1.27am

Take care, have a nice day!

Tamsy W/ a Shy!S/o During Sex

Characters: Tamsy Caines Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

sighhh i love Tamsy

Warnings: NSFW reader discretion advised

you know the truth about tamsy. problem is that tamsy knows you know.

since that day he doesn’t leave you alone. like a shadow he’s hovering over you, following you. others call it adorable, making jokes he has a crush on you. you call it predatory, and one day - when the chance is given - he strikes.

your room is dark when you feel him besides you in bed. his scent fills your nose, his hair tickles you as he caresses your body.

“good, you’re awake.”

you don’t respond. a sick thrill of fear and something else shoots through you.

“mm. say again what you’ve told me eight days ago.”

“t-tamsy,” you gasp as his hand slides into your sleeping shorts.

“say it again. slower this time, with my hand between your legs.”

the sudden grab of your pussy makes your back arch, but tamsy doesn’t budge. he has you caged in and exactly where he wants you to be - at his mercy.

his long fingers part your pussy lips, and he hums amused when he finds you wet. not once his eyes leave yours as he lazily circles your clit.

“you’re a monster.”

the last thing you see is his smile before he covers your eyes with his other hand. you can only feel as he pumped two fingers into the tight channel of your cunt, and fucks you aggressively with them.

there’s no mercy with tamsy caines, especially not when it comes to you. he has his ways to make you shut up - you only need to be a good girl and have your legs wide open for him.

ꨄ︎ NSFW ALPHABET ꨄ︎

𓏲ּFeaturing𝄢 Tamsy Caines

𓏲ּCW𝄢 NSFW | MDNI | it's a NSFW alphabet, there's a bit of everything.

🪽Dove's notes: GRAAAH TAMSY GRAAAAAAAHHH

A = Aftercare

Tamsy is not an overly affectionate person by default, but he would always clean his partner after sex and dress them. It's part of his own aftercare, a ritual of sorts if you may— The routine and control that comes with being responsible for what happens to your pliable body brings him gratification to an emotional level.

He will also demand that you stay after and sleep with him. If you had plans? Too bad, they're automatically cancelled. No exceptions.

Although subtle, Tamsy tends to linger much more often around you for the next two days without even realizing.

 B = Bondage

Where to even start with this one.

The biggest AND best rigger out there. His partner must be a rope bunny otherwise it won't work.

Tamsy likes to have you at his complete mercy when in the bedroom and is not above using less...conventional methods to hold you still. He is personally a fan of Bowline knots for the sheer amount of uses it provides, Hishi Karada because it makes his bunny look absolutely lovely, Sheepshank to provide his partner both the illusion of being able to move around and a bit more comfort, Ladder ties to hold you in place when he needs and he usually mixes labbing and playing for aesthetic purposes.

Something worth highlighting is the fact the entire process is arousing for him. From picking the material and color to wrapping them around your body with calm and precision, relishing how you look when tied up. The rope burns and bruises left behind is also something he loooooves to see, like he's obsessed with, and each time they peek out of your clothes in public he feels rush run through his body.

 C = Crying:

Absolutely gets off on watching you cry and whimper. That iron will of his won't crack regardless of how many tears roll down your cheeks or how much you plead. Unless you call a safe word/use a sign there is no mercy from him.

 D = Dominance:

Very much a dom and he enjoys grooming his partner to fit his vision of them.

I'd like to make it clear Tamsy has no need to raise his voice or be aggressive to show he's the one in charge. His dominance lays in the way you're subtly and carefully trained every day to abide to his requests— From small things such as deciding what you wear or where you sit to offering your body obediently for him to tie with a simple gesture of hands from him.

 E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He doesn't come off as someone with no experience to me. Though I think his partners are chosen veeeery strictly by standards that only make sense to him.

 F = Favorite position(s):

Reverse cowgirl with a reverse prayer knot and a tight leash around your neck, which he will tug on it occasionally to “help” you stay upright.

Strappado with a spreader bar so he can fuck his partner's little mouth while they have a vibrator or dildo shoved inside them.

Missionary but with a frogtie and elbow restraint so his partner is helpless when he rams his cock into them.

 G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Tamsy is serious in the strict sense. He may have a calm poker face on and speak sweetly, but he is not letting you fool around. Your focus should be only in this very moment and jokes will not be well received during sex.

 H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

For personal reasons only I like to think he has a biiit of hair on his carpet. Nothing much though, just for aesthetic purposes like always.

He also has a personal taste for a well groomed partner just like himself because being able to see every little detail when you're spread out for him is important. He will shave his partner himself if you let him and takes it upon himself to be responsible for how you look. (He loves this sort of thing.)

 I = Impact play:

Hitting you is not necessarily his thing, but is also not completely off the table. Tamsy wouldn't use his hands when he does it— He'd opt for some type of tool like paddles or floggers.

Although I'd like to add this type of play is reserved strictly for partners that are actual masochists and he would use it more often for their pleasure rather than only for punishment. (he has much crueler punishments for misbehaving bunnies.)

 J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He is not too keen on having fun by himself and considering how busy he is Tamsy forgets that's even an option. He prefers to wait until someone he likes appears than playing by himself.

 K = Kissing:

was also be covered —here—

But to add to that, during sex his kisses are treats you need to earn. He will give them everywhere except for your mouth, waiting patiently for the moment where you're about to cum to press his lips against yours and won't pull away until you ride out the wave of orgasm, swallowing your moans and gasps. 

Something unique about his kisses is that he uses them as emotional regulators. During your training, your body is taught to relax when he kisses you and assimilate them to comfort so that even during more intense plays where he's speaking a bit more harshly or pushing your limits you still feel that small gesture of affection. 

 L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Always somewhere private where he's confident no one will walk in and with a sturdy headboard and comfortable mattress. He is not doing any deed on some flimsy old bed.

 M = Masochism:

Sadist, and a big one at that.

His favorite thing is watching his partner struggle and submit to him. He loooooves a good breath play as well and if his partner is a M then those desires of his will come out much more strongly— He will indulge in much harsher degradation, humiliation and advanced plays. He needs someone that can match his level of freak.

 N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He is not a sub in any shape or form nor would he enjoy being placed into that role.

Overly bratty/natural brats. Like I said, he likes to train his partners and although some defiance most certainly is welcomed at first, actual brats NEED to be brats to get off (if thats not obvious) so that's a no for him.

He also couldn't have a vanilla partner and someone that's overly sensitive is an automatic turn off for him.

 O = Oral

He enjoys a good blowjob as much as the next person. Tamsy likes to receive them when your arms are tied and his body is the only thing you can rely on to support yourself without tipping over, taking his cock deeper into your mouth until you choked on it.

Being eaten out by this man is a treat. He will do it while your body is at the mercy of his ropes and your eyes blindfolded so that you're surprised when you feel his mouth sucking and licking you. He is a slow eater— Tamsy will edge you a handful of times with his mouth before you're allowed to cum and when you do he'd fuck you with his tongue until you cum again.

 P = Patience:

Looooots and lots of denial.

He will only reward you if you can hold back your orgasms until he gives you permission. Of course he makes it basically impossible to on purpose to see you fail and punish you.

 Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his thing. He likes to have the time and space to torture pleasure his partner.

 R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Natural risk taker. A rule of thumb for him is that he is willing to try anything at least once IF his interest is peaked enough.

If remote vibrators were a thing then he would have the time of his life playing with you under the strict rules that you absolutely could not let anyone find out or he'd never play with you again. (He may or may not be joking, who knows with this guy). 

Tamsy will also have you wear a variation of knots under your clothes during the day to see how well you can maintain his gift until he comes back to check.

 S = Sleepy sex:

Do NOT bother him when he's sleeping. That's the quickest way to upset him.

That rule also applies to you because he won't bother you when you're resting. Tamsy likes his partner and him to be completely present during sex and resting time is strictly for resting.

 T = Top or bottom:

Vers! and a power bottom.

He enjoys both giving and receiving and looks for a partner open to switching whenever he wants to. Being on top with Tamsy is something you'll have to work for it— He doesn't let others touch him willy-nilly and it's a reward you need to prove be worth of.

 U = Underwear:

He appreciates soft and flowy fabrics, particularly so if it gives him easy access to you. Silk robes, matching lingerie. Oh and if you want to earn extra point then you have to color match him. Go for dark blues, whites or a soft yellow when picking out a piece.

He is also big on picking out clothes for the ones he loves and you can trust him to make you the prettiest, sexiest version of yourself.

 V = Voyeurism:

He can't say he's completely uninterested when he watches some other couple get it on. It's the same rule as everything else: If his interest is peaked, then he will indulge.

Were the situation arise and he's not yet completely emotionally invested in you then Tamsy would certainly be interested in watching you in the hands of others. Whether he may interrupt in the middle or not depends on his affection level.

 W = Wild card: (A personal headcanon that can be considered unexpected)

I feel like this whole thing has been a wild card lmao. But if I had to choose then although he is very self-centered Tamsy's pleasure is directly driven by his partner's. If you're not feeling so good you struggle to even think straight and is just bearing through it then he also won't get much into it and will quickly grow bored. He is not someone that can complete disregard his partner's feelings in the bedroom, though he looks like he would.

 X = X-Ray:

I ain't doing this LMFAO sorry pookies dick anatomy is not for me. yk, a dick is a dick. Just know it's probably the prettiest dick you've seen and circumcized.

 Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is not overly high or too low. He usually fluctuates between them because he rarely has a partner around to soothe them anyway. With someone fixed though he can be quite active in the bedroom.

 Z = Zones (His sensitive spot/s)

Pulling on his hair will make him hard without fail, especially when you do it a bit rougher by accident. 

His back is also very sensitive so scratches of nails or/and kisses are both veeeery welcomed by him.

smut drabble , mdni , first time writing please don't throw bricks at me.

will not be naming any specific ones for the penis during the drabble, but i wrote this with the prince albert and frenum ones in mind. feel free to imagine others, though !

one good look at his face and everybody can tell that this guy is a bit of a jerk during intimacy. trying to convince me of the opposite is useless.

he's receiving head ? he holds your head down and gives you no room to breathe for a least a few seconds — absolutely loves the way you glare at him from under your lashes with those pretty teary eyes when he does let you inhale some air. loves even more when you pull on his piercings as a silent payback. he does look like he has a bit of a thing for pain to me, so he'd probably do it on purpose.

he's giving head ? expect him to constantly brush his tongue piercing against your clit. either doesn't let you cum, pulling his mouth away from your cunt when he feels your fingers tightening on his hair, or allows you to cum but doesn't give you a break. so what if you just came ? if you can cum more than once on his cock, it certainly won't be so hard to do it on his mouth, too.

dicking you down ? an absolute menace. will rub his entire length against your folds, making sure that you feel the metallic texture against your core, and make you beg for him to just fuck you senseless, even if he was the one to initiate everything in the first place. you never know when he will choose to tease you, letting you roll your hips against his tip, making you plead oh so much only to just slowly slip the tip in, or when he will simply slam you down on his cock and rearrange your insides like there's no tomorrow, all while cooing to your moans.

any of the options lead to the same path, though: him "accidentally" slipping out when you're close to having an orgasm, just to rub the piercings against your clit, degrading you with such a sweet tone that you can easily confuse his words for praise when he's dumbing you down enough, before thrusting right back in, no mercy whatsoever.

Random thought...

Thinking about Tamsy and riding his pretty face... Well actually he has you tied up, gagged and blindfolded as he forces your squirming hips down on his face.

Orgasm after orgasm and he wouldn't let you go, a munch if you will. His face was a mess, covered in your fluids and so were your thighs that were quivering around his head. Broken moans and sobs are all you can manage with the gag in your mouth that your slobbering all over.

Tamsy's grip on your hips tightens as he continues his assault on your weeping cunt. He licks a stripe up from your slit to your clit, giving it a kiss making you shutter.

"Ah, you keep trying to move away. Didn't I tell you to sit still, my dear... Maybe a few more orgasms and then maybe Ill consider about giving you what you really want, hm?"

You couldn't see him but you could tell he was smirking. smug bastard..

It was going to be a long night.

(got random HC's couldn't help it)

Enjin is the type to smack your ass every chance he gets. He can't help himself; he's handsy and shameless about it. He doesn't care who sees, and loves it when you get annoyed at him, laughing at how adorably flustered you get.

Zodyl waits until he's alone with you, then fully cups your cheeks and squeezes possessively as he leans into your body. He loves how you stop and shiver at the contact, and also arch your bottom against his hard thighs, as though asking him to be a little bolder.

Zanka isn't the ass-smacking type, so you do it to annoy and embarrass him whenever you can. It's gotten to a point where if you're in the vicinity, he's watching you from the corner of his eye, getting ready to dodge and defend himself from your ruthless smacking.

Gris is the quiet, appreciative, gentle pats kinda guy. He does it discreetly if you're in public, but it's always a soft little push against the rounded flesh, which makes you warm inside at the contact. When alone, he pats repeatedly and rhythmically, and it's comforting, almost a relaxation technique.

Tamsy makes touching your ass look like an accident. He'll brush up against it with his hand and you feel it glide across before he stops, looks you straight in the face and apologizes. But you see the little curve of his lips and know that he's not apologetic at all, that's merely his way of letting you know you're at his mercy.

“Tamsy, I want you to be more rough with me.”

Blinking, the cleaner immediately pauses; looks up in order to give way to an axis tilt. And you immediately groan; become annoyed since you know him better than anyone. Obviously, the cluelessness that’s currently resting impassively on Tamsy’s face can only mean one thing: prolonged torture is about to take place within the confines of his room.

Momentarily, you begin to wonder about your life choices, but it’s not like the action will yield any fruit. By and large, you’re dating a sadist, so it’s better not to think too deeply about this decision— especially since you don’t want it to change.

Sinking further into the chair at his desk, you pout; elicit a chuckle from the man in question. And as you cross your arms, you discard all of your white flags, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in due time.

“Rough? In what way?” Scoffing, you briefly swat at the air; busy your eyes with a random spot on the wall.

“You know what way,” you quietly murmur, feeling rather irritable. But before you can continue, your heart immediately stops; freezes as something taut begins to wrap around your ankle.

It’s unmistakable. Currently, a long piece of thread is dancing along the sensitive parts of your skin, and it’s the same string that is attached to Tamsy’s lifeline. Tokushin. Clearly, you’ve been outmatched.

Not that you really mind.

NOTE : tis my first time posting something so I hope you guys like it or I’ll kms, I’ve been obsessed with Gachiakuta so I gotta share my obsession with y’all teehee.

Bf! Jabber the type to say “it’s ‘cuz I’m black isn’t it?” To piss you off even more.

Bf! Jabber the type to box the air around you and going “uss uss uss”

choking jabber while riding him is the quickest way to force an orgasm out of him.

you’re already on the verge of snapping his dick in half with how hard your riding him, grinding your cunt back n forth at a harsh pace, clenching around his girth like your trying to cut off blood circulation in his cock and he adores it. low groans rumble in his throat as he feels himself getting closer to his orgasm. “mmphm..harder dollface. y’too soft with me.”

soft? you knew he was fishing a reaction out of you, he always does whether it was in or out of the sheets. but something about now ticked you off, you didn’t know if it was even rational or just jabber’s natural talent of annoying you by breathing the wrong way. but, he always got what he wanted, he always does, this time with your hand around his throat and your nails digging painful crescents into his skin. a half gasp punched out of his throat, then you felt his dick twitch. “shiiit..fuck, ‘m bouta cum baby..” he moaned out the best he could, lavender irises rolling to the back of his head as a sick grin stretched across his lips.

“you’re disgusting, jabs.” “oh fuck, don’t stop doll.”

jabber acting like a clingy puppy with you

you hate being around your boyfriend sometimes. because when you were together, he always found the need to follow you around like a puppy. literally. a dog.

you could be in the bathroom, minding your business, taking a dump, maybe. and jabber would stay outside the door waiting on you like he couldn’t go anywhere without you, “you done in there, baby?” he’d ask you, his ear against the door. and once you finally came out, he’d complain like he’d been holding a grudge, “what took you so long?”

jabber would stare at your food like he was abandoned for days on end without anything to eat. the moment you ordered something he claimed he didn’t want, he’d plop down beside you on the couch and just stare. drool pooled at the corners of his lips, a drop slipping down his chin.

rolling your eyes, you’d spoon-feed him a couple of bites, and next thing you know, half of your plate would disappear. all while he sat there, pupils wide, drumming his hands on the couch, chewing like this was the best thing he’d ever had.

he’s constantly trying to get your attention. he’d bring you a new ring he’d found at a store or buy you some random trinkets he'd seen while thrifting. he’d drop it in your lap and stare at you, crossing his arms, rocking on his feet, flashing his canines at you, as if he was waiting for a treat, knowing you’d love whatever it was he picked out for you. “whadd’ya think?” he asks, already smiling. “found it at that one store over there on uh...y’know that one street.”

sleeping in bed, jabber would crawl all over you, clinging so close that it got unbearably hot as you tried to sleep. he’d lay against your boobs or stomach like they were his favorite pillows, pawing at the fabric that separated him from them. pushing his head, you’d snap at him, “move, jabber. i have to get up early in the morning.” he’d make a sound, similar to a whine like you betrayed him but later, sink lower under the blankets. after a few seconds, you’d feel cold air where it shouldn’t be, his mouth following—pleased with the high-pitched sounds that slipped from your lips.

jabber would love for you to mark each other. he was serious about it. like, it was your little pact to everyone else that you belonged to him, and he belonged to you. he’d stare at the mark on his neck in the mirror in the morning, dragging his painted black nails over it. “what?” you’d grumble, rubbing at your eyes. and he’d grab you by the neck and tilt your head back while looking in the mirror at yours. “yours ain’t dark enough.” he’d pout, his eyebrows furrowing as he brought his lips down to your neck.

Pairing: Alastor x f!reader

Summary: Alastor and the reader were married in life. Then he got killed. They're reunited when the reader gets sent in hell but her appearance as a sinner eerily resembles angels in heaven.

You had loved him without knowing.

That had been the cruelty of it.

In life, he had been a gentleman. Charming, polished, well-spoken. The sort of man neighbors admired and trusted. The sort that old ladies complimented and young couples tried to imitate. He held doors, kissed your knuckles, brought home fresh bread on Sundays, and danced with you in the kitchen when the record player crackled to life.

He never raised his voice at you.

Never raised a hand.

And he never told you what he did when he left the house at night.

You only found out after he died.

They found him in the woods, mistaken for a deer by some drunk hunter, they said. Wrong place, wrong time. A clean shot. He died alone, not in your arms, not in his bed, but in the dirt, with leaves sticking to his blood.

The papers came after.

His name was everywhere.

Not just as a victim.

But as a monster.

Headlines snarled about him. Serial killer. Missing persons. Decades of unsolved cases suddenly stitched together like a grotesque quilt, and he was the thread running through all of them.

And you were his wife.

“Did you know?” they asked you.

Again and again.

That question haunted you more than his smile ever had.

Did you know?

Did you know?

Did you know?

You didn’t.

But you had stayed.

Even after courtrooms. Even after stares in the streets. Even after his belongings were torn apart for evidence.

You kept the ring.

And when you died, long after the world had decided what he was — you didn’t wake to pearly gates.

You woke to fire.

To red skies.

To screaming.

You woke to Hell.

Alastor had never imagined you would follow him there.

He hadn’t expected Heaven, of course, not for himself. But for you? You had been an angel walking among mortals. You had smiled at strangers, treated him with kindness even when the world had turned on you because of his sins.

You should have been rewarded for that.

But Hell had a twisted sense of humor.

He spent years convinced you were safe somewhere above: untouchable, unreachable, forever beyond his bloody hands.

He missed you anyway.

Sometimes, when the Pentagram City chaos dulled just enough, he imagined you walking through clouds instead of ash. Imagined you laughing again. Imagined you learning peace without him dragging it down.

He told himself that was better.

Even when it burned.

Even when it felt like rot.

Then one day, Hell buzzed.

Not just with violence, that was constant. No, this buzz was different. Excited. Greedy. Sharp.

A sinner had landed.

Not just any sinner.

An angel-looking one.

Whispers traveled faster than gunfire.

“She’s got wings,” they said.

“Not exterminator wings,” someone muttered. “But close.”

“She looks like Heaven but smells like Hell.”

The Vees heard first, of course.

They always did.

Vox saw a brand. A spectacle. Something new to broadcast and twist into entertainment.

Valentino saw profit - flesh and fantasy dressed in false holiness.

Velvette saw a trend - something unreal, something dangerous, something that would make Hell click “share.”

They crowded around you like vultures in designer clothes.

And you stood there, confused, shaken, white-feathered wings trembling behind you, still dressed like a soul that hadn’t realized it was damned.

“You wanna be safe?” Vox asked, his screen flashing blue and red. “You stick with us.”

“You’re a walking fetish, sweetheart,” Valentino purred, smoke curling from his fingers. “We’ll make you legendary.”

“We can make you untouchable online,” Velvette added, smiling sharp. “But you gotta play smart.”

They framed it like an offer.

But you could feel the leash already tightening.

And that was when the air changed.

The static came before he did.

A low hum. A familiar crackle.

Like an old radio station sliding back onto a long-lost signal.

The crowd shifted.

They always did when he arrived.

Red eyes. Antlers. Smile too wide to belong to a sane being.

Alastor stepped through the parted crowd like he owned the ground beneath it.

And when he saw you?

For one terrible second, the world stopped.

Not in a poetic way.

In a violent way.

The air warped.

The shadows froze.

His smile flickered, not gone, never gone, but strained, like cracked porcelain trying to hold.

“…Darling?” he said softly.

You stared.

Because you knew that voice.

You’d heard it across dinner tables. Through laughter. Through lullabies hummed when the world felt too loud. Through radio, most importantly, because now his voice carried static on its own.

“You,” you breathed.

His gaze traced you: your face, your hands, your wings.

Wings.

The irony was cruel, even by Hell’s standards.

“I always knew you had a touch of the divine,” he said lightly. “I didn’t expect Hell to agree.”

Vox recovered first. “Whoa, whoa, whoa...you know her?”

Alastor smiled wider.

“That,” he said, “is my wife.”

Silence cracked.

Valentino blinked.

Velvette stilled.

Vox’s screen glitched.

You didn’t have time to react before a cane tipped up, his shadow curling unnaturally, and the space around you bent.

One second, their voices were in your ears.

The next, everything vanished.

You were inside the Hazbin Hotel.

An old couch. The warm colors. The fake hope clinging to its walls.

He had set you down carefully, like you were made of something fragile rather than dead.

“They will not touch you,” he said immediately. “Not while you’re here.”

You stepped back. Your wings rustled.

“Don’t,” you said. Your voice shook now. “Don’t pretend like nothing happened. I know what you were. I know now.”

His smile softened, just slightly.

“I had hoped,” he admitted, “you’d never have to find out.”

“You let me mourn you,” you snapped. “You let me defend you when they called you a monster.”

“And I will let myself burn for that,” he replied calmly. “But not let them have you.”

You laughed bitterly. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it because you want to own me.”

His eyes darkened.

“You were never owned.”

He stepped closer.

“But you were loved. Are loved. And Hell doesn’t get to take that from me as punishment.”

“You killed people,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he agreed, without flinching.

“And you never told me.”

He tilted his head.

“No,” he said. “Because I wanted at least one thing in my life to be innocent.”

Your throat tightened.

Your wings stirred behind you, unsure.

“And now look at you,” he added gently. “Hell’s little joke. Giving you feathers when all you ever did was bleed for me.”

Silence wrapped around you.

He didn’t reach for you.

Just stood there, as he always had, waiting.

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he answered. “But you will stay. The Vees won’t let a creature like you go without trying again.”

“And if I refuse?”

His smile regained its edge.

“Then I shall continue fussing over you until you’re tired of fighting it,” he said cheerfully. “Just like I used to with your cold feet in winter.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself.

…He remembered everything.

“Come now,” he added more softly, offering his hand. “Let your monstrous husband keep you safe a little longer.”

And even with all your fear.

Even with the truth clawing at your heart.

You still recognized the way his thumb hovered at your knuckles, just like it always had.

The lobby had gone silent when he led you down the staircase.

You didn’t remember ever walking beside him feeling so much space between your bodies.

Even in life, when you argued, when doors slammed and pride stood tall between you, there had always been something warm tethering you together. A gravity. Something unspoken that kept pulling you back.

Now there was distance laced with danger, curiosity, fear.

Every eye in the Hazbin Hotel followed the two of you.

Charlie froze mid-sentence, smile softening with surprise.

Vaggie’s hand drifted instinctively closer to her spear.

Angel Dust looked you up and down, whistling low.

Husk blinked slowly from the bar like he was trying to decide if you were real or another hallucination from cheap booze.

Niffty had already practically teleported next to you, sparkling-eyed.

Alastor gestured to you with a flourish of his cane.

“Everyone,” he announced, voice carrying through the room like a radio broadcast from an older, more dangerous era, “this is my dear wife.”

Dead silence.

Then...

“Well, isn’t this just precious,” Angel drawled. “Didn’t know you were the marrying type, spooky.”

“Only once,” Alastor replied pleasantly.

“You’re his what?” Husk muttered.

“Was his wife,” you corrected automatically, voice dry.

“Is,” Alastor returned smoothly. “Death is merely a minor inconvenience in that regard.”

Charlie blinked, then brightened instantly. “Hi! Hi, oh my gosh, hi! It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Charlie. I own the hotel and...and we’re trying to help people get into Heaven. Redemption and all that!”

You hesitated.

Something inside you tightened.

Because that…That had struck something painfully human in your chest.

“Heaven?” you repeated.

“Yes,” she said warmly. “Some of us believe sinners can be redeemed. It’s not impossible.”

Your fingers curled slightly.

You thought of your life.

Of the people you forgave instead of fighting.

Of the way you stood beside him even after the world collapsed around you.

“I don’t think I belong in hell,” you said quietly.

The room went still again.

And this time, Alastor didn’t interrupt.

Charlie’s eyes softened.

“Well,” she said gently, “that’s exactly why you should stay.”

You swallowed.

And then Alastor spoke again, far more casually than the moment deserved.

“She will be,” he said, “staying in my room.”

The silence was no longer shock.

It was alarm.

Angel choked on his gum.

Husk raised a brow.

Vaggie’s eye twitched.

“In your...” Charlie started.

“My room,” he repeated. “It is already sufficiently large. And significantly better protected.”

You stiffened beside him.

“And what if I don’t want that?” you asked under your breath.

“You do,” he murmured back. “Even if only temporarily.”

His smile stayed fixed, polished, controlled, but there was something just beneath it that hadn’t existed before. Something desperate.

Charlie hesitated only a second before nodding. “Okay. Yeah. Um. That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.”

You weren’t. But you also weren’t about to continue arguing in public. So you just nodded once. And he guided you away.

His room smelled strangely familiar.

Like old paper. Like dust caught in sunlight. Like static after rain.

The same tidy precision he always carried with him extended here, books stacked, cane placed perfectly against the wall, gramophone resting like a relic of another world.

Except now there were claw marks in the furniture.

And shadows that moved when they shouldn’t.

You stood near the door, wings shifting uncertainly behind you.

They felt…heavy.

And wrong.

You tried to fold them, but the unfamiliar weight threw off your balance. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the back of a chair.

Alastor was instantly there.

“Careful now,” he said, hands hovering just close enough to catch you without touching.

“I don’t know how to use these,” you muttered.

“Well,” he replied, “I have had to adjust to antlers, hooves, and an infuriatingly expressive tail. You’ll manage feathers.”

Still, his voice softened.

“You never cared much for balance in dancing either,” he added, teasing gently. “Yet you always insisted on leading.”

You huffed a weak laugh despite yourself.

“You complained about that forever.”

“And I survived,” he said. “A small miracle.”

You tried folding them again.

Slower this time.

They trembled.

Your hands moved instinctively to smooth them, fingertips brushing along the feathers as if checking if they were real.

They were.

“You think I don’t belong here,” you said quietly.

He stilled behind you.

“I think,” he answered, “Hell is inefficient at deciding who deserves what.”

“That’s a very polite way of saying their system is broken.”

He chuckled softly, the sound layered with static.

“I always told you bureaucracy was the greatest evil of all,” he replied.

Then, after a moment:

“You do want their little redemption plan, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“I don’t want to spend eternity surrounded by murderers and…other demons,” you admitted.

A grin curved his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled, “that ship has regrettably sailed, darling.”

You glared slightly over your shoulder.

“I meant worse ones.”

He laughed.

A real one this time.

You turned more fully toward him. He looked different, monstrous, taller somehow, sharper around the edges.

More honest.

“You’re trying very hard,” you said.

He tilted his head.

“To do what?”

“To show me you’re the same man.”

His eyes softened just a fraction.

“I am,” he said.

Then his gaze darkened.

“I merely look closer to the truth now.”

You swallowed.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Oh, I rather enjoy it,” he replied. “It’s quite liberating, actually. No more polite pretending. No more hiding the mess beneath the suit.”

Then, more quietly:

“You loved me before you ever knew.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“And now you know everything,” he continued, stepping closer, careful not to crowd you. “And I will not force you to love me now.”

A long beat of silence.

Then, softer, almost hesitant:

“But I will still take care of you. Whether you deserve Hell or Heaven.”

Your wings stilled.

You searched his face, the familiar smile, the unfamiliar monster, the same eyes that once watched you across candlelit dinners.

“…You’ve always been like this,” you said. “Doting, I mean.”

“I prefer the term devoted,” he replied.

Representative. Elegant.

Terrifying.

And heartbreakingly, horribly yours.

He reached up slowly, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, and gently tucked a stray feather back into place.

His touch was careful.

Like he was still afraid you might disappear.

“And until Heaven decides it wants you,” he added quietly, “you’ll have me.”

“ What A Looker . “

╰┈➤ Summary: As one of Velvette’s top models, you had duties to fulfill. However, you wanted a little break for yourself. This break is certainly a breach of contract, but Charlie swore she would protect you until you decide to leave. During your stay, you meet the crispest gentleman you’ve ever met. One issue, though. He’s also the most frightening overlord in all of Hell.

╰┈➤ Tags: Model!Reader, Alastor being a gentleman, sfw

╰┈➤ (a/n: thank you so much for the suggestion!!! i luv writing alastor<3)

You needed to get away.

Get away from work, fans, contracts, dirty old sinners.

So, you ended up at a shitty old hotel. It was obnoxiously red, poorly decorated, and the owner was far too cheery. But, the cheeriness was better than the coldness that everyone looked at you with before. The only person you knew there was Angel, who was an absolute doll. He was the cutest little thing, and you two got along well. Technically, you were both coworkers. He just worked with Valentino and you worked for Velvette.

Throughout your first week at the hotel, you never wavered on your appearance. Your hair was always done, wearing the highest fashion, heels clacking, and a sweet perfume you put on your neck and wrists. You walked like you owned the place, and in a sense, you did. You were always at the bar, and Husk had to scare off any creeps who approached you. But, one day, a man approached you that Husk didn’t scare off.

“May I buy you a drink?”

“No, fuck—“

Before you finish your sentence, you glance up at him. Holy shit. Isn’t that the radio demon guy? His smile freaks you out. But, at the same time, he is kind of attractive. In a weird way. Maybe it’s his demeanor? He comes off as very gentlemanly.

“I mean… sure.”

“Another round, Husk, on me.”

As he’s distracted, you look him up and down. He’s tall and lanky. Very tall.

“Aren’t you going to drink something?”

“I don’t day drink, my dear, I find it to be uncouth!”

You giggle at his statement, and his little ear flicks in response. Is that a good sign?

“You’re funny. What’s your name? I mean, I know you’re the radio demon and all, but what’s your actual name?”

“Alastor. And you, ma cheriè?”

As you tell him your name, he lifts up your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm. Your face immediately flushes, and you adjust your hair partly out of nervousness and partly because you want to look your best.

“Y-you’re very sweet.”

“Nonsense, I’m just being polite.”

‘Just being polite’… That rings through your mind. A man who doesn’t want to sleep with you. You want to breathe a sigh of relief, but he’s practically the only man you’d sleep with.

“Your politeness is uncommon in Hell.”

“Well, everybody has their secrets, no?”

Alastor gives you a coy smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I suppose. What’s your secret, Alastor?”

He leans forward closer to you and murmurs, “Only if you tell me yours first.” There’s a static overlay covering his words, but you can make out what he’s saying.

“My boss doesn’t know I’m staying here, ‘n they’re gonna be pissed once they find out,” you whisper in an equally low voice.

“She must be an unreasonable woman.”

“Believe me, she—“

Something stops you in the middle of your sentence. You never said your boss was a woman. Maybe he knows you from the magazines?

“How’d you know my boss was a woman?”

Alastor just gives you a wink in reply.

“How about I tell you over dinner, sweetheart?”

God, did he freak you out. But, God was also insanely attractive.

tw; nsfw, p in v, slight degradation

❀.ೃ࿔ ❀.ೃ࿔ ❀

Alastor's hips rolled aginst your frame. His cock was buried deep inside you for what felt like the umpteenth time that endless night.

You wondered if he ever got tired from the way he continued to slam into you with stamina that hardly differed from the first round.

I saw this BEAUTIFUL NSFW alphabet for Alastor and I just had to do my own! How i write Alastor is VERY ooc so I don't wanna see any comments saying "Errmm...thats now how hed act.." (I also make him demisexual so don't come for me) WARNING: Very worshipful Alastor, FemReader! Lots of praise

A — Aftercare

Alastor treats aftercare like a sacred ritual—something he cherishes as much as the act itself.

He’s breathless, trembling, still buzzing with leftover hunger… but the moment she melts under him, his whole demeanor softens into something tender, reverent, and unbearably gentle.

He kisses her thighs first, every time.Slow, loving little pecks traveling up her hips, like he’s thanking her body for letting him near it.

Then he pulls her onto his chest, holding her so tightly she can feel his heartbeat sprinting.

His voice?

Low, warm, still edged with leftover static as he whispers,“My darling… thank you. Thank you for letting me adore you.”

He rubs her back with those big, elegant hands she loves so much, humming old jazz under his breath until her body fully relaxes.

And god—if she’s shaky or overstimulated?

He gets feral about making her comfortable: water, a warm cloth, her favorite pajamas, carrying her if her legs don’t work.

He won’t drift off until he’s absolutely sure she’s safe, warm, and tucked under his arm.