadness, and they will billow out. You wonder if you can elicit such a response. Your opening gambit is strong: you lean into his ear, whispering "If anyone else were to do this, you'd tear them apart, wouldn't you?"

"For even less than this, dearest. I'd assumed that was obvious."

"But not me?"

"But not you."

"Maybe I want you to tear me apart, love."

The first sign; you feel a shift through the skeletal system they're connected to, a tremor of recognition, of sudden awoken desire.

"I'm sure you just aren't aware of what you're asking for."

"No, I'm all too aware. You want something deeper, too, don't you? It can't be enough just to meet in such a temporary union, only to separate. I want you to bring a little piece of me along with you, knowing you've claimed more than just one part of me, but any you desire."

He shudders, deeper this time, and you feel growth. Sharp edges and deeper curves sprout like curling ivy where there had once been certain ends, like a blossoming tree bursting into life. Your loving strokes down the length of his antlers grow deeper, more pronounced, almost incessant.

"What game are you playing at?" Alastor pants, his breathing hitching every time you push against them with any kind of firmness.

"I love seeing what you do."

His body has seized, but doesn't do anything else. You can feel the efforts of the sinew across his back against your lap. Best of all are his facial expressions; his initial contentment has evolved, firstly into surprised, the edges of his bladed grin peeking out from his thin lips, his eyes squinted and playful. Now it's become a look of desire, his mouth open slightly, droning a steady song with no melody but a captivating refrain, nonetheless. His eyes plead with you; so uncharacteristic, for him to be putty in your hands. To think you could hold the high ground in any situation, much less as a result of this.

"Don't toy with me," he warns, but his voice doesn't sound assured. It sounds needy, like a request for more.

"I would never, love."

"Then end this teasing," he begs.

You do as he asks, taking your hands away from his antlers. With some strain, he manages to get his breathing back under control, his antlers receding like the retreating tide, back to their typical size. "Did you enjoy yourself?" you wonder, after he's calmed himself.

He looks at you with mischief etched in his features. "Not as much as I'm sure I will soon enough." ~~~

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x you #antlerplay

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slutforalastor · 20 days

Text

I feel like people think I’m lying when I say I have a very thirsty GC

Sometimes they just say shit and my hand won’t let me draw anything else until I at least sketch it out. It’s like the opposite is artist block

Anyway, enjoy the late night horny posting

🥰🥰🥰

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slutforalastor · 23 days

Text

First Request

This comes from @kaybeelikestodraw! They asked for Alastor and Luci in a broadcasting situation where they both take you at the same time and you have to keep your voice down so it doesn't go Hell-wide. Had to make some adjustments to make it something approaching believable, but please enjoy!

***

You've been aware for some time that Hell is a place for deals of all sorts. Far from just souls being exchanged for currency, all sorts of things are up for grabs. In a show of dedication, you'd pledged your body to the Radio Demon, not only aware of the consequences, but counting on them. The trouble was, he'd eventually found himself in a jam not even his powers could get him free of, and he'd pledged half of everything he owned to Lucifer.

And that handshake did, in fact, mean everything.

So now Lucifer and Alastor share a broadcasting booth, tethered to this destiny by the unseen forces that honor all contracts, bound to you by the same gravity. They're on either side of the table, while you sit in the middle, minding the audio equipment. Alastor, ever the showman, cuts through the fading jazz number. "Yes, it's true, dear listeners; if you're just now joining us, I'm joined by perhaps the most unexpected cohost I could conjure, that dashing, debonair Devil himself, Lucifer Morningstar!"

"Wonderful intro there, Al, it'd be even better if I couldn't see you giving me a death glare right now."

"Come now, Luci, the listeners love a little interpersonal drama."

"And how I'd love to be doing just about anything else."

"Look at you, settling into banter like an old hand."

"Well, I am the oldest being here."

As their routine continues back and forth, you feel a creeping, clawed hand on your thigh. Both of Alastor's elbows rest on the table, his mind entirely on his work. You already know Lucifer's plan; he'd love nothing more than embarrassing Alastor on his own show, but to do so himself would be too obvious. You shouldn't be so eager for him to involve you in his little scheme, but that cocky smirk of his leaves you powerless, letting him tease apart the gap between your legs enough for his hand to fit snuggly into. He presses against you with firm forcefulness, a royal decree to remember your caste. He keeps speaking with an even, carefree cadence, even as his palm is grinding against the fabric of your clothing.

"I have to tell you, Alastor, you've got a quality setup here. For starters, your engineer will do anything to ensure things proceed smoothly. You've got a real good girl here." He accentuates the words 'good girl' with a hand down the front of your bottoms, his fingers curled against you, already wet with desire. Out of the corner of his eye, he gives you an approving look. You feel yourself melting against his claws, feeling as he invites himself inside, manipulating his digits in ways that don't seem possible, making an unholy mess of you. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you struggle to stay silent. Alastor's sure to find out any second, the way you feel the heat rising in your face, a nervous sweat beginning along the nape of your neck.

"Well, what can be said, my good man? She recognizes the best when she sees it. But the magic of production should stay on the other side of the microphone, shouldn't it?"

"It doesn't happen very often, but you're absolutely right, Al." Lucifer's literally got you in the palm of his hand, fingering your dripping cunt right under the Radio Demon's nose.

"With that bit of banter, we're going to transition in to an old favorite of mine. Long-time listeners might recognize this tune from the classic musical "Gay Divorce". Don't laugh, those fellas really were in love." He cackles at his joke as a shadow doll sets the record onto the phonograph, and the broadcast goes into standby.

"Gonna take five, Al?"

"Oh Lucifer, this plan is crass even for you."

Even with two fingers buried in you up to their third knuckle, Lucifer plays dumb. "Not sure I know of any plan, my good man. I'm curious as to your thought process."

"You think I wouldn't smell my own bitch when they're in heat?" he snarls, his tentacles rising up to knock the table aside, exposing your little tryst.

"I guess the jig is up," Lucifer admits, strings of your fluids still clinging to the spaces between his fingers as he yanks his hands up in a sheepish shrug. Alastor, unamused, gets a handful of your collar, pulling you directly in front of his face, the smell of blood on his breath. He inhales, the stench of your arousal marking a change in his expression. He licks his lips, his tongue running over the angled points of his razored grin.

"I've still got a fucking show to to, and the powers that be demand that it be Lucifer's, too." As he speaks, he's undoing his belt, pulling something free of his slacks. "Seems to me the only thing to do is make sure you're too used up to let him excite you."

With demonic strength, he rips away the fabric of your bottom half, knowing you're more than ready to receive him. He slips into you with a thrust that takes you off your feet, making you fall into him as he settles back into his chair. With a disappointed look, he turns you the other way, digging his claws into your chest, letting your back lay against his shoulder. "You don't get to look me in the eye," he breathes into your ear, still thrusting into you, the sound of his cock in your eager sex drowning out the music on the radio. Lucifer appears to be affected by the pheromones the same as his would-be rival, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Your King has further need of you, love."

That need is exposed before you, and he guides your mouth over the tip, tasting his pre, his flesh, his scent, as it passes over your tongue and against the back of your throat. You make a moan around it, and Alastor, unimpressed and jealous, puts his other hand to work, pressing hypnotic circles into your clit. "You don't really think he can make you feel as good as I can, do you?" he demands to know, driving himself angrily up to the base of his cock, letting you feel him as much as your limits would allow. Lucifer, no less competitive, brushes a strand of hair from your face. "He doesn't know a thing about love making. I do."

"Who needs to know about love making? I know about things you could never be honest about needing," Alastor growls, letting his tongue caress trenches along your neck, your collarbone, the line of your jaw. You feel yourself clench against him from the pleasure of it, and he laughs approvingly. "You don't need to be loved, you need to be domesticated."

"Exactly. He'd use you up and toss you aside. I'd love all of you, completely, forever and ever." Lucifer's trying to sound poetic, but he winces with pleasure, his train of thought halting every time your swirling tongue passes over the head of his cock or one of your teeth brushes against the girth of his shaft when he bucks into your mouth.

"And yet he's never managed to make anyone stay," Alastor gloats, the heat of his breath against your neck giving you a fresh round of shivers to contend with. The feeling of his hand on you, his cock's thrusts, and Lucifer's gentle but needy strokes into your mouth, make you spasm with the force of an orgasm the likes of which you've never felt before. You can feel your honey flowing out over Alastor's dick, and with a demonic, guttural roar, he thrusts into you recklessly, ravenous with lust. Lucifer, moaning your name softly, has worked into a rhythm, and you feel his angelic member throbbing. One of your hands goes around him, letting him push all the way to the hilt. A whining cry bursts from his mouth at the same time as his climax coats your throat, pouring into your stomach with a burning, intense heat that fills your body. Alastor grabs a handful of your hair, forcing you back into him, sinking his teeth in your neck as Lucifer's cum leaks down the sides of your mouth, his rapid thrusts culminating in a final push that shoots strings of his thick seed into your womb, your legs giving out completely, leaving you slumped against him, blood trickling against Alastor's hungry, lapping tongue. Finally, he releases you, panting, your blood dripping off of his teeth, blending in with the red carpet of his studio. "There..." he manages. "That... oughta satisfy you long enough to finish this broadcast."

Lucifer, red-faced and re-clothed, takes his seat back at the table. "She'd still pick me over you, though."

"I'll gladly settle that wager later this evening, Morningstar. But for now, we're back on in 5, 4..."

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x alastor x reader #reader threesome #nsfw #radio demon x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader

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