Bunnies and Fawns

She had cornered you in the hallway, and the scrunch of her eyebrows made it clear that she wasn’t going to back down. You could only sigh, and you nodded your head down the hall. You weren’t going to talk about it somewhere everyone could see you. 

“Come on, might as well go somewhere private. My room okay?” You asked it, not even meeting her eyes. How could you, when it felt like you were to blame for everything. (Was your animosity too much for him? Or is it that you gave in to his request at all? Your chest ached. If you fucked things up for the hotel, you were going to give up). 

Charlie nodded, her eyes shining with that ever present kindness. The two of you walked in silence, not daring to distract from the obvious issue at hand. When the door to your room finally shut, and you’d settled on your bed, and Charlie in your chair –the chair he’d lingered in that first night– you let out a sigh.

“How much do you know,” you started. Exhaustion was creeping into your bones; the idea of the conversation wearing you down. You picked at a loose thread on your shirt, and waited.

Charlie’s face scrunched up, her nose twitching as emotions crossed her face. “I know some. There’s something between you and Alastor, even if I’m not sure what.” She laughed softly, as if in disbelief. “If I wasn’t so sure I knew him on at least a surface level, I’d say he has a crush on you.”

You winced. It was… too close to home. 

Her eyebrows rose, and her jaw dropped, just a tad. “Wait, that can’t be it. Come on! He’s been acting like such a child.” Then you watched as if something clicked for her. “Oh, oh geez. He definitely does.”

You wanted to deny it, because surely his constant attempts to bother you were evidence to the contrary, but wouldn’t it just make sense? He wasn’t well known for his emotional range, he must have been deeply confused. 

Charlie whispered your name, and pulled you in for a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” you whispered, roughly. Something sharp was scratching your throat. You couldn’t figure out what it was. “It’s been very confusing.”

She pulled back, holding you by your shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

And so you did, with twisting hands, and knit eyebrows. Charlie frowned at the mention of your heat, and how Alastor had just shown up. But smiled and covered her cheeks at how he treated you. Rolled her eyes at the teasing that followed. Frowned at you for how angry you were. Gasped softly at the events of the night he left. 

“I just… I’m not sure what he wanted. He’s so confusing. I’ve genuinely hated him this whole time, and I thought it was mutual. Now that I’m realizing it might have been very one-sided… I’m not sure how to feel. I’m still angry at how he treated me, but if it wasn’t malicious? I don’t know.” You ran a hand through your hair, ears folding back at the uncertainty you were feeling. 

“I think you should talk to him,” Charlie said, her expression soft. 

“I know. I just haven’t been able to find him,” you replied. You scratched at your neck, as you told her, “I’ve stopped by his radio tower a few times, and he’s never there.”

Charlie’s lips twisted as she thought of what to do. Her brows raised and she gave a grin. “I know! Next time I see him, because he has to come back to work sometime, I’ll force him to talk to you.”

You frowned at her, a little confused. “It’s Alastor. How can you possibly force him to talk to me?”

She just smiled, and flicked her blonde hair. “You leave that to me. I’ll text you when it’s time.”

Your phone buzzed only a few days later. You still hadn’t seen a sign of Alastor anywhere, but you were trusting in Charlie. When the text came, it was short. 

“Third floor storage closet. Go inside, and wait, with the light off.”

So you climbed the stairs, found the little closet full of out of date cleaning products, and stood in the fair corner, leaning against some shelves. It was only a few minutes later when you heard the soft thuds of footsteps.

“Really, my dear?” You heard. Your heart thumped in your chest. Alastor! She had actually nabbed him. “Are you sure I can’t just–”

“Yes! It’s a sign of effort! I know there was some of that Ozzy’s Stain Remover in there last time I was in there. Just grab it for me, and we can clean the couches off.” 

You could hear Alastor huff, but clearly he complied, as the door opened, and there he was. You couldn’t see his face very well, but he seemed the same as always. 

He reached for the string for the light, when suddenly he lurched forward, and the door slammed shut. 

“WHA- What in the devil are you doing, Charlie?” He turned his head toward the door, and knocked on it. “You know I can just pop up back out there, right, my dear?”

“No! You two are going to talk! Don’t make me make you!” Charlie’s voice was muffled further, and it seemed like she had stepped back from the door. 

“Talk? Whatever could you be-” He spotted you. “Oh.” He grabbed the string, and tugged. Yellow light flooded over the small space, and you could more easily see his expression. He looked tired. His smile was tight, and the bags under his eyes were rough. 

“Oh, hello, dear. What a surprise, to see you here.” His voice was quieter than normal, and the normal undercurrent of static was absent.

“Hah, yeah. Charlie helped me.” You shrugged. “You’ve been gone a while.”

“Oh, yes. I need a short vacation, it seems.” His brows grew tight. “I was having too many strange dreams.” He let out a bitter laugh.

“They go away?” You let your gaze catch his, and his smile shrunk.

“No. No they didn’t.”

You swallowed roughly, and rocked on your heels. You weren’t sure what to say. What was there to say? Were you just going to stand here, and let this opportunity run away?

Alastor turned and made for the door, as if to answer your question. You caught his arm, trying to keep your grasp loose. He snapped his head around, staring down at the offending fingers. 

“I’m sorry.” You said. “I’m not sure what made you run away, but I’m sorry.” You let go of him. He locked his eyes on your fingers, following them as they twitched. His expression was unreadable.

He snorted, derisively. “No, no. It wasn’t you. That was all me.” He gestured at himself, glaring at the door.  

“I thought that you hated me. I hated you, and it colored everything that you did. I was so sure you hated me too.”

His brows rose. “No, I don’t hate you.” His fingers twitched and fiddled with each other, as he mulled over his words. “I wanted your attention, desperately. I wasn’t sure why, but I wanted it, and you wouldn’t give it to me. I tried everything, and all you would do was glare. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so, but it did.”

Alastor’s smile grew tighter, and his pupils shrunk. “And then we- that night. It was the first time I had ever genuinely desired such a thing. I know it was likely the rut, but I had never wanted to touch another person out of anything other than boredom.” He turned his gaze to you. “Our performance was exemplary! And suddenly, all this desperation for your attention changed. I wanted nothing more than your gaze, and your touch. Hah! How foolish.”

He breathed in sharply. “You were clear from the beginning. I just wanted to feel it once more, before purging myself of this awful feeling.” 

You frowned, and you sighed. “Did you manage to? You know, get rid of it?”

He merely shook his head, his expression telling you everything. “How could I ever? Even your ire feels better than nothing. How pathetic I have become.”

He leaned against the door, his head thumping back, and his ears slumping forward. Looking at him, so defeated and confused, it made your chest burn. You didn’t like him, but was hate really what you felt? How could you, when he seemed so pathetic when facing feelings?

“We can try again,” You said, quietly. His ears perk, and his eyes turn to you. “We can start from square one. Pretend that none of this happened. You try and be more clear with me, about how you feel, and I stop acting like all you are doing is with ill-intent. We try to be friends, and we go from there. If by the next time heat happens, everything is good to go, then we turn to each-other. I’ll let you in, and you won’t run away.” Your eyes were locked on him, reading every change in his expression. His brows rose, and his smile softened. His eyes held surprise, and his ears twitched. 

“I can do that,” He said, softly.

“Alright.” You took in a deep breath, and stood straight. You held out your hand, waiting for him to take it. “Nice to meet you, I’m new to the hotel.” You gave him your name, and smiled.

He smiled widely, and straightened himself up. He grasped your hand, taking it gently. “Nice to meet you too, my dear! My name is Alastor, and I’m the hotelier!”

Alastor, being the bastard he was, made it as difficult as possible. It seemed that when you told him that nothing would change, he made it his goal to continue to piss you off as much as possible. He would be outside your door when you woke up on the weekend, and would insist on walking you down to breakfast. If he was at the table, he’d pull out your chair, and dare you to deny him in front of Charlie. (How could you? The puppy eyes she gave you whenever you turned to take another chair could kill someone). So you’d sit, and he’d give you the most shit-eating grin every time. It made your skin crawl. 

Alastor would find time to ask you about whatever you were doing. He’d ask insane questions, and he’d follow you around if you tried to ignore him. You’d be talking to Angel, and Alastor would leer over your shoulder, getting impossibly close without actually touching you. You quickly learned how to keep your expression flat, but your conversation partner, often Angel or Husk, would always react, making it harder. 

There was one line, however, that he never crossed again. He never went inside your room. On multiple occasions he’d asked, but you’d firmly said no, (if a “fuck no, die,” was a firm no). He’d take your answer, and mosey on his way. 

And so you suffered under his strange attentions for several weeks. Charlie did her best to give him tasks to keep the two of you separated, when she could, but he was eerily efficient, all in the name of bugging you some more. Vaggie, on multiple occasions, had offered to skewer him with her spear, but you’d denied, the thought of Charlie’s dismay stopping you. 

Angel, nearing his namesake, (not the drug, thank Lucifer), was always close at hand when he wasn’t at work. And one night, seeing how stressed you were, he decided it was time to let loose. 

“C’mon babe! You know you want to-”, Angel crooned, swinging the bottle of liquor in front of your face. Husk huffed in the background, shaking his head lovingly. “Come onnnnnnn. Let loose with me, an’ ol’ Husky!”

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, and shrug your shoulders. “Alright, you bitch. Fine. Pour me one.”

Angel pumps two of his hands in the air, and then just hands you the bottle. You stare flabbergasted at the bottle, and he just laughs. “Oh, you can down that straight! I’ve seen you. Don’t even lie to me right now.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter as you take a swig. You immediately wince. Whatever Angel handed you burns like hell, and you can’t help but take a glance at the label to try and figure out what it is. It’s written in French, and unfortunately tastes like licorice. “God, what is this?”

“It appears to be absinthe, my dear,” Alastor’s voice drawls from above you. You jump, nearly dropping the bottle. Your heart is pounding, and all you can think to do is glare at him. His smile wedges wider, and you want to punch his ugly yellow teeth in. 

Without responding, you whip your head around and glare at Angel. “You gave me fucking absinthe? What’s the fucking — what’s the alcohol percentage?” You peer down at the label, and struggle to find the percentage. Alastor’s claw taps at small numbers underneath the name. 

“74%. Definitely French, although how you got that down here, my friend, I would very much like to know.” Alastor peers down at the bottle with renewed interest, and you can’t help but agree. This is from the mortal plane, and goods from there are rare. Someone had to smuggle it, and there are only so many that have access. You hum, and then the shock hits you.

“YOU GAVE ME THIS? Oh my goodness! Angel! Do you know how much this must cost?!” You rush to set it down on Husk’s bar top, and back away from it. “Dude! Not cool.” Your ears pin back, and you give Angel a light swat. He just keeps laughing, and Husk seems to be joining in.

“Figured you could use the stress relief, kid. It’s all yours.” Husk says it like it means nothing, still cleaning up behind the bar, but your eyes go wide. Husk is so rarely nice like this, and it makes your chest ache. You have friends. You have friends and you absolutely love them. 

Your eyes are on the verge of tearing up, but you swallow it down. “Aw, I love you too!”

Angel laughs, pointing a finger at Husk, and hugs you with his extra arms. “We love you too, doll! Now let’s get drinking!”

You can hear a scoff come from the demon behind you, but you ignore it. Who cares what he thinks? You ask for a shot glass from Husk, grab the bottle, and settle in on one of the couches. Unfortunately, Alastor follows, and settles in the armchair across from you. You settle a glare on him, and then pour yourself a drink. You are going to ignore him, you can do this.

Husk and Angel settle on the other couch, and Angel points at you. “We’re gonna play a game! To spice things up. So, tell me toots, what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?”

You cock your head. “Mortal, or down here?”

Angel’s face scrunches up as he thinks. “Mortal,” he decides. No one has really shared much about their mortal lives, so it’s relatively interesting. 

“Well, if we’re talking about something I survived, then probably dislocating my shoulder. Most intense pain I had ever felt. Boyfriend had grabbed my armed and pulled a little too hard. But, if it’s not surviving that matters, probably how I died.” You don’t think on it too long, the pain flaring in your shoulder as if it had just happened. It had really hurt, too.

Angel leans forward, and even Alastor’s ear prick up. You try to keep from letting your gaze slide to him. “Ooo! How’d you die? C’mon! Tell me. You’ve gotta!”

Angel’s excitement nearly makes your eyes roll out of your head. Of course, he’d be interested, the bastard. 

“I’m not gonna give you all the details,” you start, downing the shot and ignoring his sad ‘aw’. “But I will say, that the other guy got worse. Bet the asshole is drifting around down here.” You can’t help the sour look that passes over your face. You’d been in your late twenties, and some guy went and screwed over everything. 

Alastor cocks his head, clearly intrigued. The look on his face tells you he very much wants to ask a question, but is restraining himself. The ‘why’ itches the back of your skull, but you just feel annoyed with yourself. You keep glancing over at him. 

“Anyway. My turn. Uh. Husk. How much can you drink in five minutes?” Your face burns, and you just want this annoying feeling to go away.

“We don’t have enough to prove it.” His tail lazily twitches behind him, and his face is the epitome of boredom. You and Angel just blink at him. Laughter bursts out of the two of you, and a smile twitches across Husk’s face.

“Wowza! Was not expecting that to be yer answer, babes.” Angel wipes a tear from his eyes, and leans back. “Your turn.”

Husk hums and glances at Alastor before turning back to Angel. “Would you eat a cockroach for fifty bucks?”

“Wha— no? They’re like, basically my cousins babe! That’s fuckin’ gross!”

Your whole body lurches, desperately wanting to laugh, but your brain is halted, trying to process his answer. A glance across from you, and Alastor’s eyebrows are hitched nearly to his hairline. He glances back at you, and you can’t help it. You laugh so hard that it hurts. Your belly aches, and your ribs have a stitch growing in them. Your ears pin back as you try to calm yourself down, but it’s all so absurd; your friends, the asshole in the room. Everything is just so screwed up right now. (If you don’t laugh, maybe you’ll cry, and that’s so much more embarrassing). 

“Sorry,” you start to say, taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Just, thought it was funny.”

All three men in the room are giving you strange looks, and you want to shrink in on yourself. God, could they not look anywhere else?

“Your turn, Angel,” you say, gently prodding him to start the conversation back up.

“Oh! Right. Hey Al, what’s your favorite position?”

You and Husk stiffen, and turn your attention to Alastor. His brows are pressed together, and his fingers twitch.

“What ever could you mean?” You can’t tell if he’s genuinely confused or if he’s annoyed. He’s always so good at shadowing one emotion with another, or maybe you are terrible at reading him, You never could discern between his expressions.

Angel laughs, and waves a hand. “Oh, come on, Al! You know, in bed. What’s your favorite position in bed?”

“Asleep,” Alastor bluntly replies, and it draws a snort from you. His eyes meet yours for a second as his grin grows. You stare at the floor.

“No, no! For sex, Al. What’s your favorite sex position?” 

You cringe, and from the corner of your eye, can see Alastor’s leg twitch, shifting when he’s normally so still. 

When the quiet pause lasts longer than you thought it would, you look up, and Alastor is staring straight at you. His gaze is intense, and his smile is as close to being flat as it could be, (excluding that night. The line of his mouth, the softness in his eyes), and he’s just staring at you. His brows furrow and smoothen, and the corner of his mouth twists. 

“I think I prefer it on all fours.” He cocks his head, and his sharp smile grows wide. His eyes narrow, and you feel like prey, caught in the claws of its demise. Your ears flatten back as he speaks, “I like them on their belly.”

You stand up, setting the bottle down on the coffee table, and point at him. “FUCK YOU!”

Husk and Angel watch on, eyes wide. Angel settles a hand on Husk’s knee, and squeezes.

“Fuck you Alastor! You came to ME! Not the other way around!” You clench your teeth together, trying to force down your shaking. You’re so fed up.

“Wait, what?” You hear Angel mutter, but Alastor is standing up, and it’s all you can focus on.

“Yes, but it was you who needed me. Don’t pretend like you did not like it, my dear! Nothing can change that it happened. There’s no point in pretending it didn’t.” He sounds so calm, and it infuriates you. He doesn’t get to pull this shit with you. You want him down on your level.

“Oh-ho. No. I told you nothing would change. I was EXPLICIT with that fact. I hate your fucking guts. Just because Hell decided your dick was the only one my body wanted, doesn’t change that. You don’t get to just be a goddamn puppy now, constantly begging for my attention! Why are you like that? Stop following me around! I hate you! You hate me! Get the fuck over it!”

His eyes are narrowed, and his ears tipped back. “So presumptuous, ma douce. You think to understand my motives, and you barely understand yours.”

You bare your teeth at him. “You snuck into my room, for my attention. You’re so damn desperate. Is that what this is? You want me to like you that bad, that you’ll fuck me to get it?”

Alastor’s expression screams that he thinks you’re stupid. “Oh, you know nothing, do you, dearest?”

“Fuck you.”

“You already have.”

Angel stands up, setting himself between you. You hadn’t even noticed that the two of you had stepped closer to each other. “Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He turns to Alastor. “You went to their room? You told me you were leaving for the night!”

Alastor answers without missing a beat. “I lied.”

You want to scream. You pull at your hair, and turn to the side, trying to slow your breathing. This insufferable bastard. 

“I’m going to bed,” you finally huff. You take off towards the stairs. You just want to go to bed. Fuck everything. All of them. He makes your head hurt. 

Halfway to your room, you notice the static. He’s following you. Great.

You turn around, and glare at him. “What do you want?”

His expression is strangely open. His smile is smaller than usual, and he keeps glancing behind him. Why is his behavior always like this? So back and forth. You can never understand him.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” He finally says. His brows pinch together, and he opens his mouth, but shuts it again.

“I have. It’s easy.” You lie. It’s such a lie. When you are in bed at night, you can feel the ghost of his hands trailing your thighs, your neck. You can feel him cradle your head as he presses a strange kiss to your shoulder. It’s an ache, but the deep burning hatred is stronger. It burns the ghosts to ash, and it leaves you feeling empty. 

Alastor seems hurt by your words, but almost as if he expected them. “I want to do it again. I want—” He stops himself, hesitating. You just want him to get it over with so you can go to bed. It’s all so exhausting. “I want to touch you again, ma biche. I have been trying to get you to spend time with me, so I could bring it up naturally, but I have not been able to find the time or the words appropriate.” He swallows, and shifts, and you can feel his static swell. “I have never wanted someone before. It’s normally an urge that is easily handled alone, but you are different. I want to know why. And I want to get rid of this feeling. It’s hard to concentrate.” He coughs, and avoids your gaze for a moment, before staring back at you.

You fucking knew it. This asshole. Of course, this is what it is. He just wants his dick wet again, now that he’s had you. You scoff.

“Is that all this is for? Are you kidding me?” You frown at him and shake your head. “This is ridiculous.” You take a deep breath. “Will you leave me alone if we have sex?”

His expression twitches, and for some reason you feel like he is about to lie. “Yes, I suppose I can do that.”

You want to scream. You want to drag him to your room. You want to throw something. You settle on asking, “My room or yours?”

The two of you go to your room. He mutters about not having your scent in his room, and you shrug. You’re closer to yours anyway. 

When you enter the room, you start to strip off your clothing, anger clouding any shame. You can hear his noise of surprise, but make your way to the bed, ignoring him. Down to your bra and underwear, you sit on the bed, looking over him. 

“How are we doing this?” You want to poke at him over his comment from earlier, but decide not to. 

“I believe that I would like you in my lap. I’ve been having… dreams about it.” Alastor struggles to say it while unbuttoning his shirt. You quietly watch while processing his request. You’d have to be facing him. Can you do that? Would looking at his face prevent orgasm, or would it not matter? You hum, and nod.

“Alright. No kissing though.” He acquiesces, and settles onto the edge of the bed, shucking off his pants. His briefs are loose, and black. 

“Where should I be?” His question is asked softly, and it makes you hesitate to be mean. You decide to just focus on the act, and not who he is. It’s better that way, isn’t it? 

“Do you want me riding, or actually in your lap? If you want the former, just lie down. For the latter, sit up, settle against the headboard.” You gesture with your hands, and stand up to remove your undergarments. He eyes your motions as he sits against the headboard. You internally sigh. You really wish that isn’t what he wanted. 

He’s still wearing his briefs when you settle into his lap. His legs are bony, and they press awkwardly against your ass, so you wriggle to get comfortable. Alastor’s hands, thin and graceful, and incredibly sharp at the ends, settle on your hips. (You have to beg your mind not to focus on the fact that you’ll likely have a new set of bruises, overlapping prettily with the last set). 

Alastor’s head is level with yours, the tall bastard, so you turn yours into the crux of his neck, and sigh. Alright, you’re doing this again. You can do it. It doesn’t matter that you really want to punch him. His dick is kind of nice. You can do this. 

You roll your hips against him, starting a gentle rhythm. His fingers squeeze you, and you can tell he’s holding back. His grip is soft, and his thumbs rub back and forth, tracing a lazy pattern into your skin. You take a deep breath in, and immediately regret it. His scent is incredibly strong at his neck. It feels overwhelming, and you have to blink repeatedly to drive the dizziness away. 

The gentle rhythm of your hips eventually makes it clear that he’s getting hard. His thumbs hesitate every couple of thrusts, as if the feeling was too much for him to even lazily move his fingers back and forth. His cock rubbing against you, even through two layers of fabric, is kind of nice, you have to admit. Alastor feels nice, and the warmth of him is enjoyable too. You can’t tell if you are trying to convince yourself, or if that is how you actually feel. You don’t get to find out, because his hands grip down harder.

“Can I rock your hips, dearest?” His voice is rough, and the sudden noise makes you glance at him. His gaze is fuzzy, and he seems unfocused. The look wrecks you; he’s being vulnerable, the bastard, and you can barely look at him. You barely manage a nod, but his sharp grin is your reward.

His tight grip on your hips shifts just a little lower, to the crux of your hips and outer thighs. He presses you down onto his erection, and rocks you against him. The easy way he moves your whole body reminds you of the strength in his lithe body. You can’t help the admiration you feel, although it is quickly drowned out by the rocking of your body.

“Ma bichette, you feel so good,” he whispers. He presses you down rougher, and it feels as if he’s trying to slide into you through the scraps of fabric dividing you. “I want to feel you, dearest. I want to fill you and hold you. Je veux vous faire plaisir, mon cœur. You are so good for me, let me make you feel good.”

You rear up, pressing your hands against his chest as your eyes widen in shock. He absolutely pushed too far. That upsetting feeling from your heat is back. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes again. He is being far too nice, but you love it. You want him to make you feel good, want him to call you nice things. The anger that festers in your belly, that ever present loathing is blanketed by desire for him, and you give in. 

“Okay,” you quietly reply. Alastor’s eyes flutter, and then he is lifting you up on your knees, and attempting to remove your underwear. You assist him, and then sit back to let him remove his own. You settle back in his lap, your naked sex against his cock. The heat lifts a groan from you. You look at him, take in the mess of his hair, the set of his eyes, and you frown. “No kissing,” you remind him. You can’t let him cross that boundary. You’ve only kissed people you loved, and you hate him. Obviously. 

There’s a twitch of his brows, but he assents. His large hands settle back on you. One sits flush against the front of your thighs, and his thumb brushed against the hood of your clit. You gently huff, and roll your hips against him. Alastor’s hips twitch, and he groans.

His touch is perfectly coordinated, his eyes settled on your flushed, and quickly growing wet, sex. His teeth separate, and you can feel his hot breath fan across your face. It doesn’t smell the way you thought it might. 

“You are a sight, my dear. So pretty. I want to fill you, and see how far that blush of yours spreads.” His eyes flick up to your face, briefly, and then he's focused on the tight circles of his thumb on your clit. 

You don’t have the time to think of a response, because he’s pressing harder. White noise fills your ears, and with a single sharp thrust of his hips against yours, you feel your body clenching down on nothing. Your head tilts back, and your hands reach out, trying to grasp onto anything. You find purchase on his shoulders, and dig your blunted claws in, letting out a cry. You can hear Alastor’s grunt, but can barely focus on it. He just keeps circling his thumb. 

“Yes! Ma douce! Cum for me, dearest.” His other hand presses you down against him, and he thrusts up against your wet heat. 

You let out a harsh breath, his name slipping from clenched teeth. “Alastor – please!”

He lifts you, just slightly, your thick slick stringing between the two of you, and he uses one hand to guide his cock. “Just a moment, my doe.”

And finally, his erection is pressing into you, your slick letting him slide in with only just a bit of resistance. When your bodies finally sit flush, you both let out sighs. You forgot just how full he made you feel, and it hadn’t even been terribly long.

You take a deep breath, barely making eye contact with him, (how can you? He’s got this expression that’s nigh on impossible to name), and then you lift your hips. It’s that first drag that nearly knocks you over. You can feel his cock dragging against your velvety insides. Even with how wet you are, the friction is overwhelming. 

Your breath comes out in stutters, and your thighs shake with the effort to not just drop back down on him. Your hands on his shoulders clench, and then you settle back down. His resulting groan makes you clench. You’re still so sensitive from him getting you off first, so you shake with the effort to keep riding him. 

“Dearest,” Alastor says, his hot breath fanning across your face. “Would you like some help?”

You lock your gaze with him and drop on his dick rather harshly, and his eyes flutter. His hands flex, claws lightly grazing your skin. He’s being so careful, and it bothers you. 

“What does ‘help’ look like to you?” You ask, your residual anger tinting your words. Are you not going fast enough for his liking?

His hips thrust up, just enough to spear you further, and you rock your hips in response. The heat, the fullness, it keeps knocking the breath out of you. It’s so unfair. You need him just as off-kilter as you are. (But isn’t he already? Your head is fuzzy. You aren’t thinking straight).

One of his hands reaches up and cradles the back of your head, and then the world is shifting around you. Your thighs are slotted over his hips nicely, and the hand that had been holding your head is propping him up. You’re on your back. (How did he do that so effortlessly? He seems so experienced – it’s a thought that suddenly makes you unhappy). 

“Worry not, dearest. You were spectacular, but I’m losing my marbles.” He rolls his hips against yours, and you clench your eyes closed. It’s overwhelming. The heat is pooling in your navel, and there’s this fuzzy feeling to your hands and feet. You can practically feel his static scattering over the surface of your skin. “Yes, you are very good, mon cœur. I cannot get enough.”

His words make your eyes open, just a touch, and you gaze up at him. His eyes are already searching for yours, and the soft smile he’s giving you – you feel like you’re going to throw up. How could he do this to you? He doesn’t get to be such a dick, then go on and fuck you within an inch of your sanity while praising you. It’s not fair. 

Alastor starts thrusting his hips, his ears bouncing just a little at the effort. He’s on his knees, and the hand on your hip squeezes every other thrust. You can smell the musk the two of you make, and it has you dizzy. It’s a nice smell, but you know it’ll never wash out of your sheets. You might have to just change rooms when all is said and done. 

He suddenly shifts, settling further back on his knees, and both of his hands are lifting you up. “Is this alright, my doe?” He asks as he lifts your knees to his shoulders. 

Your eyes widen. He’s going to hit spots in you that you’ve probably never felt. His cock is already large, but this position is going to ruin you. However, you just can’t say no. You aren’t sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the fact that you’re barely in your own head. With a rough swallow, you nod. 

He pants, and then you’re folded in on yourself, your slit snug against him, thighs cradling his head. His arms framed your head, and his weight pressed down on you. Each breath the two of you took was hard, and they mingled in the space between you. His forehead pressed against yours, and he kept your gaze as he began his rhythm again. 

Your hands could no longer be kept in check. What little of him you could reach was quickly grabbed onto for dear life. You were panting, and every drag of his cock had your walls quivering. 

For a moment all you could hear was the wet sound of your bodies rocking together, and the harsh breaths each of you took, but then you heard it. He was muttering to himself.

“Al- Alastor, what?” You asked quietly. Another harsh thrust of his hips and you moaned, your mind briefly dragged away from the thought. 

“Just singing your praise, dearest.” His left hand lifted just slightly, and his thumb rubbed against your cheek to the rhythm of his snapping of his hips. “You are wonderful. I just adore this with you. You are ever so soft, and tight, my doe.” 

You startle, eyes locked back on him. His smile is crooked, and he looks so genuine. That deep, angry ache is back in your chest, and it nearly clouds the lust and the wonderful sensations he’s flooding you with. 

“Je te veux. Je ne veux personne d'autre que toi. Je veux que tu aies envie de moi. Pourquoi ne le fais-tu pas?” He whispers to you in words you cant understand, but his eyes are fuzzy, and his smile is small, and soft. Alastor cups your face ever so softly, and he rocks his hips roughly against yours.

Suddenly the pace he sets is incredibly fast, and you can feel that tightness building again. You scratch at him, barely able to get air into your lungs. You can’t focus on much more than the deep heat beneath your navel, and the furrow of his brows. (Some small part of you wants to ease it with your fingers). 

His grip on your face tightens a smidgen, and then he rolls his hip and takes his right hand to rub at your clit. His thumb is in tight circles again, and he’s clenching his teeth and all your limbs go tingly and–

Everything is white-hot. There are lightning bolts zipping down your spine, making your back arch. Your mouth is open, but the buzzing in your ears makes it impossible to tell if you’re making any noise.

He’s still moving, but he’s reaching for your face, too. He cups it, his large hands holding you still as his cock continues slamming into you. Alastor is muttering again, but you can only tell from the movement of his lips. His mouth opens, a harsh pant leaving him before his body stills suddenly. His teeth clack shut, and he curls into you, the head of his cock brushing your cervix. You’re still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and can barely comprehend the feeling. It’s nearly too much. 

He’s breathing hard, and he just barely sits back. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. His thumb brushes the skin just underneath your eyes, and there is a wistful smile on his face. He seems so far away, and you can’t comprehend why. Isn’t this what he wanted?

You’re about to ask when he slots his lips over yours. He’s warm, and his lips are soft. It only lasts a moment, and then he’s gone. 

You’re left empty, messy, and alone. 

You sit up in the darkness of your room, glancing around. 

“Alastor?”

If anyone had asked you, when you were alive, how you would feel about a two-dimensional figure made of light, that acted like a shadow, following you everywhere in Hell, you would have been quite confused. Even now, after having lived in Hell for a few years, you didn’t completely understand your companion, or how she came to be. She could separate from you, leaving you entirely shadowless, but you still had some control over her. The light-shadow was autonomous, and yet you knew if you told her to do something, she would. You had taken to calling her Lyra in your head. 

You leaned against the building, and watched her form flicker about as something caught her attention. Your ear twitched, and you watched hers follow suit. Suddenly, her shape wavered, and her head flipped in the other direction. Her excitement was evident in the way she suddenly stretched her body across the ground, and reached flat claws across the road, pointing at something you couldn’t see. With a small sigh, you push off from the wall, and make your way across the road.

“Whatever could have your attention,” you huff. Your head turns in each direction as you follow her pointing claws. Your ears swivel and twitch. Something in you is suddenly on high alert, and yet Lyra urges you to keep going. “If I get torn apart, I blame you entirely. You’ll get ignored for a week after I reform.” 

Lyra ignores you, and crawls up a wall beside the door to a tailor shop. Her sharp grin stretches farther, and she keeps her eyes locked on the door. 

“What are you doing? What’s got you so worked up?” You take a look around, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. And then your ears catch it; the subtle sound of static. Your heart starts pounding. You know what that sound means. 

He had disappeared shortly before you landed in Hell, but the scary posters and warnings you constantly got from other sinners let you know to be wary. And then he had suddenly reappeared in the company of the princess six months ago. You had heard his voice on the radio, of course. Who hadn’t? His broadcasts were impossible to ignore. He had a charming voice and the kind of charisma that made him hard to forget. And that static. It followed his voice, his very presence like a heavy fog, blanketing everything around him. That thought clicked, and you realized what was going to happen only moments before it did. 

The door to the tailor shop opened, a twinkling bell following the motion, and out stepped Alastor, The Radio Demon. You turned a harsh gaze to Lyra, who wasn’t even looking at the demon, but at his feet. You followed her gaze for only a second, and saw a writhing black shape in his shadow. With haste, you whipped your gaze away, and turned around, hoping that if you didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t notice you. 

With heaving breaths you tried to focus yourself, and walk away, but Lyra squirmed, frowning at you. She clawed at the ground, and warped her form to gather closer to where you knew Alastor was still standing. Suddenly she tugged harshly, chasing something you couldn’t see, and pulled you with her. You didn’t know she could do that! At the tug, your hooves struggled to make contact with the ground, and you started to tumble backwards. 

“Ahh!” You let out a harsh cry, and internally braced for hitting the harsh concrete. Instead, however, you were caught by warm, sturdy arms. You let out a huff, and went to thank the person. You looked up and said, “Ah, thank you-” and finally caught the gaze of your savior. Alastor. Alastor The Radio Demon. Alastor The Radio Demon just caught you. Holy shit. Your eyes widen, and your ears pin back. “Oh,” you mutter, and the world goes black. 

Your hearing comes back to you first. Two voices are whispering to each other, and the gruffer voice’s volume picks up just enough for you to hear, “-you have to admit that it’s suspicious. You know he has been acting strange ever since he came back from licking his wounds. Why would he suddenly help some rando-”

The other voice, lighter and with a twinge of something like hope, responds, “I don’t know, Vaggie, but isn’t this a good sign? When was the last time he did something without being prompted? Something that wasn’t obviously for his own gain?”

You hear the other person sigh, and it is then that you decided to try and peel your eyes open. It takes several blinks to get used to the redness of the room. Eventually, your sight clears, and you search the room for the people who were just talking. Across from you, on a couch much like the one you’re lying on, are two women. One has gray hair, and is looking up at who you immediately recognize as Princess Charlie.

“Uh, hello?” You call, trying to gather their attention. Charlie turns her head wickedly fast, and her face is split by a happy smile as she hops up from the couch. 

“Oh yay! You’re awake!” You gather yourself, sitting up and removing your legs from the couch as you watch her nearly hop in her excitement. “I have so many questions, but first! Are you okay? Al said you passed out.”

At the mention of Alastor, the blood drains from your face. You are absolutely not okay, but it also seems that he helped you after your embarrassing debacle earlier, so you just whisper, “Uh, I’m okay.”

She squeaks, and then sits next to you. “So, how’d you meet Alastor? He was super vague!” 

“Honestly?” You take a glance at the other woman, who has her arms folded, and is watching with a wary gaze. “I was walking down the street, following my companion, and she dragged me over to this tailor. I wasn’t really thinking about much, but then out comes Alastor!” You throw up your arms, disbelief lacing your tone. “And she’s just kicking and clawing her way over towards him, and she trips me! And then he caught me. And I passed out as soon as I made eye contact.”

You rub at your head, shame filling you, rising with the heat in your face. You feel so silly. 

Charlie lets out a little giggle, and then asks, “Where’s this companion?”

You purse your lips, then take a glance at the women again. They’re fine, probably. Right? You internally shrug, and then wave your hand; out pops Lyra, her white form shimmering across the carpet. 

“What the hell,” the other woman says. She gives you a strange look. “Do all deer demons have these? Alastor has the same damn thing, it just looks like an actual shadow.” 

You frown. Someone else had this kind of companion? Alastor had this kind? Confusion floods you, so you give Lyra a curious glance. She responds with a simple toothy grin. “Is that why you were chasing him?”

Lyra’s shape flickers and warbles. She grins wider. Holy shit. She tripped you, trying to hit up another fucking shadow. What the hell. “What the fuck, Lyra.” Her shoulders and grin shake, in a mockery of laughter. You roll your eyes, waving your hand, and she disappears. 

With a palm to your head, you mutter to yourself. “What the hell is my life. Please tell me this won’t happen again.” You look up at Charlie, sheepishly. “Please tell Alastor I said thanks. I’m gonna go to my apartment and hide there for forever.” You stand and whip your pants awkwardly. “Thanks again. It was, uh, nice to meet you. Bye.”

You waver on weak legs, and go to leave the strange sitting area, when you hear him.

“Well, dear, why don’t you tell me yourself?” He’s sitting at the bar you failed to notice before. One ankle is propped on the other knee, and he’s holding a newspaper. His gaze finds yours, a sly smile on his face. 

In shock, you let out a bleat, and collapse.

Alastor’s smile shrink, just a touch, and he turns his gaze to the two women that are conscious. “As you can see, I had nothing to do with that.” 

Later that day, you’re propped up on the couch, and Alastor is leering at you from the accent chair across from you. His smile is wide and smug, and his eyes don’t stray from your form. His shadow companion, the one Lyra might’ve been chasing, is flickering in and out of view behind him. Its smile is just as wide, and it sends shivers down your spine. Every once in a while, the static that surrounds Alastor, something your brain struggles to understand, even in Hell, surges. Your ears prick and swivel every time, and it’s starting to give you a headache.

The two of you spend a time merely staring at each other. Your chest aches at the idea of trying to speak up. There are a lot of factors contributing to this, but you really don’t know what to say to the Overlord, especially Alastor. He’s just so intimidating, and you’re, well, you. Charlie and Vaggie are sitting on the other couch, whispering to each other. You can just barely hear them talking, but it’s drowned out by Alastor’s presence. 

You gulp down the spit that is slowly accumulating in your mouth, and then your mouth feels far too dry. The cotton feeling makes you scrunch up your face, and you force your eyes to wander to the strange circus themed patterns on the wallpaper. Alastor’s eyes are too much. 

Lyra takes the near silence as an opportunity to pop up. She slithers her form over to Alastor’s shadow, and you watch on in horror. You desperately want to say something, especially as Alastor’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Lyra doesn’t even look back at you as she reaches her hands out to the shadow, and grabs. Alastor’s shadow makes a strange noise, and it makes you shrink in on yourself. Alastor is gonna kill you. You had never expected to get any attention from an Overlord, and now one, (that was so similar to you, something you’d been searching for), was going to kill you.

“Aw. It seems our little companions like each other,” He says, instead. Your eyes widen, and you stare in shock. “Well, my dear, it seems we will just have to spend more time together.”

He looks like that cat that caught the canary, and your mind is on high alert. There has to be more to this, and you aren't sure how to feel. But then his smile softens, and you can’t help but feel excited. Where will The Radio Demon lead you?

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