Red Hot Habanero Ninja

Attraction never came to Alastor so easily, in life or death, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the feeling, or outright oblivious to it. He wound up finding it in you, and he quickly figured out you felt just the same about him. He witnessed it in the little details like that which your mother somehow overlooked when he visited for afternoon tea.

The unconscious fiddling of your fingers, the tinge of color that spread across your cheeks, the soft, doe-eyed look that vanished when you shyly dipped your head — he knew what all of it meant, and quite frankly, the very notion that you had grown sweet on him flustered him to a degree that was unhealthy for someone as old as he.

You, a youthful and beautiful thing following in your mother’s footsteps, half his age.

Daughter of the very person who owned his soul, Rosie.

Not only was it inappropriate, but it was also unwise to entertain you and your silly little crush.

So, naturally, Alastor chose to do nothing.

And you, well, you decided to test the boundaries of your relationship, even when he maintained an apathetic facade in your presence. Like the hellion you were, you thought you could gradually chip away at his resolve, and oftentimes, he didn’t know whether to feel insulted or flattered that you would try to do such a thing to someone of his caliber.

The prolonged kisses you pressed against his cheek in greeting, the lingering touches you left on his shoulder or his bicep, the wistful glances you sent him whenever you volunteered to help your mother around the emporium — it was your way of letting Alastor know that you wanted to be something more than just Rosie’s daughter.

You inspired feelings in him that he hadn’t felt since his time on Earth, when he was young and foolish and had grandiose ideas for himself.

He would never relent, though, he couldn’t.

And he genuinely believed it would remain that way for all of eternity, that he wouldn’t fall victim to your slick attempts to familiarize yourself with him.

But then Alastor received a call from you in the hush of a Saturday night, one that would shift the trajectory of your lives and force them to converge in an unexpected manner. If he wasn’t indentured to your mother, he would have let the flimsy little flip phone he resigned himself to, to ring until the ambient noises of the bayou drowned it out.

“Why are you calling me at such an ungodly hour?”

“I need you. I need you right now.”

“You sound inebriated, so, I suggest you eat, drink some water, and head to bed.”

“I think someone spiked my drink! Please, Al, I tried calling ma’, but she’s not answering —”

“Where are you?”

You told Alastor that you were at a nightclub in the Entertainment district, one that the Vee’s unfortunately owned. He swore that he’d never set foot in any of their establishments after he and Vox parted ways, however, he had no choice but to swallow his pride and save you from the prick who had the audacity to spike your drink.

Luckily, doing so was rather easy.

He slaughtered the guy with minimal effort and whisked you away in his arms.

“That was hot, the way you killed that guy for me,” You said, your side glued to his as he led you down the empty streets of Hell. “Makes my pus —”

It was the long walk to Cannibal district that wound up being difficult.

No thanks to his broken staff, which your mother refused to mend since the duel against Adam.

You clung onto Alastor, the hot, scorching heat that emanated from you somehow burning him through his suit. He watched you from his periphery, ears twitching, trying to ignore the vulgar things that tumbled from your lips as he escorted you home. It was unlike you. Rosie had raised you to be better than that — well-mannered, deft, and cunning.

He had to constantly remind himself that you weren’t in your right mind.

And he did so until he was greeted by a random cannibal, relief settling in his bones.

But apparently, getting you home safe and unscathed wasn’t enough. You still needed his help, and it unfortunately involved satiating the ache that gnawed at your lower regions, his jaw clenched in irritation as you refused all his attempts to put you to bed. You kept getting up and following after him, pleading, begging him not to leave.

Even though he fancied you, sex with you was an entirely different topic, especially in your state.

“Please, you can’t leave me like this,” You whimpered, hands shakily gripping the lapels of his coat, blown pupils staring up at him.

“What do you expect me to do, exactly?” Alastor spoke through a tight grin and a flushed face, flustered and all sorts of displeased.

“Fuck me?” You suggested, batting your lashes at him, trying to tempt him.

Yes, he was in Hell, but that didn’t mean he discarded his morals altogether.

Alastor immediately pushed you away, your mattress rudely creaking as you fell back, a squeak seeping past your lips at the suddenness of the act. Before he could turn on his heel and take his leave, however, you reached out and snagged his wrist. Yes, you wanted him. You wanted him so, so bad, but right now, you needed him.

There was no attraction, no hint of infatuation behind your request, just pure, unbridled lust that kept building up with each passing second.

“Please, Al,” You begged, but he refused to look at you, his head fixed to the side. “I mean, what would ma’ do if she found out you denied me when I needed your help?”

If your mind wasn’t clouded by the love potion, you would have cowered at the way his neck snapped as he turned to glare at you.

“Are you threatening me?” Alastor started, the room growing dark with each word he spoke. “Is that how desperate you’ve become, that you’ve resorted to —”

“I don’t want you, goddamit, I need you!” You hissed loud enough to get your point across, but also low enough to avoid waking your sleeping mother.

The darkness that threatened to envelop your room retreated behind Alastor, allowing the dim, crimson rays from Hell’s moon filtering through your curtains to take over once more. He pulled his hand away from your grip, but you didn’t panic, his feet remaining planted to the ground. It seemed as if he was digesting your words.

Though considering them was another story.

“Well, I’m afraid that… you know,” Alastor redirected his gaze to the side, gesturing with his hand as he spoke, “is not within my professional boundaries.”

Your patience was running thin, the uncomfortable sensation in your core festering and growing, causing your clothes to feel prison-like.

“It can be if you’re just doing it to help me,” You groaned, hastily reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

You didn’t care anymore, about shame or decency or anything of that nature, even if you stopped caring for all those things the moment you sipped your drink and found out it had been spiked. You were flushed before, but now? A searing, painful heat was rapidly consuming your body, and all you wanted was to go back to feeling normal.

“Have you gone mad?” Alastor let out a scandalized bleat at the sight of your bare chest, eyes widening and heat sprawling across his sharp features. “Put your clothes back on, you!”

Thwack!

You carelessly tossed your shirt at him, the delicate fabric dangling off one of his antlers and unceremoniously draping over half of his face.

“I’ll make a deal with you, goddamnit!” You reached for your jeans now. “Fuck me and I’ll do whatever you want, okay? I don’t care! I just… I need you. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.”

Alastor stared down at you, his body still and unmoving, watching you unbutton your jeans and hastily kick them off, leaving you in only your panties. The thin, cotton fabric was drenched in your arousal, granting his eyes a generous outline of your cunt. What an obscene sight you made, his heart kickstarting, his slacks tightening.

You, daughter of the very person who owned his soul, Rosie.

Offering to make a deal with him, falling back onto the mattress and parting your knees, tempting him.

It was inappropriate, and so, so utterly unwise to accept your offer.

Satan knows what she’d do to him.

Your breath hitched in your throat as a singular finger fell over your mound, only to shamelessly drag down your slit, feeling just how much you yearned for him. You stared up at him through your lashes, chest heaving, cunt throbbing, anticipation swirling in your core as the pad of Alastor’s finger pressed against that sensitive little button.

“Is that a yes?” You breathed out, extending one of your hands to him, your fingers anxiously flexing.

Silence ensued.

And oh, was it deafening.

But eventually, Alastor offered you a nod, including a smile that was less taut and more genuine.

“We have a deal.”

So much for not relenting, but he removed your shirt from his face, tossing it aside before enveloping your smaller hand with his free one, firmly shaking it. He’d make a deal with anybody if it meant he could use them to his advantage, though making a deal with you was very different, and it was also simply too good to pass up.

Not that he would have you do anything malicious — no, not unless he had a death wish.

But he’d definitely figure out how to get your mother to address the wrongs she’d committed against him, like refusing to mend his broken staff.

He needed it, just as much as you needed him at the moment, his eyes following you as you sat up and seized his shoulders.

The sound of clothes being shed, of zippers and buttons being undone resonated throughout your room, mixing in with the occasional huffs and breathy moans you elicited at the sight of his bare skin. If you hadn’t lost your bearings and devolved into a desperate, wanton whore, you would have marveled at the scar across his chest.

But you didn’t, and despite the mounting apprehension that threatened to consume Alastor at the thought of partaking in such a vulnerable dance with you, he found relief in it. That you were too busy trying to satiate the ever growing ache in between your thighs, your arms finding his shoulders to pull him into you as you lay back.

“Fuck me already,” You pleaded against his cheek with a shaky gasp, his palms falling flat against either side of your head on the mattress.

He loomed over you, hard, tense, and a bit uneasy, but he managed to look impassive.

Again, he fancied you, though he couldn’t recall the last time he touched someone in such a way.

Not even rut season convinced him to find sexual relief in another’s arms.

“How would you like me to —” Alastor tried to ask, but apparently, your patience had run out, a bleat seeping past his lips.

The mattress rudely creaked as you pushed against Alastor, rolling him over onto his back, switching your positions with a strength he never knew you possessed. A wicked grin sprawled across your features, and though he wasn’t rather fond of how powerless he felt underneath you, he couldn’t help but be turned on by the act.

“You’re too fucking slow, old man,” You huffed, making him roll his eyes.

“Technically, you’re older than I am,” Alastor remarked, his ears falling back for a second. “I was born much later.”

“You died at an older age.”

You placed one hand on his stomach for balance, the other reaching down and wrapping around the base of his cock, no longer interested in idle chit chat. After all, you were eager to get fucked, to rid yourself of the hot, uncomfortable sensation simmering beneath your skin, especially before the morning snuck up on both of you.

Your mother was an early riser, and she had a habit of checking in on you in the morning.

At 7:30 A.M., to be precise.

And that’s what you kept in mind as you dragged the head of his cock through your folds, lathering him in your slick before piercing yourself on his length. Your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted in ecstasy, while Alastor let out a hiss, his hands seizing your hips, claws threatening to puncture your flesh with each inch your walls swallowed.

He was nothing short of overwhelmed, you were scorching hot, and he was unused to the sensation of being inside someone.

But you didn’t care, you couldn’t, not when you lacked the capacity to do so.

The love potion was doing exactly what it was intended to do, inducing feelings of pure, unbridled lust. Nothing more, nothing less. It was obvious in the way you lifted yourself from Alastor’s lap and slammed your hips back down to meet his, setting a pace that was quick and unforgiving. You didn’t even give yourself time to adjust to his size.

You just released his cock and placed a hand over his, intertwining your fingers, fucking yourself on him without any regard to his pleasure.

“Fuck, Al… f-fuck, please,” You cried out, making Alastor tense up. “Please, please, please!”

And certainly without any regard to the sort of noises you were making, high-pitched moans haphazardly tumbling from your mouth.

While he had little issue with you riding him to completion, he couldn’t risk you making further noise, not unless he wanted to wake up your mother. So, he lifted you off his cock and threw you onto your back, but you didn’t remain like that for long. Before you could utter a single syllable, he stood up and flipped you onto your stomach.

“Do you want your mother to know what her beloved daughter is doing?” Alastor hissed, settling one hand on your hip, the other on the back of your head.

“N-No,” You helplessly mewled.

“Well, it doesn’t seem as if so.”

Alastor buried his fingers in your hair and shoved your face into the mattress, not trusting you to remain quiet for the rest of the ordeal, however long it took. But you didn’t mind the position, your brows scrunching together and your eyes fluttering once more in ecstasy, feeling the head of his cock part your folds and sink back into your walls.

Even though the pace he set wasn’t as quick or unforgiving as the one you previously set, it didn’t feel any less good.

The head of his cock perfectly hit that sweet spot nestled deep within your walls, making you flutter around him.

You gripped the sheets, pushing back against his hips as he fucked you, the squelch of his length gliding in and out of your slick cunt replacing the sinful noises you elicited. And Alastor, well, he sunk his teeth into the inside of his cheek, suppressing the pathetic little groans that threatened to escape him, finding more pleasure in the pace he set.

His thrusts were brisk, sharp, and purposeful.

And with every kiss the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot, he drove you closer and closer to the edge — closer and closer to a sweet release from the love potion’s effects. Your muffled moans flooded the mattress in quick succession, your own thrusts growing sloppy and utterly desperate, walls tightening around his length.

“F-Fuck, Al,” You managed to turn your head to the side and mewl out, eyes fluttering open. “Please, touch me. Rub me. I’m s-so close.”

His eyes darted down, only to see your back arch and your legs part, showing him your swollen clit.

He slowed down, but only just a bit, releasing your hair and moving his hand down your back.

“As you wish,” Alastor said, but as his fingers found your clit, he leaned into your back and warned you. “But the moment you get too noisy, I will stop.”

You hastily nodded your head, eager to finish, to come undone around his cock.

“Good girl.”

You shoved your face back into the mattress and let out a filthy moan. And though it was a heavenly combination, feeling the head of Alastor’s cock abuse your sweet spot and two of his fingers rub your swollen clit in tandem with his thrusts, the way he drawled out that one, simple phrase was what ultimately sent you over the edge.

Your walls clamped down around him, pulsating and throbbing, signaling the end of your suffering and simultaneously milking him to his own.

He released you and collapsed on top of your smaller frame, his hips slack against yours, cock painting the inside of your walls with his spend.

Alastor felt your body slacken beneath him, your muscles relaxing, the temperature of your skin no longer feeling as hot as it used to be.

The two of you lay like that for a while, allowing the sound of your breaths and a silence that was far too deafening to settle between you. While he desperately wanted to leave, to retreat to the hotel and avoid you and your mother for as long as he could, he didn’t make a single move. He didn’t know what to say or do after he fucked you.

You, the one who offered to make a deal with him in exchange for a sweet release from a love potion.

You, the daughter of the very person who owned his soul, Rosie.

Would you tell her about it?

Alastor pulled his softening length out of your cunt and rolled off of you, landing on the empty space next to you, his chest heaving and his eyes finding the ceiling. The mattress softly creaked as you did the same, but instead of rolling away from him, you went towards him. He almost jumped at the feeling of your back meeting his side.

“I made a deal with you,” You whispered, breaking the silence between you.

His brows scrunched together.

He was perceptive, yes, but he couldn’t quite tell what you meant by that.

“Yes,” Alastor merely said. “Yes, you did.”

He felt your head shift against his shoulder, his eyes flitting down to see what you were up to.

You craned your neck to stare up at him.

“And what do you… intend on doing with that, exactly?” You asked him in earnest.

He hummed, the filter in his voice crackling and popping. You found it to be rather soothing.

“Nothing malicious, I suppose.”

You snorted, making him relax.

“What do you mean you suppose?”

“Well, my staff is still broken.”

“Wow, okay. Now I understand why you walked me back home,” You chuckled dryly. “And here I thought you actually enjoyed my presence.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“So, you do?”

A bout of silence ensued.

The dim, crimson rays of Hell’s moon had become more bright and revitalizing by then, alerting the two of you that the morning was steadily encroaching. Still, you didn’t rush to kick Alastor out of your room, sitting up on the bed and locating the clock in your room, only to check exactly how much time you had left till your mother woke up.

It was 5:23 A.M., perfect.

“Okay, I’ll convince her to fix your staff,” You said, standing up and staring down at him, still nude. “If that’s what you’re implying you wanted.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Alastor mused, a big, toothy grin sprawling across his features.

You returned his grin, but yours was more devilish, conniving, even.

“You can’t ask for anything else, I fulfilled my end of the deal,” Alastor arched a brow at you.

“I know,” You shrugged. “However, if you want me to tell her a… well, a fabricated version of what transpired between us in order to convince her to fix your staff, I want you to take me out on a date.”

He blinked, slowly, almost like a cat would.

Now, there was the you he recognized. Deft and cunning.

Alastor knew that there was no need to acquiesce to such terms, considering that you had to fulfill your end of the deal anyway, but he still nodded his head. He supposed that there was no harm in taking you out, especially after the intimate moment he shared with you… including the guilt he felt for making a deal with you while intoxicated.

A large part of him also didn’t want Rosie to know.

“Very well, then,” He pretended to sigh in resignation. “You shall have your date, ma chérie.”

“Good, now get out of my room.”