PunkiestoftheStrangelings

I've been itching to share a scene I've been thinking about. Short summary. Nothing NSFW... Unless you want it to be.

(I had my female oc in mind for this, but think of it however you want.)

So, Alastor and reader/oc are together, and one day she was walking through Cannibal Town and spotted a cannibal couple being lovey-dovey in the garden.

The lady was giggling as her husband kissed along her shoulder before biting her neck (like a vampire bite, nothing gory) and drinking her blood. Reader/oc stands there in shock for a moment before the lady spots her, making reader/oc flustered, and quickly leaves the couple be. Now the reader/oc is constantly thinking about what she just saw… and picturing Alastor doing that with her.

Alastor is wondering what has her so flustered until she eventually builds up the courage and tells him about it… and asks him if he would drink her blood.

He is pleasantly surprised and agrees, but of course he would only do this if she wanted him to. Then soon she ends up in his lap, her back to his chest, and he kisses her shoulder and neck, then bites her.

It's soft and intimate… and maybe a new thing between them that they do once in a while.

resting on your knees as he delivers his radio show to the people of new orleans. your hands grasp at alastor’s thighs as he sits comfortably in his radio booth, doing his best to maintain his smooth, care-free tone as you take his cock into your mouth while hundreds, if not thousands of loyal listeners cluelessly follow along.

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Fandom: Hazbin Hotel. Pairing: Alastor x female Reader. Rating: - Summary: you thought it was a normal morning at the Hazbin Hotel, until Lucifer and Alastor started fighting… over your attention. :3 Lucifer notices the affectionate nickname Alastor has given you, and the Radio Demon feels increasingly uncomfortable. Unable to hide his emotions any longer, he drags you to his room and… tries to find out what’s going on between you and the king of hell. But Alastor’s questions aren’t really about Lucifer...

🔞 Warnings: jealous!Alastor, possessive!Alastor, protective!Lucifer, angst, idiots in love (especially Alastor).

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It was a morning like any other. And like every ordinary morning, you were sprawled across the wide curved couch in the Hazbin Hotel lounge. In your hands was a mug of chocolate milk (because yes, despite being an adult woman, you still had that adorable childish side to you).

You sat between Angel and Charlie, listening to them talk about their newest redemption plans.

Charlie was so enthusiastic and radiant that watching Husk and Angel roll their eyes became slightly irritating—but you didn’t complain. After all, you were friends with all of them, and you had grown attached to each one in your own way.

A cough distracted you.

It was Lucifer, who had just entered the room with his usual bright demeanor and that charismatic “I’m the king” smile. At the same time, Angel stood up, muttering a simple “work call…” while scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Lucifer casually sat beside you, in place of Angel.

“Interesting, isn’t it? My little girl really believes in all this!” He rambled, his eyes shining like twin suns. He always carried this… divine, celestial aura around him. Even when he wasn’t in the best mood, he somehow radiated serenity.

Slowly, the others left the room to carry out their assigned tasks. You hadn’t been given one yet—you were still new, after all.

Another cough.

“My, my… is he bothering you?” Asked a hissing, radio-like voice.

“Hey! I’m not bothering anyone! We were having a conversation, right, Y/N?”

Ah.

Lucifer remembered your name.

Strange… considering he never remembered anyone else’s.

Not even the name of his daughter’s girlfriend, who was part of the family now.

A flash of annoyance crossed the crimson eyes of the figure beside you: Alastor.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“My apologies, Bellhop… though I don’t recall the young lady asking for your assistance. Tell me, sunshine, am I truly as awful as Bambi believes?” Lucifer teased with a wink, flashing his forked tongue at Alastor, who now looked completely irritated. His fingers tightened around the cane in his hands, crackling faintly with static and distorted sounds.

“To be honest… no. You’re very reassuring, pleasant to be around, and there’s a lot one can learn from you,” you answered sincerely, looking at Lucifer without sparing Alastor your beautiful, intriguing gaze.

“Hear that, Bambi?” Lucifer grinned shamelessly. “She likes me!”

“Excuse me?! She said you’re pleasant, not that she likes you. There’s quite a difference!” Alastor spat through clenched teeth, gripping his cane hard enough to crack it.

Charlie returned to the room at the sound of the commotion.

“Um, guys… what’s going on here?”

“Nothing, dear. Just a minor disagreement between me and… this peculiar obscenity pretending to be majestic!” Alastor laughed at his own joke.

Charlie nervously scratched at her elbow while you glanced between the two men, sensing the tension thickening by the second.

It was obvious: they hated each other for some reason and couldn’t stand being near one another.

“Well, guys… I’ll leave you to your little quarrel,” you said, standing from the couch.

Simultaneously, both Alastor and Lucifer grabbed one of your wrists each and shouted:

“No!”

The two exchanged a glare, metaphorical lightning striking between them, and you sighed at their immature behavior.

“My doe… I need to speak with you about… something rather urgent,” Alastor said.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. Alastor shot him a sharp look.

“What now?!”

“What did you just call her?! Doe??? She’s not! Ahahaha! Are you getting sentimental?”

Alastor tilted his head toward the floor. For a brief moment, he looked almost panicked—as if he had accidentally revealed too much, and of all people, the dumbest person in the room had noticed. Then he exhaled and composed himself, loosening his grip on his cane.

“Would that mean that, by calling me Bambi, you’re interested in me?” Alastor sneered, hating every word that left his mouth, especially knowing Lucifer’s jealousy toward the two of you despite your lack of intimacy.

“No! What the hell are you talking about?! I hate you with every fiber of my being!” Lucifer shouted, growing agitated as horns rose from his head and wings burst open, the force knocking objects to the floor.

“Dad, calm down,” Charlie intervened quickly.

Lucifer released your wrist immediately, realizing he might hurt you. Then, he apologized softly before storming away, ashamed of his impulsive reactions.

Alastor, however, still held your hand in his palm. He stood and quietly asked you to follow him to his room.

He opened the door for you and entered shortly after.

His room felt strange today. The entire space reflected his mood: black and grim. Candle flames flickered violently. The red walls looked as though ash—or peeling wallpaper—was drifting from them. Even the bayou felt wrong. The grass was ruined. The water thick and swampy green. The flowers wilted.

Something was wrong.

Maybe Alastor wasn’t feeling well? But before you could ask, his question came fast and merciless.

“Do you feel something for him?” He asked, pinning you against the wall with one arm.

Ash continued to fall around you like snow, heavier and heavier.

What? Feel something? For him? For who exactly?

“For… feel something for who?”

“For him…” he growled again. “Lucifer…” he spat, looking away in disgust.

“Why are you asking me that?” You replied, genuinely confused. You truly didn’t understand what he had to worry about.

“I asked first, and you haven’t answered. Please answer me. Yes or no. It’s not difficult.” He stepped closer, his warm breath brushing your face.

“No. No, I don’t feel anything for Lucifer,” you answered clearly, struggling slightly under the intensity of his burning gaze.

“Are you... sure?” He breathed, abruptly stepping back and turning his back to you.

“Is there any possibility that... you could like him in the future?” He asked over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, Alastor. Why all these questions? You’re scaring me. Are you feeling alright?” You asked, moving toward him and raising a hand, wanting to check if he had a fever. His behavior confused you deeply.

Alastor suddenly turned, catching your hand in his and pressing it against his cheek.

He was so warm. So close. So… intense.

“Any possibility that…” he stopped himself, his gaze softening as it met yours.

“That…?” you pressed impatiently.

“Nothing. Forget it,” he muttered, dropping your hand and looking away.

Without another word, he ushered you out using his tendrils.

Even his shadow didn’t seem to know how to help its master. It waved sadly at you as you left.

Maybe he wanted to ask for help—but couldn’t. He was Alastor, after all, and asking for help was something he’d never do, not even on his deathbed.

You stepped out into the hallway in silence and confused.

Only to run directly into Lucifer.

“Oh! Hi there, little doe! You were with Alastor?! So it’s true, huh?” He teased, wiggling his brows.

The door behind you suddenly burst open, and long, slick black tendrils wrapped around your body, yanking you violently back inside Alastor’s room. His voice echoed through the entire hotel.

“She’s not your doe!”

A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead.

The tendrils tightened around your waist, covering your mouth, pressing against your throat.

Lucifer pounded on the door insistently.

“What are you doing, Alastor?! Let her go! If you hurt her, I’ll kill you! And I’ll ask Charlie to void whatever deal you two have running this hotel!”

But Alastor didn’t answer.

As you struggled, Alastor—his body shrouded completely in black smoke, with only the glowing slits of his eyes visible in the darkness—stood at the foot of the bed watching you.

“My doe…” he sighed, voice strained. “I’m sorry. It’s not my intention, but I’m forced to. I can’t allow others to believe I have a weakness,” he confessed, slowly approaching you while the tendrils left you no escape.

─────── 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⧽ a quick list of a few thoughts i've had recently.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who loves to play with your hair.

it would be at the most random of times, as well. and perhaps this would be one of the very few public displays of affection he allowed himself. you could simply be lounging in the main lobby of the hotel, eventually finding his fingers carding through your hair. long or short, he didn't discriminate. it would often be absentminded, too. if you happened to be in the middle of a conversation with him, he'd tuck a few stray strands behind your ear or simply move your bangs out of your face.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who's love language is acts of service.

this goes for giving as well as receiving. while he tends to prefer to be on the giving end, he will make exceptions sometimes. he truly adores the little things you do. whether it be giving him a small dandelion you found out on a walk that day, or trying your hand at making one of his, or his mother's, recipes. in a sense, it warmed his heart — as cold and dead as it was.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who occasionally indulged in playing the piano for you.

he wasn't much of a writer, but there have been a few pieces he composed specifically for you. in fact, one was made just after he began courting you. and actually, he allowed you to sit on the bench and try your hand at playing it with him. one of his preferred bonding methods, if you ask me. i think he finds it tastefully poetic; guiding his lover's hands across the different keys.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who found joy in gossiping with you — especially about susan.

it never failed, every time he returned from a brief trip to cannibal town to visit ms. rosie, he had a new story about susan. a grumpy old woman, whom he once described as an "ornery old bitch". he'd ramble on about it while you prepared him his favored tea, using his ever so dramatic hand gestures. it always put a smile on your face, finding each new tale rather humorous.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who notices the little things.

if there is one thing about alastor, he over-analyzes everything and everyone. and while he may not exactly understand everything he observes, he adapts shockingly quickly. for example, you have 'obsessive compulsive disorder'. not the obsessive need to organize and clean kind of ocd — but the extremely paranoid kind. you truly are a skittish creature, much like the animal you are based off of; a doe. while he doesn't fully understand that aspect of you, he's adapted to it surprisingly well. he knows what little things trigger you and make you tic, and he knows how to navigate the situation and soothe you. if you have ptsd, he'll learn what sets you off and keep it in the back of his mind and strive to keep whatever it may be, away from you.

— side note, you can change the ocd thing to whatever you may have. i used ocd and anxiety because that is what i personally have.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who, deep down, is quite the romantic.

alastor is one of those people who finds old-fashioned courting far superior to modern-day dating. he stands firm in his belief that flowers, gentlemanly behavior, and hand-written letters are the proper way to go about it. aside from that, he is most definitely the type to associate a song with you. whether it be one he's recently heard on the radio, or one he's heard a while back, you may find him humming it to himself while performing mundane tasks, or playing it on the piano. at some point, he'll casually mention that the song reminds him of you or makes him think of you.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who is astonished that you find comfort and safety in him.

now, we all understand that alastor is probably the last person anyone would find comfort or safety in, given his reputation and nature. which is why it surprised even him when you admitted to finding not just one, but both of those things in him. the simple fact that he was the one you sought out when frightened or wounded or upset, astonished him. but the selfish part of him yearned to be depended on — even just the slightest bit. and while, coming from anyone else, it would have given him some sort of twisted, sadistic power-trip, he found that he didn't feel it when it was coming from you. rather, he felt needed in the sense that someone truly cared for him. and he felt that he cared for you.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who has helped you decorate your very own room of the hotel.

he knew your specific tastes and the things you'd like to have in your room. he requested charlie add a balcony to your suite, much like he had for his own. he painted your walls a light, muted shade of pink — one wall being an accent wall, having the same shade of pink, along with some white stripes, creating a pinstriped pattern. the floors were a beautiful oak wood, polished to perfection. the curtains for your large, floor-to-ceiling windows were an ivory lace, much like your bed canopy. the bed was queen-sized, covered in soft blankets and plush pillows. there in the center sat your beloved little deer plushie. on your nightstand was a vase holding the most beautiful bouquet of pink and white flowers. this was a little personal project he took on, wanting to surprise you — he adored seeing your teary-eyed yet awestruck expression.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who absolutely knew about your obsession with his hands. | nsfw

you thought you had been incredibly discreet about your fascination with alastor's hands — though apparently you hadn't hid it as well as you initially thought. somehow, he caught on, and fully intended to use it to his full advantage. the way in which he'd ever so delicately trace along the slope of your neck with his sharp claws, trailing them down your arm, made you shudder. perhaps if he was feeling a tad extra frisky, he'd glide his fingers along the outer part of your thigh, stopping just short of your hip. not only that, but on the very rare occasion that he found himself "in the mood", he'd discreetly place a hand on your knee, his fingers slowly skittering up along your inner thigh. when your breath caught in your throat, he'd allow his hand farther up — to the apex of your thighs. sometimes he'd simply cup your through your undergarments, and do nothing more. other times, he'd trace along your dampening slit through the flimsy fabric. either way, you'd find yourself stuffed to the brim with his long, slim, yet incredibly dexterous fingers by the end of the night.

⧽ 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 who is most definitely the best sleep aid.

his static frequencies automatically tone down to accommodate you at night. especially if you're struggling with sleep that night. sometimes he'll even hum along to, or sing lullabies to soothe you. all the while, he'll stroke your cheek and lay your head in his lap. the songs were often old french lullabies his maman used to sing to him when he was a boy — back in the mortal world.

©𝑠𝑣𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑒．no plagiarism or ai training authorised.

Chapter 2- hunters claim

His hand remained extended, waiting. The garden felt smaller now, the hedges pressing in like walls of a cage she'd willingly entered. Jazz still drifted from the ballroom, but it sounded distant. Muffled. As if the world had narrowed to just the two of them standing in the flickering gaslight.

She placed her hand in his.

His fingers were warm, his grip firm but not painful as he drew her closer. Something flickered in those dark eyes—satisfaction, perhaps, at her compliance. Or maybe something hungrier.

"Good choice," he murmured.

They walked through the garden, past the trellises heavy with roses, through a wrought-iron gate she hadn't noticed before. A narrow alley stretched ahead, brick walls slick with humidity. Her heels clicked against the cobblestones, the sound too loud in the quiet. He guided her with his hand at the small of her back, proprietary and unhurried.

"Where—" she started.

"My private suite. Above a speakeasy I frequent." His voice was casual, conversational. "The jazz is better there. And the company is more... selective."

The building looked unremarkable from outside. A plain wooden door, a small sign advertising tailor services. But when Alastor knocked three times in a specific pattern, the door swung open to reveal a different world entirely.

Rich crimson wallpaper. Dark wood furniture. A gramophone in the corner playing a record that crackled with age and warmth. The air smelled of bourbon and tobacco and something sweeter underneath—jasmine, perhaps, or gardenias.

A man at the bar nodded to Alastor but said nothing. No questions. No curiosity about the woman he'd brought. Whoever this place belonged to, Alastor commanded respect here.

He led her up a narrow staircase, their footsteps muffled by a thick carpet runner. At the top, he withdrew a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked a door, gesturing for her to enter first.

The suite was intimate. A sitting area with a velvet settee, a small bar against one wall, a writing desk covered in papers. But what caught her attention was the bed partially visible through a doorway—a bedroom beyond, sheets crisp and white in the low light.

"Sit." He gestured to the settee. "You've had quite the evening."

She perched on the edge, her hands twisting in her lap. The dead device sat heavy in her pocket, useless. A thousand questions spun through her mind, but only one made it past her lips.

"What happens now?"

Alastor moved to the bar, pouring two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass. "That depends entirely on you." He crossed the room and held out the drink. "Bourbon. It will help steady your nerves."

She took it. The first sip burned, but warmth spread through her chest afterward, loosening some of the tension in her shoulders.

"You came all this way," he said slowly, settling into the chair across from her. His long legs crossed at the ankle, his posture relaxed, but his eyes remained fixed on her face. "Traveled through time. Lied your way into my world. All for what? Observation?"

Her tongue felt thick. "I told you—"

"You told me what you thought I wanted to hear." His smile sharpened. "But I've been watching you all evening. The way you looked at me when you thought I couldn't see. The way your breath caught when I touched your arm." He leaned forward. "You didn't come here just to study me, little traveler. You came here because you wanted me."

Heat flooded her cheeks. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come.

"I find myself... intrigued by that." He rose from his chair, moving toward her with deliberate slowness. "A woman from the future, with all its wonders, and she chooses to spend her time learning everything she can about me." He stopped before her, looking down. "That kind of attention deserves something in return, don't you think?"

Her heart raced. She should stand. Should move away. Should do something other than sit there trembling with anticipation.

But she didn't want to.

"Alastor—"

"Shh." He reached out, his fingers brushing her jaw. "You've been pretending all evening. Playing a role. But I think we're past that now." His touch trailed down, tracing the line of her throat. "You're trapped here. In my time. In my city." His voice dropped lower. "The question is—what are you going to do about it?"

She looked up at him. At those sharp features, that ever-present smile, those eyes that saw too much. She'd spent months studying him, learning every detail she could find. She'd thought she understood him.

She'd had no idea.

"I don't want to do anything about it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

His smile changed. Still sharp, still predatory, but with something warmer underneath. "Good answer."

He offered his hand. She took it, letting him draw her to her feet. They stood close—too close—the air between them charged with possibility.

"I should warn you," he said, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "I don't share. If you stay here, with me, you're mine. Completely. Do you understand?"

The word should have frightened her. Instead, it sent a thrill down her spine.

"I understand."

He drew her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes never left hers.

"Then let's stop pretending."

His mouth found hers.

The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, giving her every chance to pull away. But she leaned into it instead, her free hand sliding up his chest to curl in the fabric of his jacket. A sound escaped her—something between a sigh and a whimper—and she felt his smile against her lips.

His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the lean muscle beneath his clothes, the controlled strength in his grip. He kissed her like he'd interrogated her—methodically, thoroughly, learning every secret her mouth had to offer.

When he finally pulled back, she was breathless.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," she admitted.

"I think I have some idea." His hands slid lower, resting on her hips. "You're not as subtle as you think, my dear. Those little glances, the way you leaned into my touch in the garden." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "I knew what you wanted from the moment I saw you."

"Then why—" She stopped, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. "Why the knife? The interrogation?"

His thumb brushed her lower lip. "Because I wanted to see if you'd give it to me freely. And because..." He paused. "I wanted to make sure you were real. That this wasn't some elaborate trap."

"I'm real."

"Yes." His voice roughened. "You are."

He walked her backward, step by step, until her shoulders met the doorframe to the bedroom. His body pressed against hers, pinning her in place.

12:01 a.m.

Paring: Alastor x Reader Tags/ Warning: Establish Relationship |Masterlist| Ao3| A/N: Happy 19th birthday Nonnie!!!! Enjoy this little fic that I made and am dedicating to you!!! Specifically!!!

11: 57 p.m.

Alastor takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

11:58 p.m.

It’s times like these that he has to remind himself to be patient.

a bit of a self-indulgent post but i love the concept that alastor would be peacefully playing the piano in your shared home while you're cleaning up the kitchen. and then when you're done, he gestures for you to come to him with a crook of his finger. when you do, he'll place a hand on your hip, coaxing you to perch on his thigh.

while you're sitting there with him, he'll ask you about what you had done all day while he was off at the radio station. throughout the conversation, he'll absentmindedly play different tunes; dexterous, gifted fingers gliding across the keys with such grace.

every now and then his lips will press to your temple or to your cheekbone, sharp nose nudging your skin in a near-playful manner. and then at some point that will lead to him sitting in his armchair by the fireplace, you sitting on the floor before him as he plays with your hair, listening to you ramble on with gossip about a conversation you overheard between two old ladies at the market.

i do believe that when Alastor becomes comfortable and open with you, especially when he knows that his own boundaries towards romance and touch will be respected, he likes to give you kisses. yes, even if others are present! (usually others in the hotel but hey, what’s a random gonna do or say at the risk of the Radio Demon putting their sorry soul on his broadcast?)

think of big, over the top cheek kisses. with the exaggerated “mwah!” and all while his microphone plays lovey-dovey sound effects. these are his favorite, as he gets to feel the slight give of your warm cheek under his lips and the way you squirm. his grin will widen if your hand comes up to your own face to cup the spot, doubly so if you’re visibly flustered from his attention. meanie.

of course Alastor doesn’t go much further in public than that. he does deeply respect your own boundaries and values the private moments you two share to a reverent degree, though he may present himself nonchalant to it all. softer kisses to your cheeks, forehead, and hands are the norm behind closed doors. his lips and hands move much slower like this, and you’re handled so gently, like you’re precious.

and that’s because you are! you must understand that for Alastor—who on a decent day will still feel touch aversion for most other demons—him taking the time to kiss you, just to kiss you, is a huge show of how much you mean to him. even on days when his body will refuse touch outright, his shadow will be the one to give you a kiss in his place, and you can’t bet you’re life’s savings that he will have that same grin of delight on his face all the same as you fluster under his attention.

Thinking about... how the pressure of his fingertips would change if someone made him angry, and his grip would increase, leaving deeper marks in your skin, sometimes drawing blood.

Thinking about... how he'd immediately soften his grip once he heard your muffled whimper of discomfort next to him, not wanting to alert everyone else at the table what was happening.

Thinking about... how, in the privacy of your apartment later that night, he'd kiss your thighs all over by means of apology, leaving soft marks in his wake instead as he vowed to never hurt you again (unless you wanted him to).

it is called a fish fighting belt/harness.

BEHOLD.

HARNESSES AND LEVERS, ALL AS TOUGH AS YOU COULD WISH

WHEN YOU'RE ON A BOAT, YOU CAN'T JUST BRACE AGAINST A ROCK