Decay of Angels

You listened to the hum of Higuruma's office that was perched high above Tokyo's bustling streets. It felt like a world apart at this hour- 12am, with only the distant wail of sirens and the whispers of late night traffic filtering up from below.

You'd been at it for hours, hashing out the final details of this merger between your client's firm and his corporate giant. You'd spent weeks circling each other in depositions and hearings, but tonight, with the rest of the team gone, it was just the two of you, exhausted by the weight of the contract.

Higuruma sat across from you, his tie loosened just enough to show his fatigue. His dark hair was slightly tousled from running a hand through it one too many times. And for once, he didn't look so pristine.

His glasses caught the reflection of the skyline as he scanned the latest revisions you'd pushed through. "This indemnity clause is still too vague." He spoke with the slightest irritation, tapping a pen against the document. "Your side's trying to shift all the regulatory risk onto my client. It's not balanced"

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, feeling the cold of the glass against your skin. Your blouse hung low, rumpled from the long day. "Balanced? Your company's the one with a history of compliance violations. If anything, we're the ones taking on undue exposure." You gave the clause a frustrated tap. "Read.”

He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose, a gesture you'd seen him do many times in court when trying to maintain formalities "That doesn't account for the scale of this deal. You're playing hardball because you know your client's eager to close before the quarter ends. But pushing this through as is? It's reckless." His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped, flickering to something unseen. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of two lawyers who'd been pressing each other for too long.

"Reckless? Says the man whose strategy nearly tanked the whole deal. If you hadn't stonewalled, we wouldn't be here this fucking late." Your voice rose slightly, the words spilling out sharper than intended.

Higuruma's jaw twitched, and he set the pen down with a forced calm, leaning back in his chair. The leather creaked under his movement. "Stonewalled? Is that what they call integrity these days?" He watched you slump into your chair, rolling your eyes.

"I was protecting my client's interests." He continued. "Just like you should be doing. But if you're so eager to wrap this up, maybe you're the one compromising too much." His voice dipped lower, accusatory, as he stood up, facing the window. The glass covered the entire expanse of his wall, ceiling to floor. It allowed the view to stretch out endlessly.

His eyes glanced towards the river of headlights snaking through the streets below. "This deal's personal for you, admit it. You've been gunning for me since day one.'

Your heartbeat faltered. You rose too, stepping closer, the heels of your pumps tapping at the wooden flooring. "Personal? Don't flatter yourself. This is about winning, not whatever grudge you're thinking about." But even as you said it, you weren't sure if winning even mattered. You'd always admired his precision, but tonight, that admiration uncoiled unease in your gut.

He turned towards you, closing the distance in two strides, stopping just inches away. His height forced you to tilt your head up. The scent of his cologne mingled with the faint bitterness of coffee on his breath. "Winning," he spoke, the tempo of his voice sent a shiver across your skin. "Is that why you're so desperate?" His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, and the rebuttal hung suspended at your mouth. "You've been sloppy." He continued. "Careless."

You shuffled in place, narrowing your glance at him. "You think your mockery’s going to make me back down?" Unbeknownst to you, those words were like a dare, born of the late hour, and before you could second guess them, his hand shot out, not to grab, but to steady himself on the table beside you, caging you in without touching.

The silence stretched until he exhaled sharply, breaking the standoff. "Sit," he said, gesturing back to the table. "Let's finish this." The professionalism in his voice was almost gone. You complied, ears burning as you settled back onto the couch opposite the desk. You expected him to return to his chair, but instead he sat besides you. The document was spread out on the table like a battlefield.

You were suddenly hyperaware of each sensations: the brush of his sleeve against your arm, the press of thigh leg against yours, and the warmth pooling in your panties.

You flipped to the first article. "Article One: Transfer of Assets. The acquiring company shall transfer all intellectual property rights, including patents and trademarks, effective immediately upon signing."

As you spoke, he draped one arm along the back of the couch behind your shoulders, he lifted his other hand to point out a subclause. His fingers grazed the side of your thigh as he did so, innocent at first, or so it seemed. The fabric of your skirt bunched slightly from the touch, and you glanced at him, but his face remained stern, focused on the text.

"Liabilities will be assumed p..proportionally," you continued, the words faltering as he bought his arm back down. His touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your outer thigh, hidden by the table's overhang. Easy to play off as a mistake. Anticipation tickled low in your belly. You shifted, but he matched the movement, his palm flattening against your leg, slowly inching upwards.

"Keep going," he said quietly, his breath warm near your ear as he leaned in to read over your shoulder. The proximity made it impossible to ignore his body pressed against yours, the subtle flex of his forearm as his other hand slipped under the hem of your skirt.

You bit the inside of your cheek to calm the quivering of your jaw before continuing. You could feel his eyes scrutinising each inhale, each twitch on your face. Examining how far he can push the limits. "For a period of five years, the parties agree not to engage in competing ventures." By now, his fingertips had reached the lace edge of your panties, brushing the soft skin, sending a jolt straight through your lower body.

You gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, as he hooked the fabric aside, exposing the damp folds of your pussy to the cool air. You inhaled softly, pressing on as you reciting the confidentiality terms: "The information exchanged shall remain proprietary, with breaches punishable by injunction and damages." His index finger traced the slit, light and teasing, collecting the slick that had gathered.

Your thighs quivered, instinctively parting just a fraction, but he held back, circling your clit with the softest of pressure, building your aching need with feathering strokes.

The office felt like it was getting tighter, the city noises were a distant blur by now as arousal gnawed inside you. "Indemnity," he said, his tone lowered at his command, and as you stumbled through the clause- "Each party shall indemnify the other against third party claims arising from pre-merger activities"- his ring finger joined the middle, sliding along your swollen lips, spreading your wetness.

The friction was torture, your clit throbbing under the occasional touch, but he avoided direct pressure, forcing your pussy to clench around empty air.

Sweat beaded at the nape of your neck, your free hand fisting the edge of the table as he finally gave your entrance some attention. He dipped a finger inside, shallow and quick, just enough to stretch your walls before retreating to rub the slick over your sensitive bud.

A whimper built in your throat, suppressed into a shaky breath. "Severance provisions require mutual consent for early termination," you breathed out, voice fracturing as he pumped once more, deeper this time, curling against that inner spot that made your vision haze, only to withdraw again, leaving you pulsing around nothing.

By the final pages, you were trembling, core tightening as arousal dripped down your thighs, pooling onto the leather of the couch. His fingers thrusted in twice more, unhurried. He scissored his fingers slightly to open you up, your hips rocked against his hand before he stilled, hovering at your brink. "Not yet" Higuruma whispered, gaze bored into yours, his lips curled into a smirk as his eyes flicked down to where you were connected.

"There's another detail in this contract that needs your enthusiastic consent." He pressed two fingers against your clit now, giving you a fraction of the movement you were desperate for. "Under it, your firm transfers forty percent control of the primary assets to mine, giving us final authority in major decisions. It's the upper hand we deserve, and you'll sign it off."

You shifted in the chair pushing yourself closer to his hand, but he held you in position, firm. "That's bullshit."

"Sign it. Or I walk away right now, leaving you like this." If you hadn't spend so much time around him, you wouldn't have noticed the way his breath was ragged, his own arousal evident in the uneven exhales and the twitch in his thighs.

The threat hung heavy, his eyes darkening as he watched you squirm. You tore your gaze away from his, your ego not wanting him to see your resolve crumble. "Whatever."

Your hand shook as you scrawled your name, the pen slipping once before completing the line. Only then did he slide those two fingers deep inside, giving you a pleased hum as he filled you with a steady push that stretched your soft walls out.

He curled them, stroking the sensitive flesh from the inside. His movements were insistent, drawing out slick sounds that echoed in the quiet room. His other hand reached around to cup your breasts, feeling your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your blouse. Your head fell back in relief, exhaling as you whispered at him to go faster.

He pushed his fingers in deeper, scissoring them to open you wider, the burn of the stretch mingling with overwhelming pleasure as he pumped faster, his thumb worked on your clit with each motion. "That's it," you moaned. He leaned in to capture your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at the soft skin. Your pussy clenched as he kneaded the sensitive bud, the band in your belly aching, every nerve burning under his control.

He didn't let up, driving you toward the edge with the same precision he carries in all aspects of his life. His was breath hot as he whispered against your lips, “This is just the beginning of what that upper hand secures. For both of us.”

The pad of his thumb flicks side to side in quick, teasing bursts before returning to the wet circles he works into you.

Your hands claw at his shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt. The air smells of ink, polished wood, and you. Every plunge of his fingers drags against your inner walls, the rough calluses on his knuckles scratching your skin just right.

"H-Higu" you moan, unable to finish your sentence. Your voice died in your throat, which made him chuckle. Of course it did. He was loving the way you shed all your professionalism as your thighs trembled, clamping around his wrist.

He was an asshole, but still a man of his words. So he continued fucking you with his fingers. In, out, curling, faster now, the rhythm was relentless. The wet squelch of your folds and his fingers filled the room; along with your sweet whimpers that made his cock twitch just right. “Listen to that” he mumbled before swallowing your moans with another kiss, tongue tracing the bite mark on your bottom lip.

Your clit throbbed under his thumb, swollen and sensitive, every movement pushing you closer. "Come on, attorney," he growled against your mouth, his exhales matching yours. "Show me how grateful you are for not asking more of you and your corrupt fucking company."

The rasp in his voice showed that he might’ve been enjoying this more than you. So your pussy spasmed violently around his fingers, walls rippling in waves. A gush of your juices flooded his hand, your clit pulsing as a warm orgasm rips through you. You cry into his mouth, a broken hum that he devoured without a second to waste.

His fingers never stopped as he worked you through your climax, thumb easing off your clit only when your hips jerked from the overstimulation. His fingers slowed, yet remain buried deep, letting you feel the fullness as your pussy shuddered in the aftermath.

Higuruma pulls back just enough to admire his handiwork, your flushed expression, your chest heaving, bitten lips, the way your thighs lock around him.

"Perfect," he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to his mouth, eyes locked onto yours as he sucked them clean. He stood up, tugging you to your feet and backing you against the table's edge. “Deal's done,” he whispers, hands on your hips as he closes the distance. His buldge presses against your belly through the fabric of his slacks. “Now, about those other negotiations.”

<3

need

The shadows in the lounge danced around your entwined forms like spectators. Watching your body trembled beneath him, walls clenching around his length as he stretched you out. His antlers were taller than usual, casting jagged silhouettes on the wall. Sweat glistened on your skin from the dim lighting. It dripped down your torso mingling with the sticky mess from his previous releases. It leaked from you each time he pulled out, only to be pushed back in by his next thrust.

“My, what a desperate little thing you are,” he cooed, his voice was laced with static. His smile widened as he pushed your thighs wider apart, claws digging into you with each snap of his hips. “A-Alastor, fuck!” You whined. “It feels so good.” You arch into the sheets, pushing your groin up to meet his thrusts.

“Listen to you, not a shred of dignity left.” He didn’t bother hiding his amusement as he leaned in closer, pupils dilated as his eyes locked onto yours. He used a hand to grip your wrist above your head as the tip of his cock nudged against your cervix, grinding there as if he were marking you from the inside out.

You could feel him throbbing against your walls, his balls were heavy against your ass with each thrust. Slamming into you as his grip on your wrist tightened. “Feel that, dear?” Earning a soft moan from you which vibrated across his skin.

His pace quickened, the rhythm of his hips became sharper; demanding the wet sounds of your pussy to fill the air. He released your wrist, using it to roamed your body instead. He traced the curve of your breast before pinching the hardened nipple, eliciting a gasp that made his smile twitch. “Such a beautiful sound, I should put it on the airwaves.”

The tension coiled tighter within his core, obvious from the way his exhales got deeper and the way his thrust grew more erratic. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin without breaking it, his was breath hot against you.

You purred at the way he pumped a pleasurable pressure into you, rubbing against you tender walls, making your cunt squeeze around him. “That's it, feel the way I fill you up.” Alastor grunted, he slammed his hips, cock pulsing as the first wave of his climax hit. Thick ropes of cum tore from him, coating your insides in a fresh warmness that mixed with the cum from before. His hips jerked in shallow pumps, milking every drop into you.

Even then, he wasn’t satiated. Perhaps he would never be. After all, hell had cursed him with a beauty that he couldn’t impregnate.

So while the aftershocks rippled through him, he straightened, a menacing smile returning to his face. “One more. my dear.” He shifted his grip, hooking your legs over his shoulders to angle himself impossibly deeper. Without waiting for his cock to fully harden, he resumed his assault into your pussy. The movements started sloppy before he pounded into you with the similar, renewed vigour.

The overstimulation made your legs tremble, toes clenching with every slide of his cock sending tingles through your core. You bit your quivering lip as you felt every detail of him tear into you. “Al... Wait…” You pushed your words out between moans, failing to communicate a sentence. “Slow… shit, s-slow down.”

He glanced down at you, observing the way you inch him closer with your legs. The way you ask him to slow down but arch into his movements each time he pounds into that special spot.

“How eager, you sure know how to amuse a man” he murmured, voice dipping lower. His claws dug into your hips as he thrusted relentlessly, the slap of skin on skin echoing like applause. You felt him throb again inside you, the telltale twitch.

“A shame really, had fate been kinder, I’d have you all round by now,” he hummed his words which vibrated through his chest. One hand slipped between you to circle your clit, he kneaded down, matching the pace of his thrusts.

The dual simulation snapped the pulling string of pleasure within you, your orgasm crashed over you just as his did. His cock kicking as he drenched your insides in his cum. His warmth bled through you, pushing your limits until it seeped out around him. He rode it out in slow rolls, a thumb still kneading at your clit as he ensured your walls soak up every drop.

Finally, he eased back, though his dick remained in you, plugging his cum in place. Alastor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he traced a claw along your jaw. “There, now my lady is properly tended to.”

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This is for the person who requested this! I hope you enjoyed and happy holidays to you too 🎄

"Fuck, you feel even better than before," he growled, picking up his pace. His balls slapped against your ass with each snap of his hips. Squelching sounds filled the air as he fucked you through the cum already flooding your insides.

Tears streamed down your face from the stimulation, your cervix protesting each time he bottomed out. But Vox just laughed, an exhusated laugh as he doubled his efforts; chasing another release. "So fucking tight" he growled, voice strained. "Even after taking my dick so many times."

His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, as he threw his head back, inhaling sharply at your pussy spasming around him. “V-Vox” You moan, gipping his shoulder. “Take a break.”

He glanced down at you, taking in your appearance. The way your hair was damp, sticking to your forehead. The way it made a mess around your head, like a blurry halo. Ironic, he thought to himself as his eyes slithered down to your quivering body. Taking in the way your skin was burning up from being fucked all evening. It made his head spin. There’s no way he could possibly stop fucking you now. Not when you looked so pretty.

“Just… just one more time. Let me fill you up one more time.” He breathed, voice almost inaudible through his exhales. He pushed himself deeper in you, with a guttural moan as your hole gripped his plunging cock like a vice, pushing him over the edge. “Okay”, you purr through a bitten lip, gripping the sheets as he began to thrust again.

Your body shivered against his, each movement coaxing you closer to your next orgasm. You lost count at how many times he made you cum. The only testimony was the trickle of juices down your thigh, soaking majority of the sheets beneath you both.

With a final, harsh thrust, he buried himself balls deep into you, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again.” He snarled, though it sounded more like a whimper. His cock throbbed as cum erupted inside you. The force of his release pushed some of the fluid back out around his length, making an absolute mess of your shared bed.

But even as he continued to empty his balls inside you, Vox didn't stop fucking you. His hips moved without consideration, pumping shot after shot of his seed into you. His eyes were focused on the way your pussy swallowed him. He was determined to flood you with so much cum that maybe he could tear through the rule about sinners getting pregnant.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Vox snarled through gritted teeth, eyes filled with lust. "Gonna fill you up.” His grip tighened. “Fuck you over and over until there’s no room for anyone else"

Finally, with one last thrust, Vox hilted himself inside you and started to come down. He stayed inside you for a moment, making sure every last drop took root in your depths. Only when his softening cock finally slipped out did he collapse next to you on the bed, chest heaving.

You lowered yourself slowly, the stretch of his girth splitting you open, inch by burning inch. Alastor’s claws dug deeper into your flesh, drawing faint red lines as he bucked up impatiently, forcing himself deeper. He let out a sharp exhale, head tilting back, the hat's bell jingling with the jolt. The sensation overwhelmed him, your walls gripping, hot and wet, pulling him in until he was fully sheathed, every ridge of his cock dragging against your inner walls. It was an ecstasy that made his thighs tense.

You shifted slowly, rolling your hips to get used to his girth. But Alastor wasn't one for patience. His hands gripped on your ass, claws digging into your skin as he slammed you down harder, thrusting up with brutal force. The chair groaned under the harsh movement, wet slaps echoing as his cock pounded into you, stretching you without a care. “If you chose to do something, my dear, do it like you mean it," he snarled, moans spilling out between gritted teeth. Deep, guttural sounds that vibrated through his chest and into you. Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through him, the friction building as he snaked an arm around your waist to yank you closer.

Sweat slicked against his skin, matting the Santa hat's fur against his foreheard, but he reveled in it, the raw and animalistic connection between you. His claws scratched down your back, urging you faster, as he felt the coil in his gut tighten. One hand moved between your bodies, rough fingers circling your clit with a heavy pressure, drawing out your soft cries of his name. "That's it, show me how you good you feel" he purred, voice breaking into a ragged moan as your walls clenched around him.

You two had danced this little waltz many times. He catches you staying overtime, calls you into his office before fucking you over his desk and sending you home with an extra pay check. You found him attractive while being rewarded promotions only you seemed to get. It was a win-win. You were in hell for too long to care about the nuances.

"Ho ho ho, little elf," he drawled, voice dripping with that signature purr. He adjusted the sack, letting it dangle as he drew your attention to his build. "This is your gift. And trust me, it's the kind that'll make you jingle all the way, or should I say.” He cuts himself off with his signature chuckle, “all night long?"

You froze, staring at him, then at the sack, then back at him in disbelief. "You've gotta be joking," you said, half laughing, though your pulse quickened at the glint in his eyes. You feign disgust, hands on your hips as you scan his body. “Don't go around tainting the children's holiday”

Vox chuckled, the sound warping through his speakers. “We’re in hell doll, the kids here don't deserve Christmas anyway.” He stepped closer, towering over you, one clawed hand reaching out to trace a line down your arm. The air hummed with his energy, that low buzz that always made your skin tingle.

Before you could reply, he pulled you against him, his free hand gripping your waist firmly. His mouth crashed against yours in a kiss that tasted like peppermint, his tongue flicking in to tease yours. You melted into the kiss, hands sliding up his suit jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as he backed you toward the railing of the staircase. Needles rustled against your shoulders as he brushed you past the tree, but neither of you cared.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips, voice glitching with arousal. "Time to unwrap Santa." His claws made quick work of your blouse buttons, popping them open one by one until your chest heaved bare under his gaze. He dipped his head, screen flickering as his tongue lapped at your nipple, sucking hard enough to draw a gasp from you. Your hands gripped at his shoulders, pulling him closer while he worked the other breast with his fingers, pinching and rolling until you arched into him.

Vox's hand slid lower, hiking up your skirt and shoving your panties aside. His fingers plunged into your pussy without warning, two at once, curling deep and stroking that spot that made your thighs tense. "Fuck, you're already soaked for me," he growled, pumping faster, his thumb circling your clit in tight circles. You moaned, grinding against his hand, the metal rod digging lightly into your back as you clutched at his frame.

He didn't let you come, not yet. With a static laugh, he withdrew his fingers, shining as your slick dripped to his knuckles. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while his eyes locked on yours. "Tastes like the holidays." Vox spun you around, pressing the hinge of your hips against the metal railing, pushing your upper back down till your bent over the edge. Your shaky hands grip either side of the bar. "Now, onto the main event." He hummed, the cool air hit your exposed ass as he yanked your skirt higher, his claws digging in just enough to sting.

You heard the zipper of his pants, then felt the familiar warmth of his cock pressing against your entrance. He didn't bother teasing this time, he thrusted in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion before you could fully register what he was planning. Your pussy clenched around him, stretching to take his girth. You cried out, the sound echoing through the empty floor. "Vox, fuck!" He didn't hold back, hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm, each pound driving your hip bones harder against the railing.

"That's right, enjoy your gift," he panted, one hand fisting your hair to tilt your head back, the other gripping your hip to pull you onto him deeper. Keeping you close to him. His cock dragged along your walls, hitting every sensitive inch, the wet slap of his balls against your thighs filled the air. Static crackled from his body, little shocks zipping through you where you touched, heightening every thrust until your thighs trembled.

You pushed back against him, meeting his pace, your pussy gripping on him as the pressure built. "S-shit Vox, go faster," you demanded, voice breathless. And of course, he obliged. This was your gift after all. He fucked you like he owned you, because in moments like this, he did. His free hand snaked around to rub your clit, fingers wet with your arousal. He kneaded the bundle of nerves, pressing down as he increased his pace; and it shattered you. Orgasm ripped through your core, walls pulsing around his cock as you came with a whimpering moan, your juices dripping down your thighs.

Vox sharply exhaled at the feeling of you throbbing around him. Tightening his grip on your hips as he followed seconds later, groaning with a whine as he slammed in deep one last time, flooding your pussy with ropes of hot cum. He held you there, grinding slowly as he emptied himself into you. "Now, imagine you got someone else as your Secret Santa?" His breath was ragged against your neck as he thrusted himself hard into your quivering hole once more. "Bet they couldn't fuck you like this."

You slumped against the railing, catching your breath, exhaling as he pulled out, a strand of his release leaking from you. He straightened your skirt with an unusual gentleness, before pulling you upright. He zipped himself up, that playful grin back on his face.

"Wait," he said, holding up a finger as you turned to face him. He reached into the sack, that was now lying slack on the floor. He pulled out a neatly wrapped box, topped with a bow. "I did actually get you a normal gift too. Figured you'd want something to open on Christmas."

You took it, curiosity piqued, as began unwrapping it, only to be stopped by Vox swatting your hand away. "Did I not just say Christmas? You can open it later. Alone. Preferably very alone." You raised your brows at him as he nervously chuckled, pretending to straighten his tie.

"If it’s that personal, I’ll just open it on my lunch break tomorrow. Bright lights. Coworkers everywhere. Very cozy." You taunt at him, fixing your shirt.

"Yeah, then don't act surprised when you get fired." Vox huffed, turning around, phasing into the nearest screen. “Lock the doors when you leave.” he added quickly.

The screen flickered, before going completely black

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❀ likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

“Darling,” he said with that signature grin, his red eyes sparkled as he patted the spot beside him on the plush velvet couch. “Come on, unwrap your present. We've got all day, no rush, really.”

You sauntered over to him, your simple red dress hugging your curves. You slid onto the couch, straddling his lap, feeling the familiar hardness of his cock pressing up against your core through the thin fabric of his robe. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles, savouring the weight of you there.

“You've been eyeing this bow like it’s going to untie itself,” Lucifer murmured, his voice a low purr that sent shivers across your skin. He leaned in to kiss you softly at first, lips brushing yours. But the kiss deepened quickly, his tongue slipping in to tangle with yours, tasting of cinnamon against your mouth. You kissed him back, hands roaming up and down his chest to toy with the ribbon's knot, fingers working it loose gently.

The gold fabric whispered as it unraveled, falling away to part his robe fully. Lucifer's body was a sight for sore eyes; his pale skin glistened and shadowed at the outline of his muscles. Your palms explored him freely, tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the warmth of his skin. He groaned into your mouth, “easy there, tease”, breaking the kiss to nip at your lower lip.

You shifted your hips, grinding down against the bulge straining his pants. The friction made him buck up slightly, but he held back, his grip firm on your waist to control the pace. “Not so fast, baby. I want to take my time with you.” His fingers hooked into the straps of your dress, easing them down your shoulders until the fabric bunched at your waist, exposing your breasts to the warm air. He cupped them gently at first, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch.

Lucifer's mouth followed, leaning down to take one peak between his lips, sucking with a slow, rhythmic pull that made your breath hitch. His tongue lapped at the sensitive flesh, circling the areola before flicking the tip, drawing out soft moans from you. You arched into him, hands threading through his soft blond hair, holding him there as he lavished attention on one breast, then the other. Saliva trailed down your skin as he pulled back, blowing cool air over the wet peaks to make you gasp. “Your skins tastes like heaven,” he whispered, a playful glint in his eyes despite the heat.

The ribbon from his waist now lay discarded on the couch, but Lucifer snatched it up with a smile. “My turn to wrap you.” He looped the gold silk around your wrists, binding them in front of you, loose enough for comfort, but secure enough to give him the upper hand. With your hands tied, you couldn't fully control the pace, forcing him to lead as you rocked against him. He tugged the dress higher, bunching it around your hips to expose your panties, as he slipped a hand between your thighs.

His fingers pressed against the damp lace, rubbing in firm circles over your clit before pushing the fabric aside. “Always so ready for me,” he said, voice husky. Two fingers slid into your pussy easily, the wetness coating him as he pumped slowly, letting you feel every inch. You clenched around him, the ribbon pulling taut as you gripped it instinctively. Lucifer curled his fingers inside you, stroking that spot that made your toes curl, his thumb continuing its assault on your clit with steady pressure.

Time stretched as he worked you like that, his mouth returning to your breasts, alternating between sucking and light bites that left faint marks. Marks he'd kiss better later, as he always did. Your hips moved in sync with his hand, chasing the building tension, but he kept the rhythm unhurried, drawing out your pleasure. “Tell me how it feels,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“So good, Lu… don't stop,” you breathed, the words spilling out between gasps. He rewarded you by adding a third finger, stretching you further, the slick sounds of his movements mixing with the crackle of the fire. Your orgasm built gradually, a warm coil tightening in your core, until it snapped, your pussy fluttered around his fingers, juices soaking his hand as waves of ecstasy washed over you. Lucifer held you through it, murmuring praises against your skin. “That's my girl. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As you trembled in his lap, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to lick them clean with a satisfied hum. “Your turn to unwrap the rest.” With your bound hands, you fumbled at his pants, freeing his cock. It sprang erect, long and thick, the pale shaft veined and flushed with arousal, the head already beading with precum. Lucifer helped guide you, lifting your hips so you could position yourself over him.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, your pussy enveloping him in a wet heat. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely as you bottomed out, your ass resting against his thighs. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, head falling back against the couch for a moment before his eyes met yours again. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer so your breasts pressed against his chest.

You began to move, rolling your hips in a steady grind, the ribbon around your wrists brushing against his skin with each motion. Lucifer thrusted up to meet you, but kept it deliberately slow, pushing himself deep enough for you both to feel every ridge and pulse. The couch creaked softly under you, the Christmas tree lights casting a warm glow over your joined bodies, making his skin shimmer.

He reached for long ends of the ribbon, draping it across your shoulders, the silk cool against your damp skin. “Look at you, all decorated for the holidays,” he teased. His pace picked up just a fraction, hips snapping up harder now, his cock hitting deeper with each thrust.

His orgasm was building, prolonged by the intimacy of his rhythmic movements. You clenched around him as the head rubbed against your sensitive walls; drawing a hiss from him. He retaliated by rubbing your clit with his thumb, circling in time with your bounces. Sweat slicked where your skin met, the air filled with your shared moans and the wet slap of your pussy taking him again and again.

Lucifer let out breathy cry as his climax met him. His cock throbbing as he spilled inside you, hot cum flooding your hole in thick spurts. The sensation pushed you over the edge, your second orgasm rippling through your core as you milked him dry. Lucifer let out an exhale as you collapsed against his chest, breaths mingling while he untied the ribbon from your wrists, kissing the faint red marks with tender care.

He held you close, still buried inside, his arms wrapping around you tightly. The fire crackled on as he nuzzled your neck. “This is just one of your little gifts.”

❀.ೃ࿔❀.ೃ࿔❀

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vox is next #needhim

Sinners pacing the streets with gift bags, some stringing lights along lamp posts, others warming their hands with hot drinks as they tread carefully along the snow. But the moment he notices you stirring, he turns.

“Ah,” he says quietly, smiling a touch softer than usual. “Good morning, my dear.”

He walks across the room with slow steps, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. One gloved hand smooths over your hair delicately. He presses a kiss to your forehead, light yet lingering just long enough for you to feel it in your half awake state.

“You slept well,” he observes, glancing at the clock.

A cup of coffee appears in your hands, warm and perfect. Alastor watches you take the first sip, eyes bright with satisfaction. When you smile, his grin sharpens, but underneath the smug look, there’s fondness.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “is far more enjoyable than the noise of yesterday.”

He leans in again, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, tongue brushing softly, tasting the notes of coffee against your lip. He pulls back slightly before kissing you again, warmer this time, something cozy to share on this cold morning.

For once, the Radio Demon lets hell continue without him.

Lucifer

You wake to warmth and the slight flutter of wings.

Lucifer is still half asleep beside you, one wing draped protectively over you. His hair is messy, his expression is natural and unguarded. When you shift, he hums softly and pulls you closer before opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he mutters.

He presses a lazy kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, in a half asleep blur. His lips curve into a small smile when you laugh softly.

Cold hues filter through the room as he snaps his fingers, filling the air with warmth and the smell of fresh pastries. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes glowing faintly.

“I used to hate mornings like this,” he mumbles. “They reminded me of things I lost.”

He kisses your lips, pouting up at him. A soft peck before pulling you closer, pressing his lips against yours, moving deeper this time as his wings tighten around you.

“But now,” he whispers, pulling away, “I have you.”

He stays there, holding you, like this moment is something sacred.

Vox

Christmas morning with Vox is bright, a little too bright until he sees your face.

“GOOD MORNING!” he grins, screens flickering with festive colours, with his volume turned to the max. “I was gonna wait but okay, yeah, this is perfect.” You roll your eyes slightly, his loud theatrics hinted at anything but him waiting.

He stops mid sentence when you yawn, reaching out to pull him closer. His lights dim automatically, the voice softening.

“Sorry,” he mutters, almost apologetically.

He kisses you quick at first, then slower when you don’t pull away. One hand rests at your waist, grounding him. His screen glows warm instead of neon.

“Okay,” he says quietly, forehead pressed to yours. “Where should we start.”

He peppers your face with soft kisses, laughing when you squirm, then settles beside you, arm around your shoulders.

“Today will be your best Christmas ever,” he says, softer than usual, yet the excitement in his voice was impossible to ignore.

You didn’t know how he was managed to be this energetic with the weather this cold. But here he was, pulling you out of bed, almost short circuiting at the though of showing you the gifts he got.

But you didn’t want it any other way.

♡ ♡ ♡

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❀.ೃ࿔ He's notorious for hosting Christmas parties and invites people from across all rings. But since you are in hell after all, he pays extra attention to you, making sure you stay by his side all night.

❀.ೃ࿔ He personally designs your outfit for his Christmas party, something he know's you'll love and is perfectly tailored to you. A colour that compliments your skin. A dress that hugs all your curves. A slit that teases him just enough.

❀.ೃ࿔ One of his love languages would be gift giving, therefore, he loves spoiling you with many gifts. He loves the fact that it shows you how well he knows you.

❀.ೃ࿔ Most of all, he’d enjoy seeing your reaction. Would bend the rules of existence if it meant seeing your smile.

❀.ೃ࿔ Sometime throughout the night, he’d slip away with you during the chaos to share a quiet moment on a balcony overlooking Hell.

❀.ೃ࿔ Plays the piano for you, soft Christmas music he’d never felt comfortable enough to play for anyone else.

You don’t notice it at first. Not until Lucifers eyes flicked upward, wings twitching once in quiet amusement. A perfectly placed sprig of mistletoe hangs above you both, adorned with a golden ribbon that served as a clear sign of Lucifers manifestation.

“Well,” he says lightly, stepping closer, “that is tradition.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he gently tilts your chin up instead, smile softening, painted with pure love that only a few ever see. For once, there’s no grandeur in his demeanour, no performance, just warmth for you.

“May I?” he hums. When you nod, his lips connect with yours in a slow and sweet movement. It was a promise of his unconditional love towards you. Somewhere behind you, the party continues, but under the mistletoe, Hell feels peaceful for once.

Vox

❀.ೃ࿔ Christmas with Vox (pulls pants down)

❀.ೃ࿔ Vox starts celebrating Christmas the moment November ends. The entire V tower is adorned with glowing lights, trees that just miss the ceiling, aaannndd inflatable santas?

❀.ೃ࿔ His penthouse is no different, holographic snow drift in the air, nutcrackers standing tall, sprigs of mistletoe littered in a few doorways that he fucks you under as ‘tradition’.

❀.ೃ࿔ At work he makes you star in a Christmas livestream special with him (if he’s hopelessly in love at this stage then matching outfits are required).

❀.ೃ࿔ Buys you way too many gifts, most of them are high-tech and customised perfectly to you.

❀.ೃ࿔ Gets jealous if anyone else gives you a better present.

❀.ೃ࿔ Though, it’s near impossible for that to happen, he has every desire, every preference, every habit of yours stored in his memory. Its sole purpose is to outdo everyone else in your life, not just during Christmas, but it’s sure as hell helpful.

❀.ೃ࿔ He prefers remixes of classical Christmas song. The V towers becomes a retail store the way he plays the same playlist on repeat for the whole month.

❀.ೃ࿔ Forces you to help him decorate, but ends up doing most of it while you sit and watch. You might have to fight with him for who gets to put the star on top.

❀.ೃ࿔ On Christmas eve night, when the cameras are finally off, he loves pulling you in for a tender moment.

The tree flickers between colours as Vox adjusts the lights for the tenth time.

“Okay, no, wait- what if it flashes with this beat?” he says, already changing it before you can answer.

You laugh, hanging an ornament while holographic snow drifts softly around the room. Vox hovers nearby, pretending not to watch you but failing miserably.

“Hey,” he mutters, taking in the way a lock of your hair drapes down your face, the way your eyes widen each time you step back after positioning an ornament. “You look really good like this.”

You catch him staring. He clears his throat, screen glitching for half a second.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he adds quickly. “But this part? Just us? Way better than a livestream.”

The lights settle into a warm glow, illuminating the snowy tree, and for once, Vox doesn’t change them.

Alastor

❀.ೃ࿔ Alastor doesn't believe in a “casual” Christmas. His celebration is either grand or not worth doing.

❀.ೃ࿔ Decorates the hotel in a 1920s styled Christmas decor: antique ornaments, old-timey lights, and a tree that looks slightly haunted.

❀.ೃ࿔ Insists on playing vintage Christmas radio broadcasts nonstop.

❀.ೃ࿔ Find's nostalgia in Christmas Carole's. Usually there are a handful of sinners, that are still in touch with their past lives, who go out caroling. If not he'll gladly summon some.

❀.ೃ࿔ Gifts aren't his main love language, he doesn't hate it, just neutral about it. However, during Christmas, after claiming gift's aren't a big deal, he'll gives you something deeply personal. Such as hand-restored antique, enchanted items, or something you casually mentioned months ago.

❀.ೃ࿔ I headcanon that he hates modern, flamboyant, wrapping paper. He'd personally wrap your gift in old newspaper and twine. Perfecting each crease and each fold to match the shape.

❀.ೃ࿔ Christmas dinner with him would be over-the-top. Yet, he won't let you lift a finger. Half of him wants you to relax and the other half doesn't want to risk any deviations from his recipes.

❀.ೃ࿔ Prepares a feast for the two of you; All dishes that he adored in his past life, perhaps some he learnt from his mother.

❀.ೃ࿔ Due to the bittersweet memories attached to them, he would limit to making them once a year during Christmas. He doesn't show it, but he is thoroughly grateful to share this tender moment with you.

You prop yourself onto the kitchen bench, legs dangling off the edge as you watch Alastor move through the kitchen with habitual ease.

The pots were simmering while the herbs were seeping, diffusing a rich and warm aroma through the room.

He hummed an old Christmas tune as he stirs, ears relaxed against his head. Without turning, he speaks.

“Enjoying the show, my dear?”

You admit that you are. He chuckles, pleased.

“Cooking is much like broadcasting,” he says, plating the dish with careful precision. “Timing, presentation. One must make sure it to everyone’s liking.”

He finally glances your way, eyes softening just a bit.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he adds. “Do take a seat. Food shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

♡ ♡ ♡

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8:45am.

The morning sun had managed to find its way past the clouds, spilling a soft, golden light across the streets of New Orleans. The city seemed to breathe a little easier today. The usual chatter of street vendors and tourists filled the air, but there was something lighter about it. The constant hum of the world felt less oppressive, less like it was closing in on you. Even the fog that often curled in the streets was absent, as though the city itself was allowing you to breathe without the usual weight.

You stood in the cafe, setting out the pastries for the day, moving in a rhythm so familiar it almost felt like second nature. The door chimed, and for once, you didn’t stiffen. For the first time in what felt like ages, you weren’t afraid of what was coming through that door.

It was Alastor. And his smile was a little softer today, a touch more sincere, though the mischief in his eyes was still undeniable. The shadows under his gaze had softened as well.

“Good morning, my dear,” he greeted, his voice as smooth as ever, but there was an absence of the usual undercurrent of power that had hung in the air between you. It was like the storm had passed. For now, at least.

You gave him a small smile, wiping your hands on your apron before pouring his usual, black coffee, no sugar, but you made sure to leave a little more room for him today, in the hopes that maybe this was a sign of something changing.

“Good morning, Alastor,” you replied, your tone more at ease. “Anything special today?”

He leaned slightly over the counter, eyes twinkling with amusement, but there was something more genuine in the way he watched you now. No longer like a predator, but like someone who was, perhaps, beginning to appreciate the moment. Appreciate you.

“I’m simply here to see how you’re doing, my dear,” he said softly, his voice dropping lower than usual. “I trust your evening was pleasant?”

You met his gaze. “It was peaceful.”

There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I see. So, no disturbances?”

“No,” you said, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “No disturbances.”

It was a quiet moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. For once, the tension that had filled every interaction between you two had relaxed, as if some unspoken understanding had shifted in the air. Maybe it was the way he looked at you now, less like you were a piece of prey, and more like you were someone worth taking the time to understand.

“Good,” Alastor murmured, breaking the silence, his voice softer still. “You deserve peace, my dear. More than you realise.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but there was something in the way he said it that made the words linger in your chest, a soft warmth that spread out from the pit of your stomach. His gaze softened when he noticed the effect his words had, and for once, you saw the smallest crack in the veneer of that perfect smile.

You handed him his coffee, your fingers brushing briefly as he took it.

“You’re looking well today,” he said, looking you over with a quiet appreciation. He wasn’t simply admiring the surface he was noticing the small things. The way your eyes finally looked refreshed, after a good nights sleep. The way you took slightly longer to get ready this morning.

“Thank you,” you said, the faintest heat creeping into your cheeks. “It’s been a good morning, so far.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Good to hear.”

You felt something shift then. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on yours, as though he wasn’t just looking at you but seeing you for the first time. Or maybe it was the fact that you no longer felt like you were waiting for everything to collapse around you.

“So,” you started, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What do you want?”

His smile didn’t falter. But his gaze did, just for a second. His usual sharpness softened for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side as though he was considering his answer.

“You,” he said softly, with an intentional pause before continuing, “are far more complicated than I first believed. But if you mean in the simplest terms"

He looked at you. “I want to know you.”

The words vibrated between you like a thread pulled too taut. It was the truth, as raw and honest as you’d ever heard from him. And for some reason, it made your heart beat a tad faster.

A voice from the door broke the moment, and Alastor straightened, his smile slipping back into place as he glanced over his shoulder. You followed his gaze, only to see a few regulars walking in, oblivious to the quiet tension that had just passed between you two.

“You’ll have to excuse me, my dear,” he said, his usual energy returning, “but business calls.”

He made his way toward the door, with the familiar skip in his stride. As he reached the door, he paused, looking back at you one last time.

“Until later,” he said, his voice softening again, “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you.”

The door chimed as it closed behind him, and you let out a slow breath. You stood there for a moment, resting your chin on the palm of your hand, feeling the last bits of his presence linger in the air.

As Alastor left, the quiet buzz of murmurs slowly filled the space again. A couple at the corner table whispered about the usual dark subject, recent murders that had been making rounds in the news. You could hear snatches of their conversation, the undertones of gossip mingled with concern, as they speculated on the identity of the latest victim.

You glanced toward the stack of newspapers left near the counter, one folded open with the bold headline screaming at you: “Another Unsolved Murder- City on Edge.”

A quick shiver ran through you as your eyes scanned the grainy print. The words blurred for a moment, but before you could linger too long on it, you grabbed the paper, crumpling it tightly in your hands.

Without a second though, you tossed it into the nearby trash. You exhaled slowly, returning your attention to the dirty pitcher on the counter, choosing to carry on with the routine you loved.

2:36pm. The late afternoon rays crept through the french windows. The street outside was bustling at its usual pace, vendors negotiating with unsuspecting tourists, children running through alleyways, the recluses cautiously wandering, the hum of life as you knew it. The cafe doors were a calm barrier from the outside noise, save for the soft clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

The door jingled, and you looked up, expecting a regular. Instead, you saw the same, haunting gentleman again.

He stood in the doorway like he had every right to be there. The way he looked around, his eyes tracing over the cafe, made you feel exposed. Like an error found under a magnifying glass.

You could almost hear his voice before he spoke. His words slithered through the air as though they had already been rehearsed. “Good day, sweetheart,” he said. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You didn’t speak right away. The silence between you two felt too thick to slice through.

“I’ll take my usual,” he continued smoothly, slipping into the stool near the counter.

His eyes were on you now, unblinking as you forced yourself to breathe evenly. You moved through the motions of making his coffee, the sound of the espresso machine almost deafening in the quiet cafe.

"I appreciate what you've done with this place" The gentleman hummed. "Very cozy" His word were soaked in condescension as he forced a conversation. "That would be lovely had I changed anything" you replied, not sparing him a glance.

The radio static crackled on the speakers, a familiar voice cut through the room with a hum.

“You’re listening to Alastor’s Hour,” the voice spoke in a thick honeyed tone. “Now, I know many of you out there are finding themselves in uncertain circumstances."

You froze your hand mid pour.

“Especially those of you,” Alastor’s voice continued, warm but with an uncertain undertone, “who have wandered too close to places you shouldn’t. Now, I know there are some men who think they can simply make themselves comfortable, and take whatever they want. But you see, my friends, and you, specifically, I can’t help but notice the way some of you believe you have rights to things that don't belong to you.”

There was a heavy pause.

“You know, it's funny,” Alastor's continued, the purring rhythm of his voice slinking through the speakers. “Most men think they have all the time in the world to play their games, but, when you get too comfortable, that’s when things get messy. As I say, the city always sees who belongs. And who doesn't.”

The Gentleman hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched, but you saw the slightest tightness around his eyes. His jaw clenched just enough for you to notice. His gloved fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter, his posture straightening.

"Tell me something, sweetheart," Alastor’s voice continued, almost like a secret whispered across the airwaves. “Does he make you feel unsafe?”

The radio crackled, as if awaiting your answer.

The gentleman shifted on his stool, eyes narrowing, but you could feel the tension mounting. Every word Alastor spoke felt like a direct challenge.

"You know," Alastor mused absentmindedly, "when you spend enough time in the shadows, you begin to understand the value of what’s in the light." The words seemed to linger, hanging heavy between you and the gentleman.

The air was thick as you finally set the coffee cup down in front of him, your hand trembling slightly as you did. He didn’t touch it, didn’t take a sip, but kept his eyes trained on you.

The silence stretched longer than either of you anticipated, until the radio clicked off.

The gentleman didn’t look at the radio. His gaze never left you. He tapped his fingers on the counter in a cold rhythm.

“I see,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, his smile stretching thin. “So that’s how it is now?”

You said nothing.

But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze was fixed on the door, as if the world beyond your doors had shifted with Alastor’s words.

“You’ve got a way of keeping things interesting,” the gentleman said finally, his voice directed to no one in particular. “But I’m not a fan of being threatened in my own playground.”

You could feel the slight tremor of his words as they floated away.

But before you could respond, the door chimed, and the radio came back to life in the quiet aftermath of the conversation.

“I suggest,” Alastor’s voice rang through the speakers once more, “those who wish to linger where they aren't welcome, remember that fate has a funny way of intervening. And those who forget never quite get to see the light again.”

The final words hung in the air, and just as quickly, the air shifted. The gentleman’s demeanor faltered for a split second, but only a moment. He stood, tipping his hat with that same practiced grace. “I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

You didn’t move as he walked out, the sound of his shoes clicking sharply against the tiles before the door closed behind him with a soft click.

The only sound that followed was the faint hum of the radio, and you were left alone in the quiet, suddenly aware of the way your breath had quickened.

The quiet of the cafe was suffocating now. You rubbed your forehead, trying to shake off the lingering chill, but it stuck to your bones. A glance at the radio, still faintly buzzing with static, made you clench your fists.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, turning away from the counter. “This is getting ridiculous.”

You shook your head “But he’s right, isn’t he?” You muttered to no one in particular, staring at the empty door.

The weight of the silence settled back in, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The rest of the evening passed in an expectant quiet, each minute dragging on until the clock finally signaled the end of your day. 7:45pm.

The sky was dotted with pinpricks of stars, but it felt cold tonight. The city’s shadows grew longer as you locked the door behind you, the soft click echoing in the stillness. You pulled your scarf around your neck, but the chill wasn’t just in the air. It was in the way the evening had stretched on, lingering with the kind of tension that never quite released.

Before you could even take your first step away from the cafe, Alastor appeared from the darkened corner of the street, his tall frame outlined by the soft lamplight.

"Ah," he said with a warm, almost teasing smile, “Out for a walk, are we? How bizarre. I believe I’m going the same way.”

You chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with a nervous edge. “Perfect timing, as always. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

His smile only widened, “I’d say it’s more of a duty, my dear. After all, a gentleman should never leave a lady to wander in such dark hours, not with so many unsavoury characters about.”

There was a pause between you two, before he added with a touch more gravity, “Besides, I have my reasons.”

"Hmm" You replied, beginning your route back home. “You were on the radio today."

“I often am.”

“You were referring to that man, weren't you?"

“Was I?” His eyes glinted, amused.

“You joke now, but people will notice.”

“Good.” His reply was simple.

You looked at him with slight disbelief before swapping your attention to the gravel beneath your steps. Unconsciously picking up your pace.

He matched your gait, before continuing with a buzz, like an old broadcast tuning in.

“My dear,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “I spoke only of civility. But if certain people felt targeted by my words” He looked at you, smile widening. “Perhaps they should reflect on why.”

You stared at him. “Well, you can’t do that.”

“I already did.”

“People will talk.”

“They always talk.”

“It's far too dangerous.”

“For whom?” he asked gently.

And there it was, the truth that settled between you. It wasn’t dangerous. Not for him. Never for him. But for everyone else.

“People listen to the city,” he said quietly. “A well placed word of how fragile life can be” His eyes locked onto yours.

“Can be far more effective than a knife.”

You didn’t ask him what those reasons were. There was a comfort in the familiar silence that followed. His presence was like a shield, something that made the chill of the night seem a little more bearable.

He fell into step beside you, just close enough that you could feel the warmth of his proximity. There was something comforting about the way he moved, always at ease, never rushing, as though the world was his to command.

From there forth, the walk was always a strange mixture of peace and tension, the quiet of the night stretched between you two, punctuated only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional murmur of passing traffic.

It was Alastor who finally broke the silence again, his voice was less chipper than usual. “You know, that man. He’s always been a thorn in my side.”

You glanced at him, your curiosity piqued. “The gentleman?”

He nodded, his eyes flicking toward the street ahead. “Yes. A very persistent one, I’ll give him that.”

You frowned slightly, the weight of his words settling in. “What’s the deal with him? Can’t say I understand why he keeps coming around.”

Alastor’s eyes flicked to yours briefly, an unreadable expression on his face. “Ah. A question I’ve asked myself more than once.” He paused, then exhaled through his nose. “We’ve danced this particular waltz for many years. He’s a man of great power, but it’s never been enough for him. He’s more of a shadow than a man.”

You could sense the tension in his words, the cool undertone that suggested there was more to the story. You decided not to press him for more details just yet, but you did ask one thing that had been on your mind for a while. “Do you think he wants something from me?”

Alastor’s gaze hardened for a moment, but his voice was steady when he spoke. “He wants many things from many people. I’m afraid you’ve caught his attention in a way that’s disconcerting.”

You couldn’t miss the protectiveness in his words, though he didn’t seem to acknowledge it directly. Instead, his tone lightened again as you continued walking.

You felt a tightening in your chest at his words, though you tried to hide it behind a quiet exhale. "Well, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?"

Alastor’s voice softened,.“I don’t worry about it,” he said, “because I will not let him take anything. Not from you."

His eyes were on you now, piercing yet warm, as though letting you feel the weight of his words.

The streetlights flickered overhead as the two of you walked further into the heart of the city. There was a gentleness to his presence, it was as if he was letting down his guard just a little, allowing you to glimpse a more tender side of him.

You didn’t say anything in response, but his words lingered in your mind.

As you reached the entrance to your building, you paused for a moment, reluctant to part from the warmth of his company. Alastor glanced over at you, his gaze was expectant.

“Well then,” you said, almost teasing, “I suppose this is where you say goodnight.”

He smiled, the familiar gleam in his eyes returning. “Until tomorrow, sweetheart. Don’t stay out too late.”

You chuckled, “like I’ve got much of a choice in the matter.”

You didn’t wait for his usual witty reply as you turned to head inside. But as you reached for the door, you glanced over your shoulder one last time. Alastor stood there in the dim light, watching you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

His eyes followed you as you disappeared into the building.

You couldn’t help but wonder if tonight would be the last time you’d walk home with him, or if this little routine of his had somehow become something more than either of you were willing to admit.

♡ ♡ ♡

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