zxmbi

The room is filled with the pretty sounds that you make. Moaning his name and begging him so sweetly for more. It’s wonderful. Tord had long cleared his desk of important papers and Tom cleared any meetings he had, so he could keep you here like this for as long as he wanted to.

And he’ll keep you there for quite a while. You just look so beautiful taking his cock like this. With your legs wrapped around him and your hands pinned down by his own. Your eyes dart from him to Tom every once and a while and he loves how your cunt flutters around him. Tord knows you're hoping he’ll join the two of you, knows that’s why you grow wetter as you think about both of your boyfriends stuffing your cute little hole with their cocks.

But not right now, sadly. As much as Tord would love to sit back in his seat, with you nestled on his cock and Tom pressing his chest against your back and rubbing his cock against Tord’s, he preferred taking you against his desk today. With the way Tom’s visor keeps flickering to gooey hearts, Tord knows their boyfriend doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s recording this.

Which is more than fine. The thought of watching his cock sink into your gushing pussy spurs him into thrusting faster and harder into you. He can’t wait to see how he stretches your lips, how your clit peeks out and rubs against him when he presses against you. How when after he fills you, his cum glistens and drips out of you.

Tord wants you to cum already so bad that it’s almost maddening. He wants to give Tom a show and make you rely on the two of them to walk. So he releases one of your hands to toy with your clit. You keen and cry as he presses hard, rubbing tight circles.

“Don’t you want to show Tom how good I’m making you feel?” he grunts, leaning down to press a trail of kisses down your neck. “C’mon, tell him how my cock makes your pussy all drippy. How your needly little hole sucks me in.”

He almost smiles as he hears Tom inhale sharply.

“My pussy feels so good!” you cry out. “Wanna cum, wanna be Tord’s- mhnm- wanna be his cumdump!!”

Tord lets go of your other hand to grab your waist and hold you down as he plows your hole. You’re so close and so is he. He never lets up on rubbing your clit and he can tell it’s too much. You clench around him like a vice, throwing your head back to scream. He almost finishes right there. Almost gushes his hot seed inside you. The face you make is something straight out of one of his hentai magazines.

Your cries to Tom ring through his head. His cumdump, huh? He’ll gladly give you what you want. He’ll keep you here, with your back pressed against his desk, until your tummy is filled with his cum. There’s absolutely no way that you’re leaving his office today without his cum oozing from your cunt.

His thrusts grow sloppy, a little less deep, and he pauses as his cock gushes his cum inside you. You whine and writhe, trying to get away from his hand still playing with your clit. Hm. Too bad, Tord wants to see more of those pretty faces and unluckily for you, his metal fingers won’t grow tired of rolling your clit between them.

“You recorded that, right Tom?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom says hoarsely. “Got lots of nice closeups too.”

Tord’s pen scratches on the surface of the document, making fine lines as he signs off on another mission report. His unoccupied hand flexes at your waist, and you do your best to not utter a peep. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes closed with the strain of not moving as you sit on his lap. Tord moves slightly in his chair and you bite your lip as a whimper threatens to spill from your throat. His cock is hard and thick inside you, pulsing and kissing every inch of your walls which quiver around him with the effort not to move. How desperately you want to fuck yourself on him, bounce on his cock until your body is filled with only the sensation of him and his love.

Tord appears outwardly unaffected. You don’t dare turn around in case you break his firm ‘suggestion’ that you stay very still and be very good. “The reward will be great, skatten min,” he had murmured hotly in your ear when you arrived in his office that morning.

Easier said than done. Your thighs are burning, the position becoming uncomfortable and the sensation of being filled so deeply and not able to do anything about it driving you mad. His thighs twitch underneath you, just a small movement, but it’s enough to send fireworks up your spine.

Tord’s breathing changes, just so, little puffs of air in your ear although his pen never falters as he moves from paper to paper. You shift slightly, just to relieve some pressure, and the man grunts. Otherwise, he says nothing, and your eyes narrow in interest. You flex your pussy, squeezing his cock, and you hear his breath catch.

“Kjære,” his low voice warns, dark and almost breathless.

You return to your almost statue-like position, although you’re smiling, and you finally let out a little moan, soft and begging. Tord’s pen drops and his arms lock around your waist, a hand splayed on your stomach as he drags you with him, his back pressed hard into his chair as his hips dig into yours. He’s cumming, panting growls spilling from his lips as he fills you, and you keen, the feeling nearly overwhelming you. Tord holds onto you with a nearly vice-like grip, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm, little circling thrusts hitting you in all the right places and pushing his seed deeper inside as if to brand you with it.

Finally he stills, and you rest against his chest, both of you breathing heavily. You feel Tord drop a kiss to your neck before he adjusts you both. He hisses with overstimulation, yet doesn’t remove you from his lap, content to pick his pen back up and continue working. You sit a little stunned, feeling Tord’s cum slide down your thighs and onto his, although the man doesn’t make a move other than to grab another document.

You go to speak and he shushes you gently, pressing another kiss to your cheek. The thumb of the hand at your waist rubs at the skin of your lower belly. “Be my god soldat,” he says.

Carefully, so as to not rouse you from your sleep, Alastor shimmied out of his trousers slowly. His undergarments followed suit, ditched atop the heap of fabric on the floor.

With a hushed hiss escaping him, his tip met with the coolness of the room's air. Already his cock was weeping beads of precum—the pearlescent liquid trailing its way down his hardened length.

Oh, if only you knew the effect you had on him even when blissfully unaware, lips pursed and brow slightly furrowed as you dreamt away, your concentration clearly stolen elsewhere in a place he couldn't quite reach.

A minuscule, sleepy groan passed your lips unbidden just then. How adorable.

Alastor set about rearranging you almost as if you were a fragile doll made of the finest china, deliberately moving you until you were no longer in a curled up position.

Once he had laid you out carefully upon the bed, your sheer babydoll nightgown had ridden up, exposing your cotton panties that now unabashedly peeked out. It was an all-too-tantalizing sight; one that made his cock twitch with renewed intrigue. He ghosted his knuckles down your clothed slit, a voracious hunger in his eyes as he felt the way your entrance tightened reflexively at his featherlight touch. Almost knowingly. Almost as if it was imploring the monster to come inside and make a home for himself.

"Ma belle, the things you do to me," he whispered into the silence of the night that promised to keep his sins a secret—even the one he was about to commit—voice low and gravelly with desire that pooled deep into his gut.

He was now sat back on his haunches at the foot of the bed, head tilted to the side, looking every part the predator assessing his prey. Alastor openly admired you in all your relaxed glory for just a moment longer. So tranquil you were, still unaware of the unholiness he would soon devote in your name…

With startling ease, he then used his claws to slice cleanly through the pure cotton, the noise of it ripping the only other sound aside from your steady breathing and his more laborious breaths.

His breath almost caught in his throat at how your cunt was now presented bare before him. Alastor nearly cooed out loud at how you squirmed in your restful state, your body recognizing what had just happened while your mind remained obliviously caught in whatever scene your subconscious was playing for you.

Alastor wondered what you were dreaming of. Was it something from your past that you had not yet revealed to him? Your present, instead? Or perhaps your future—one where you undeniably and wholeheartedly belonged to him?

No matter what it was, the demon would see to it that he'd seep into the cracks of your dreams himself, especially if it meant bringing this saccharine cunt—and the rest of you—into his possession.

Positioning his mouth over your exposed clit, he gave it a quick and chaste kiss before nudging his tongue almost tentatively between your folds, your heady scent now more intense as it intoxicated him. At the slightest taste of you, a small groan emanated from deep within his chest while his eyes rolled back into his skull; you tasted every bit as divine as you looked.

Crimson eyes flickered upward towards your countenance that remained serene despite his ministrations. You were still so adorably oblivious to everything surrounding you.

"Bon appétit, ma chère," whispered Alastor as he gently spread your legs open and held them down with a possessive grip. Without further preamble, he delved his tongue once more betwixt your lower lips, the flesh there beginning to moisten with your essence as he earnestly ate you out like you were his last meal. Obscene slurping noises accompanied the way he undulated his tongue without shame—the muscle swirled around your clit a few times, then side-to-side, before it would go on to be joined with his lips as he suckled at the nub.

In doing so, you subconsciously jerked in his hold, brows furrowing as little gasps left you. His ears flicked in interest at the sound, but his focus did not stray from suctioning the pearl nestled at the apex of your thighs. After a few more seconds, his tongue traveled down towards your slick entrance before sliding inside. The appendage elongated within you slowly; its tip brushed against your cervix before retracting to roll up and down the walls of your inner canal, searching for the spot he knew would make your toes curl in your sleep.

Once he had found what he sought—evident by your increased squirming and soft whines rising in volume—he ensured all his attention would not leave it untouched. By now, you were lightly thrashing at the stimulation, yet he kept his attention fixated on it; his claws applied more pressure to your plush skin, effectively keeping your moving thighs from closing and clamping around his head.

Still fast asleep, your orgasm crashed down upon you, his tongue relentless as he wrung every last second of it out of you. With a satisfied grunt, Alastor pulled back from your drooling cunt—the motion causing a string of his saliva to stretch between his mouth and your labia.

He took a moment to admire the lewd display you unknowingly offered him while you sleepily murmured, your mind tarrying elsewhere.

You looked to be in a state of absolute ruination without even being aware of it. Your hair was tousled, sweat beaded along the alluring curve of your throat, and your expression had settled back into one of undisturbed blankness. At the sight, Alastor felt his cock become impossibly harder.

Well, now with you being sufficiently prepared…

The demon pushed your thighs to the sides of your head, their backs pressing into the pillow that your head rested against. One hand then guided his dripping length into your heat. The moment he felt himself encompassed entirely by you, he groaned out your name. It took him a fair amount of restraint to avoid cumming into you right then and there—yet his smile only widened.

He was going to make sure you felt him even in your dreams, even if they didn't involve him.

It was a languid pace he set, his hips lazily thrusting into you as he fondly looked down at your placid visage, gaze searching for any potential signs of stirring. When he found none, he began to piston into you with more purpose, but not with enough force to wake you.

Plap, plap, plap—the sound of his pelvis striking the backs of your thighs filled the room, which was now thick with the aroma of sex. His breathing became more ragged.

"Yes, take all of me," Alastor murmured though you could not hear him.

Your pussy continued to welcome him, squelching as your hole greedily accepted each and every thrust.

The beginnings of perspiration gathered on his pallid skin, yet this did nothing to deter him from chasing his release by using your pliable body. With each plunge into you, the bed creaked beneath the force; its noisiness joined the cacophony that was his breathing and the pleasured, tiny whimpers he elicited from you.

His once measured thrusts were gradually becoming more erratic, and the tension within his gut was growing more and more taut the longer his eyes drank in your disheveled form taking him so well, so obediently, so dutifully.

A low, condescending croon came from him. "You love it when I fuck you like this, don't you, my little sleepy doe? You're doing so well for me… Oh, yes you are!"

Your brow was set once more, and he would've thought you had heard him and responded by the way you softly whined next, if it weren't for how your eyes remained shut and your breathing stayed level.

"Hush now," the demon said in a subdued tone, as if placating a fussy child. "You are safe with me…"

His precum and your fluids coalesced into a shallow puddle, the combination dripping out of you onto the once-pristine bedsheets. He paid it no mind as he threw your legs over his shoulders and leaned in closer, forearms caging you in as his lips grazed your temple tenderly—or with as much tenderness as a monster like him could muster.

"You're mine."

The pleasure winding around his core tighter and tighter finally snapped in tandem with his equanimity. A guttural groan tore from him as his balls drew up before his hot, white cum was pumped into you. Alastor's hips stuttered, the last of his composure breaking.

"There we go," he cooed breathlessly, giving you a few final lazy thrusts, his spend thoroughly painting your inner canal. It was a claim upon your body that you would barely remember.

Finally, he pulled his cock out from your warmth, and a gasp nearly escaped him. His cum dribbled out of you, mingling with the mess beneath your ass; a view that was enough to make any man erect again. He gathered what leaked from you on one fingertip, privately deeming it an ungrateful waste, then pressed it back inside.

Delicately, Alastor returned you to your former position. He then rose and stepped back from the bed to admire his handiwork while retrieving the clothing he had discarded across the floorboards.

To anyone else, you remained the picture of innocence. Alastor knew better—or fancied that he did.

you try to think of a way to explain yourself but the words come up empty. too much of a good thing—it's supposed to be a gathering for overlords in carmilla's own halls, you shouldn't be there in the first place. not like it matters, now.

chewing your lip, you go doe-eyed. try to suck up to him to see if he'll yield.

"i wasn't trying to annoy you," you mutter, albeit quietly.

"no?" alastor's brows lift. "could've fooled me."

there is something unbearable about the way alastor looks at you sometimes.—focused entirely on you, instead of the meeting, instead of the other overlords, instead of your father. like he sees every humiliating thought crossing your mind and chooses to indulge on each one.

( you wonder if that's what your dad likes about him too )

"you were being troublesome tonight. distracting me during business? in front of your father, no less," he says. his eyes narrow with amusement. "one would think you wanted attention."

alastor leans down until his nose nudges against your jaw, inhaling the scent of your skin and perfume. his teeth nip at your pulse point, sucking a hickey into it hard. you lean back against the door, tilting your chin up to give him room.

"i mean," you swallow the blood pooling in your mouth and try not to keen like an animal, "it worked, didn't it?"

he sighs like he's exasperated as he kisses down the column of your throat. you hate how much you enjoy getting under alastor's skin. more accurately—you hate how much you enjoy the moments where it seems like you actually can.

he's slow even though he doesn't bother in removing your top completely, just enogh to show skin— you know by now that he doesn't touch you more than he has to, so instead alastor takes one bud between his incisors and tugs gently, flicking against the sensitive skin over the fabric until you gasp.

"honestly," alastor whispers against your skin. you feel your legs almost give out. a trail of arousal drips down between your thighs, reaches past even the edge of the dress. "you and vox are remarkably alike,"

you frown immediately. "i'm not like my dad."

alastor hums, like he's entertaining a child trying to lie badly. "both of you desperately crave attention and become insufferable when ignored. the resemblance is rather striking."

"that's not—"

alastor decides to print another hickey onto you in that moment. a few on your breasts, on your sternum, on your navel. in places they don't need to be. you feel a bite mark on your tits that makes your jaw fall open. alastor makes sure to lap at your wounds each time he leaves them.

"and neither of you knows when to quit."

shaky legs, shame slanting your neck. you can't argue with alastor even if you wanted to. he always sounds composed, perfectly entertained, while you feel every reaction written plainly across your face for him to inspect. you are so in love with him that you notice all of this, take a snapshot in your head, lock it up behind your ribs to study later.

"maybe i like the attention."

"and here i thought that picturebox spoiled you." his smile softens by a fraction at whatever expression crosses your face.

you whimper. "he barely notices when i'm there."

alastor laughs outright as he puts a hand between your thighs after a while of biting, your dress riding up until it's bunched at your waist. his fingers press against the soaked lace of your panties, middle finger padding against your clit over the material. you inhale soft, breaking off into a gasp when you feel him push against you harder. you hold on his arm.

"oh, that explains everything." the patronizing warmth in his tone makes your chest ache. he taps your cheek twice with his other hand, condescendingly affectionate. "you poor thing."

you glare at him, ashamed by how gentle that sounds coming from him of all people. you can never tell what's real with him. whether he likes this because it entertains him, because it flatters his ego, or simply because he enjoys seeing you unravel so easily beneath his attention.

you hold onto alastors forearms, legs trembling as your calves brace— the minimal space making it hard to stand. you feel alastors fingers at your entrance. his middle finger slips inside of your pussy with ease, and you press your face into his shoulder, leaning into him for support while he stretches you open.

he works himself inside of you slowly but still impatiently. eagerly searching for your sweet spot and finding it easily. his fingers are thinner, but long— reach deeper than you could on your own. he fucks himself into you down to the knuckle, humming as you clench down around the digit in arousal.

"goodness, you truly did inherit his worst habits, didn't you?" his voice makes the room feel hot. a chill crawls up your spine. "neediness runs in the family, apparently."

"no, no. i'm not—"

"mm." he cuts you off gently, in that awful, honeyed way of his. "don't fib to me, darling. it's unbecoming."

alastor curls fingers into your gspot, touching you deeply before he adds another finger and stretches you out as he scissors them. he gives you little time to adjust, not as much as he would on another day. thinking of the slight ache only arouses you further.

"i said i'm not—needy," you know you are, right now especially, it feels like the only thing that'll calm you down. your core is throbbing, hips rutting into the air and chasing friction.

alastor works you open until your pussy grows wetter, stickier from arousal—the sound filthy as he pumps them in and out of you with no intent other then working you up. his name passes your lips as a whine this time, a plea as your body tenses up, and then he suddenly stops.

"then why are you here?"

because he looked at you once. because he keeps looking at you. because every time he praises you it feels like sunlight, and every time he cuts you down you spend days thinking about it afterward. you say none of that.

you bite down on your lip trying to hold it in. you feel so fucking empty. it's awful. you're so wet and slick and needy, but you're so, so empty. something deep in your core is burning molten, your legs trembling. you want more then this. your body is begging for it.

you mutter weakly, "please,"

alastor's smile grows knowingly anyway. "thought so."

you look at him, lips drawn into a pout. you imagine him in long, sticky afternoons that belong to some universe where making alastor feel good is the same as being good to him. too bad you're stuck in this universe—the one where it would be nicest to walk out on him. never see him again.

( you're selfish, though, so you don't disappear. you remain, but only at a distance, even though it's his least favorite place to keep you. )

alastor wordlessly pulls away from you, spinning you around effortlessly until you're facing the door and pressing your weight against it. it doesn't take long before you hear the sound of a zipper, followed by something hard heavy pressed against your ass. alastor puts his hand on top of yours, interlocking your fingers. his other hand holds onto your hips, pulling you.

"i had hoped you possessed at least a shred of shame." he tsks quietly. "what am i going to do with you, hm?"

your head feels hazy at his tone of voice. half-way between amusement and mocking. "w-wait—"

“none of that. you took me so well last time, i'm sure you can do it again.”

alastor eases his cock into you without any warning. you find your waist going weak— only being held up by him as he stretches your cunt, tight hole yielding to him easily, familiar with the shape and taste of it. you whine as you push yourself onto him further, itching to take him completely— aching from somewhere deep.

a moan is punched out of your lungs. satisfaction and pleasure makes a mess of your nerves, your thighs trembling from effort as you lean on the door for support. he's not even all the way in, but you're sensitive - so worked up youhave to make effort to breathe around the pleasure.

"you ought to be more careful, darling. someone might take advantage of all this attention-seeking behavior," he says softly. he fucks into you deeper in one hard thrust, nearly dropping you to your knees. his name comes out like a cry, "but you wouldn't mind that much, would you?"

you moan his name feeling especially helpless to it. your mind feels completely blank, you're barely able to respond to his taunting. all you can feel is white-hot pleasure, heart pounding. the euphoric drag of the head through silken walls, the sticky warmth and skin on skin. how close he is, how deep. your voice no longer something you can control.

"you're being so loud now. do you suppose dear vox would think if he hears his little girl like this?" alastor presses. you feel your pussy tighten at the thought. anyone could walk by and hear exactly how you sound sheathed on his cock. the desperation in your voice. "embarrassed? oh, perhaps heartbroken."

that's the terrible part, isn't it. your father laughs with him. invites him into your home. talks about him with that sharp-edged admiration. you've caught the lingering looks before, the strange tension. and meanwhile you're here.

( something borrowed. something stolen. )

you feel incoherent. "he'd be furious,"

"mm. likely homicidal," his hand comes around your throat, the other around your waist as fingers brush against your clit. "i'll make up for it, you are much prettier when you stop trying so hard to misbehave, after all," he punctuates, bottoming out completely. your mind feels like it's on the precipice of breaking, hung over the knifes edge of pleasure.

your body jolts at the touch. loud moans echoing in your room as alastor voice brushes your ear, breath tickling your skin.

"allie, close, getting close, gonna cum—"

"where the hell did she go?"

your entire body tenses. from down the hall, muffled voices drone on—you believe zestial is talking, and of course, the occasional buzz of vox's irritated voice bleeding through the walls. close enough to hear if either of you raised your voice. but not enough to stop the awful little flutter in your stomach.

"oh dear," he murmurs, and he sounds delighted by it. "sounds as though daddy's looking for you."

but alastor doesn't stop. the hand on your throat remains steady as his fingers rub your clit. his teeth are sunk into your shoulder, leaving a bite deep enough to sting as your vision starts to blur out. bleary and needy.

alastor sounds wrecked despite himself. his breath tickles your shoulder blade, mouth pressing hot kisses up the side of your neck.

"shall i let you go?" alastor iterates, so aggravating.

asshole. "no."

following him is easy. you know how to wether the terrible mechanism, how to endure the tug of the fishhook he has in your guts without ever tripping over the line and swallowing him whole. you and alastor exist somewhere between these two categories: side by side, but not together. not quite.

you bite your tongue as alastor thrusts his hips again. you rock with the gesture, pure euphoria causing you to tremble. the knot in your belly unwinds as you repeat yourself frantically. getting closer and closer, your whole body broken out into tremors. your shoulders are shaking.

it feels impossibly good. he focuses all of his energy into fucking you hard. deep and fast, tip kissing your cervix on each pass with a perfect curve. you choke a little on your moans, warmth flushing down your chest as you hold on.

he's not slow but not fast, just perfect - the head of his cock rubbing against the spot inside of you that makes you see heaven. it feels like you can't stop cumming, not sure where he ends and you start.

"mm," he hums. "you truly are vox's daughter."

It felt like it had been longer than you expected since Lucifer left, but you couldn’t be too sure. You’d definitely felt Lucifer’s cum slowly dripping from you, and you had whimpered sadly at the thought of disobeying the order from the King. Then at long last, someone appeared in the room. And appeared was the correct word, for the door did not open. A figure simply materialized in the room, and you watched as infamous cannibal overlord, Alastor the Radio Demon, took in his surroundings, and then the signal began scrambling as he noticed the camera’s presence, turning the picture fuzzy and impossible to interpret.

“Well hello! My, what an interesting setup! Convenient, too - all the avenues for sexual release with none of those silly things like eye contact or emotions.” He flipped the wall switch as he approached you and the vibrator lifted away. “Dear oh dear, such a filthy little thing. Already well used but still waiting for more. And you’re shaking like a leaf, ma chère. Don’t tell me that your other guests have been too selfish to give you adequate pleasure?” Alastor’s fingertips trailed up one of your thighs and you whined around your gag. Alastor sighed and tutted. “How terribly rude. We’ll do this my way instead, hm? First of all…”

Suddenly, several tendrils of shadow appeared in the enclosed room with you, and you squirmed in panic, letting out a squeak.

“Oh don’t worry, my dear. I’m not violating the rules of the establishment. I’m simply providing some… additional dimensions to this little arrangement.”

One tendril unlatched the gag from your mouth and pulled it free and you almost managed to speak, but before you could, the tendril grew thicker and snaked its way into your mouth in the gag’s place. Your sound of surprise was muffled beautifully by the new sensation of the tendril thrusting shallowly into your mouth. The other tendrils snaked their way around both your exposed breasts and started teasing at your peaked nipples, flicking and pinching, and you squealed in pleasure as the larger tendril fucked your throat.

“There now, doesn’t that help? Doesn’t that make you feel better? Now… let’s see about what I can do from this side, shall we?”

Alastor’s hands were warm and firm on your thighs and for a split second you felt hot breath on your swollen, abused cunt before Alastor’s tongue pressed against your aching clit, making you cry out around the tendril in your mouth.

“Oh, how very cruel your past visitors have been, ma chère. A light breeze at the correct angle could drive you over the edge and yet they still left you wanting. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that.”

Alastor’s tongue dipped lower and licked into your soaked, sensitive entrance, eliciting more wrecked, muffled moans and cries from you. He slowly worked you open with his tongue before sliding back up to your clit as he pressed two fingers into your pussy, all while his tendrils continued to work your nipples and fuck into your mouth respectively.

“You’re doing so well. I can feel you already building up. It’s all right. You may finish whenever you feel it happening. You can let go.”

When Alastor finished speaking, he latched his lips around your clit and sucked on it, as his fingers curled in your cunt and caught your g-spot perfectly, and that was it. You were gone, body practically shaking apart under the ministrations of the Radio Demon, screaming in ecstasy around the tendril in your mouth as your pussy spasmed and clenched. As you floated down from the peak, body still trembling with aftershocks, Alastor pulled his hand and mouth away from you.

“Oh, you did such a good job, my dear. So very good. Now you’re all wet for me, on my terms. Nobody else is the reason you’re going to envelop my cock nice and smoothly in your tight little pussy. Just me.”

The shadow tendril in your mouth did not let up, still fucking into you lazily, and you moaned around it as Alastor talked so dominantly. Moments later, you felt his cock sliding into you, and you made another noise of pleasure as he filled you. It felt like Alastor was taking you over, possessing more than anyone else was permitted to have.

“Yessss, oh that feels good. That’s my little pet, serving me so well. Now let’s see…”

Suddenly something was working your asshole open, and you recognised the sensation as another shadow tendril, and you wailed around the one in your mouth as the new one pressed its way inside your ass little by little. Alastor continued thrusting hard and deep into your cunt, the pleasure opening you up as the tendril began matching his rhythm in and out of your asshole.

“There we go, ma chère. Now I’m everywhere. Do you feel it? Feel me taking ownership of you, claiming you? You may be left here all hours of the day for other people to use, but nothing else is going to feel like this. This is what it feels like to submit to the Radio Demon. Now…”

Another shadow tendril suddenly wrapped itself around your neck and you gasped around the one in your mouth, choking suddenly as the combined sensations triggered your gag reflex.

“Hold still for me while I mark my territory, little pet.”

And with that, Alastor was spilling into you, thick ropes of cum that shot into your used, stretched pussy, filling you up once more. You whimpered and sobbed around the shadows as they held you and filled your mouth, until finally Alastor was spent, and everything disappeared at once. He pulled out of your cunt, and every shadow left your body, except one that quickly re-secured the other gag into your mouth before also vanishing. You felt punishingly empty, and somehow still unfulfilled even after being given release yourself. Your pussy and your asshole twitched around nothing, and you heard Alastor let out a low laugh.

“Oh yes, I know. You were so full and I took it all away. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. This was… incredibly entertaining, my dear. Try not to miss me too much while you’re getting used by everyone else, hm?”

And with a rushing sound, everything went quiet. Alastor was gone, and he hadn’t even put your vibrator back. You let out an agonised whimper as you laid there, feeling nothing but the air of the room against your wet, wanting pussy, as you awaited another guest.

[Masterpost] ~ [First]~ [Previous] ~ [Next]

Taglist; @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @fandomgoddes05 @mysticwitchcraftco

who should be our next visitor?

You didn’t know how long you laid there, Vox’s spend dripping from both your holes, vibrator barely keeping you stimulated, but a while later, you heard voices outside again, and then the door opened. If you hadn’t been bound and gagged, your jaw would have dropped open. Because standing there in the doorway was none other than Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell himself.

Unlike Vox, Lucifer clearly didn’t know exactly how he wanted to proceed. He stood rooted to the spot at the edge of the room. When you listened closely, you could hear him muttering to himself, and he hadn’t even looked up.

“Okay, Lucifer, you can do this. It’s just sex! You’ve been too wound up lately, it’s only logical, no strings attached, just a quick fuck and then bam! Situation resolved, no more distractions, business as usual…”

Finally, you saw him look around the room.

“Oh, fuck…” he murmured. “What a mess, darling. Been waiting long for another visitor?”

Lucifer glanced across to the switch on the wall and reached over, flipping it experimentally. The vibrator retreated and you whined at the loss.

“Hm. No, that won’t do. Let’s put that back.”

He reversed his action and the vibrations returned, and you hummed in surprise and pleasure as the vibrator teased your clit oh-so barely.

“Better.” you heard Lucifer say as he disappeared from the camera feed, heading towards you. “Let’s see that pussy beg to be filled. You look so very empty, all spread out like that. Wet and wanting, only able to take what you’re given. I’d be willing to bet nobody’s let you cum yet, have they?”

You whimpered around your gag, feeling your cunt clenching around nothing as the vibrator’s agonisingly slow, distant buzz kept you ready but unsatisfied.

“Be good for me, and I might. But no getting there without my permission, ok?”

With that, you felt two slender fingers teasing at your entrance, gliding through the slickness of your own fluids and anything still left from Vox.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. I could just slide my cock in like it was nothing. And I’m not small, darling.” Lucifer let out a low laugh. “But I don’t think it’s fair to get right to the main event. You’ll get plenty of that from these other degenerate sinners.”

Lucifer’s fingers slid smoothly into your cunt, and you moaned around your gag as he curled them towards the hidden spot in your walls.

“Oh, there we go, isn’t that nice? Good girl. Such a pretty little pussy, dripping wet and so eager to be filled. Sucking my fingers in like it’s the best thing it’s had in forever. God I’m rock hard thinking about how it’ll feel around my cock.”

You felt a bulge hidden by fabric grind up against your thigh and moaned softly.

“Yeah? Feel how much my cock wants to be inside you? I can tell that’s what you need too. You’re gripping my fingers so tight, but I bet you can hardly feel them. You need something bigger, huh?”

You heard the sound of a belt unbuckling slowly, Lucifer working one handed as his fingers still teased at your g-spot. As a zipper was pulled down, Lucifer groaned, and you felt his cock rest heavily on your thigh. He wasn’t kidding; he was huge, you could feel it. You whined in anticipation at the thought of it inside you and began visibly trembling with arousal.

“Mmm… I warned you, didn’t I? But you seem like you’re ready for the challenge. Remember, no cumming unless I say so, can you do that?”

You moaned again, and Lucifer accepted that as confirmation, withdrawing his fingers and trailing his cock down to your folds, dragging it through the mess of fluids that awaited him. You heard a faint sucking sound, and twitched with pleasure as you realised Lucifer was tasting you on his fingers.

“Mmm, are you sure you’re a sinner? Because you taste fucking divine, darling.” He chuckled to himself, before fully lining himself up and thrusting once, his cock gliding into you with shocking ease, filling you deeper than you thought possible. You squealed around the gag and your whole body shuddered. Lucifer immediately began thrusting in earnest, pounding deep into you at a punishing pace.

“Oh, beautiful. So tight around my big cock. Fuck, I’m practically in your little womb, I can feel it. Good thing I can’t impregnate you, huh? Although… maybe you’d like that?”

You clenched around Lucifer’s cock at that, whimpering pathetically.

“Oh, you would, would you? You want the motherfuckin’ King of Hell to pump you full of babies, is that it? Want to lay there unable to resist while I fucking breed you? Shit- want me to stuff you full of my fucking cum and- fuck, fucking fill you to the brim, get you so full that I defy the fucking laws of the afterlife? Fuck, fuck, here it goes then, darling, gonna give it to you, FUCK!”

Lucifer practically exploded into you, his cum spurting deep inside and only getting fucked deeper as he thrust his way through his orgasm, moaning and gasping with every millimeter of movement.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Lucifer chanted, his cock still bullying up into you as he crested the peak of ecstasy and slowly came down from the high. He very slowly pulled out of you, and your pussy spasmed at the loss, making you let out a mournful whine.

“Oh, darling, I know. I know I was supposed to let you cum, but that was before I knew you wanted to be bred. I can’t risk letting any of my precious seed slip out if I give you release, now can I?” Lucifer patted your wrecked, sensitive pussy and you squeaked. “So clench up real nice for me, ok? Maybe you’ll have enough time before another visitor for it to take, but if not…”

Lucifer came back into view on the camera feed above you, looking almost artfully disheveled and smirking from ear to ear.

“… I can always come back to try again.”

And with that, he was gone, and you were empty and alone once more, waiting for your next guest.

[Masterpost] ~ [Previous] ~ [Next]

Taglist; @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx

who should be our next visitor?

What was a girl like you doing all alone in the woods before sunset?

No one could truly explain that, you adored wandering at this hour.

Your skin glimmered in the sunlight that bathed it in gold, your hair shining brightly and fiercely as the sunlight danced on the water.

Your youth was evident, with a soft and flawless face, sharp eyes, and a warm, full smile. You had long since removed your boots, tossing them onto the soil beside the tree that towered over the river, swaying gently as the warm breeze played with its branches.

You lifted your dress slightly, walking close to the water as it caressed your bare feet, compared to the heat, this felt like paradise.

You held onto your white dress, wading further in until the water reached almost to your knees. It wasn’t a deep river, but it was enough to be a nuisance for you and those who had to cross it every annoying morning.

Your voice was soft, sweet, and melodic, humming a tune you had heard only once or twice in your life, your feet gliding over the rocks beneath as you watched frogs leap and bound in front of you, even though the sun made it hard to see.

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention, and you turned around sharply, squinting as your heartbeat raced, it felt as if someone was watching you..

Clutching your dress tighter, you quickly turned your gaze toward the sound..

Frightened, you began scanning your surroundings until you heard the rustling of leaves..

A deer appeared, its body adorned with leaves and branches, occasionally wagging its tail before it made its way to the river for a drink.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, sighing as you approached it cautiously, trying not to startle it, eager for a closer look. You could sense it was just as frightened as you, as innocent and naive as you.

When it lifted its head, you flinched, stepping back slightly before losing your balance on a large rock, ultimately falling into the water and sending it scampering away.

"Fuck! Hold on! No..!" You muttered under your breath, as if the deer could hear you..

You were soaked, still perched in the water as your white dress danced with the ripples, your hair slightly damp as well. It clung to your sweaty, wet form as you struggled to rise.

Then.. you heard that familiar rustle of leaves and branches again, but this time, you didn’t bother to look back, assuming it was just that same old deer with those impressive antlers you had spotted moments earlier.

Once you managed to stand, you attempted to wring out the excess water from your dress, squeezing your chest and wrinkling the fabric as water dripped back into the river once again.

That was until something truly caught your attention.

A guy was standing on the opposite side of the lake, his gaze fixed on you as your eyes met, pausing in a mix of curiosity and fear.

The sun was shining, low in the sky, melting into that warm golden hour glow that made everything feel softer, slower, almost dreamlike. It illuminated your skin even more boldly now, accentuating the curves of your body, the droplets on your skin evaporating and being replaced by the humidity.

The dress clung to your stomach and chest, highlighting the prominent hills that rested there.

He stood beneath the light as well, the rays cascading over him gently, settling into the richness of his dark skin and transforming it into something warm and radiant rather than harsh or defined. It was a subtle kind of glow, as if the sun had chosen to linger on him a bit longer than on everything else.

His brown curls fell in soft, loose waves, slightly tousled in the most effortless manner, leaning more heavily to one side of his face.

Every so often, a strand caught the light and turned briefly golden before slipping back into shadow.

He wore glasses that softened his expression even further, the lenses glimmering faintly whenever he moved, as if they were capturing fragments of sunlight.

There was something almost unfair about how effortlessly still he appeared in that moment, as if he didn’t even have to make an effort.

Just being there, under that light, felt sufficient, serene, warm, and magnetic in a way that didn’t demand attention, yet drew it in effortlessly. It was as if the world had dimmed just a bit so he could shine in it like that..

The air didn’t shift immediately, which was the odd part, it remained warm, still thick with the heat of the river and the late sun, as if nothing had disturbed it at all.

Only your heartbeat gave you away, too loud, too abrupt, too conscious of itself in your ears.

You found yourself staring at him longer than intended, standing on the opposite bank as if he had always belonged to the scenery, while you were the one who had intruded upon something ancient and unchanging.

The water between you didn’t feel like water anymore, it seemed broader than it should have been, as if it had expanded just to emphasize the distance.

You attempted to speak, but at first, no words came out, instead, your fingers clenched around the fabric of your dress, wrinkled and heavy with river water, cold against your skin, contrasting with the warmth still lingering on your face.

Eventually, your voice emerged, smaller than you wished. “I didn’t hear you there.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze remained fixed on you, steady and unreadable, not indifference but rather an attention that had already made a decision before you even spoke.

Then he shifted slightly, just enough for the sunlight to catch the side of his face again, the gold flattered him, softening him, blurring the edges of whatever burden he carried.

“I know,” he finally replied, his voice drifting lightly across the river as if he wasn’t trying to be heard at all, yet somehow still was.

A pause ensued, you swallowed, glancing down at the water near your knees, watching the current swirl around you as if it were indifferent to what had just transpired.. but when you looked back up, he was still observing you.

Not your face this time, he seemed to notice the finer details instead, the way your dress hugged your curves, how your hair clung just a bit to your shoulder, and the way you stood there barefoot, as if you were meant to exist only in this moment.

"You’re far from the road," he remarked, not really asking. You frowned a little, trying to regain your composure, attempting to make this feel normal in your mind.

A stranger in the woods.

That’s all it should be.

"I like it here," you replied, though your voice came out softer than you meant. It caused a shift in his expression, not quite a smile, but something more nuanced, like recognition or an unspoken agreement he was reluctant to acknowledge.

He glanced past you for a moment, toward the trees on your side of the river. The way his gaze moved made you think he was counting something invisible.

When he spoke again, his voice dropped a notch. "Most people don’t come here alone."

A breeze swept through the trees, slow and purposeful, lifting the damp fabric at your knees. Suddenly, you felt acutely aware of your vulnerability in the simplest way, no boots, no solid ground, no distance from anything.

"C’est dangereux ici."

It wasn’t a warning meant to frighten you away, but rather something he had learned too early in life to dismiss. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more deeply instead of just observing.

"Are you saying I shouldn’t be here?" you asked. For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face, as if the answer was too complex to articulate clearly.

His hand lifted slightly, not reaching for you, but gesturing toward the space between you both, then it fell back to his side before it could become anything more.

"I’m telling you," he said slowly, "you don’t see everything that’s here."

The words lingered between you, heavy in a way that felt different from the sun shining behind him, deeper in the trees on his side of the river. A branch shifted without any wind.

Just once... just enough to catch your attention... and for the first time since you had plunged into the water, you found yourself uncertain if what you were witnessing was the start of something new... or the moment just before something had already been decided.

The river flowed steadily between you, slow enough that you could almost convince yourself it wasn’t dividing anything at all, merely existing in its own tranquil rhythm. You were still standing in it when you finally asked him his name, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, even if a part of you only realized afterward that your curiosity had nothing to do with being polite.

He regarded you for a moment before responding, not hesitating, just in that calm manner of his, as if weighing the significance of his words.

There was a pause, the kind that didn’t require anything to fill it.

"Alastor," he added afterward, as if it was just as important as the first part and didn’t need any emphasis to hold weight.

You whispered it under your breath once, then again a bit clearer, testing it without considering why, and he didn’t interrupt you. Just observed, calm in a way that made it seem like nothing about you was odd enough to comment on.

Then his gaze returned to you.

"And you?"

"[ Reader ]."

You said it effortlessly, though hearing it spoken aloud in this place made it feel slightly different, as if it belonged to the river now just as much as it belonged to you. He repeated it once, not slowly, not thoughtfully, just to ensure he had it right, and then gave a small nod as if that was all it required.

The light had begun to fade as you stood there, the sun sinking behind the trees, softening everything around you. Neither of you moved immediately, as if the conversation hadn’t quite given you direction, and the ensuing silence felt comfortable. It lingered, shared between you, like a moment neither of you was ready to disrupt yet.

The quiet persisted for a while, not empty but settled, as if neither of you felt compelled to chase it away. The river continued to flow past your legs in a steady rhythm, its coldness now noticeable, yet you remained unmoved by the bank.

It was odd how swiftly the thought of leaving had lost its urgency, as if the moment had stretched itself out without asking for permission. He shifted his weight slightly, crouching closer to the water’s edge, one hand resting casually on his knee while he gazed at you. There was nothing harsh in his expression, nothing demanding, just that same unwavering focus that suggested he wasn’t easily sidetracked.

"Do you come here often?" he inquired. It wasn’t intrusive, it felt more like he was placing the question gently between you rather than trying to extract anything from it.

"Sometimes," you replied, your gaze dropping to the water as it flowed past your ankles. "When it’s peaceful like this."

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense without needing further explanation. "It gets quieter as evening approaches," he remarked. You looked up at him then. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He hesitated before responding, his eyes briefly drifting to the trees behind you, as if he were checking on something unspoken. When he returned his gaze to you, his voice was steady.

"It all depends on what you’re accustomed to hearing."

That made you stop, a sensation you couldn’t quite grasp yet, as if the words had grazed something deep within you. The woods behind you remained just trees, mere shadows and branches fading in the dim light, but for a fleeting moment, you felt more attuned to them than ever before.

You shifted in the water, the dampness of your dress becoming more pronounced as it cooled against your skin. "And what do you usually hear?" you asked, your tone lighter than the weight of the question.

A subtle expression flickered across his face, neither a smile nor anything easily definable.

"Things you tend to overlook after a while," he replied.

His answer didn’t shed much light, but it didn’t seem intended to. The river surged again, a bit louder for a moment as the current swirled around a rock near your knees. You glanced down, then back up, realizing without much thought that the light had shifted while you were distracted. The golden hue was now thinner, stretching and fading into cooler tones at the edges of the trees.

"I should probably head back soon," you mentioned, though you remained still.

He nodded once, as if he had anticipated that response, but he didn’t seem hurried.

"The road’s that way," he said, tilting his head slightly in the direction behind you.

You followed his gaze for a moment before returning your focus to him. He hadn’t moved from his spot, still firmly planted on the opposite bank, as if he belonged there, regardless of whether you chose to stay or go.

The instant you stepped out of the river, the air felt different against your skin, lighter in a way that made you acutely aware of how cold the water had been. You didn’t look back immediately, instead, you bent down, picked up your boots from where you had left them by the tree roots, and held them to your chest for a moment longer than necessary before turning toward the path.

The fabric of your dress hugged your body and then released with every step as you began to walk, gradually picking up speed, the sound of the river fading behind you while the woods enveloped you once more in their embrace.

When you glanced back for just a moment, he was still there on the opposite bank, watching you intently. He said something then, just as you turned away completely, something in French, spoken softly enough that it didn’t carry clearly across the water.

You caught only fragments of it, enough to realize it wasn’t loud, enough to understand it wasn’t meant to pursue you; it lingered behind as you walked, tangled in the trees, the distance, and the sound of your own footsteps crunching over dirt and leaves..

And then it vanished.

A year transformed everything without ever properly announcing its presence, the woods appeared unchanged from afar, but you understood them differently now, the paths, the bends in the light, the way the air shifted before evening settled in. You no longer stumbled here by chance.

You came because he did. The grass around you was tall that afternoon, dry and sun-bleached, swaying gently in slow waves whenever the wind swept through it, rising almost to your shoulders when you sat down, concealing everything except the small circle you and he had created just by being there often enough.

You were still in the same white dress, though it felt different now, softer, less new, familiar in a way that stemmed from repetition rather than memory.

Alastor sat across from you, one knee bent, his forearm resting casually over it, the white shirt he wore catching the light effortlessly, sleeves rolled up as he always did when it was warm, a few buttons undone at the collar.

Over it, he wore a deep red vest that contrasted beautifully against the pale grass and sunlight, not loud, just present in a way that made him seem more anchored to the place than anything around him. For a while, neither of you spoke, sharing a silence that no longer needed to be filled.

Then he let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting off into the distance, not quite focused on you.

“I didn’t spend much time in that house after,” he remarked.

You didn’t interrupt, instead, you shifted a bit in the grass, listening as his fingers absentmindedly traced the dry stalks beside him.

“Mon père…” he began, pausing as if the words still carried a heavy weight. “He believed silence could make things vanish.”

By now, you had picked up enough French that you didn’t need him to translate every thought in your mind.

Some phrases still came to you in their original form, and his voice made them easier to grasp. “He didn’t appreciate it when I stayed quiet,” he added, his tone softer. “Comme si ça le provoquait.”

You turned to look at him, really looking this time.

“And did it?” you asked gently.

He let out a sound that was almost a laugh, but it lacked any real humor.

“Oui.”

The grass swayed around you both, indifferent to the weight of the conversation.

“He used to say I would come to understand him one day,” Alastor continued, his voice now lower, less steady than before. “But he never waited for that.”

Alastor leaned back a bit, gazing up at the sky through the swaying grass.

“He didn’t require reasons,” he said, speaking slowly so his words landed clearly between you. “Just certainty.”

You remained silent for a moment, allowing the words to linger without trying to lighten the mood.

Then, softly, you asked, “Is that why…?” You didn’t need to finish, he understood.

His gaze returned to you, and this time it held something more vulnerable, laid bare for a moment longer than usual. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Then, after a breath:

“He didn’t allow me the choice to become someone else in that house."

The wind swept through the grass once more, taller this time, gliding over both of you in a gentle caress. You could hear the distant hum of insects, the heat of the day still heavy in the earth beneath you. You didn’t reach for him, and he didn’t reach for you.

But the space between you felt different now, no longer distant... like something that had already been understood, even if it took a year to voice it.

The wind brushed through the grass again, this time more slowly, as if it were weary of pushing against anything. He didn’t look at you immediately after he spoke, his gaze lingered somewhere far off, fixed on nothing in particular, as if he were trying to place the memory outside of himself to ease the weight in his chest while discussing it.

“It wasn’t just the house,” he finally said, his voice lower now, less steady than before, yet still composed. “It was everything within it. The way he spoke to her… the way she stopped responding.”

Alastor shifted slightly, running one hand through the dry grass, letting it slip back through his fingers. “She didn’t leave,” he added softly, almost as if he were stating something that had never quite made sense to him. “Even when she should have.”

You remained still, listening, not interrupting the slow emergence of his words, as if they had been trapped for ages, waiting for the chance to breathe. His jaw tightened a bit before he pressed on. “And I used to think that meant something good about her,” he said, a subtle edge creeping into his voice, not quite anger, but more like unresolved feelings finally finding their expression. “But it didn’t.”

The grass bent around his arm as the wind picked up again. “It just meant she stayed too long.” He swallowed hard, then glanced down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else for a moment.

"And when I finally grasped the truth..." he began, then hesitated. You didn’t urge him on, the silence between you expanded, yet it remained unbroken. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

"I couldn’t remain there after that," he confessed. "Not once I understood what staying truly meant." The way he articulated it lacked any theatrics, refusing to inflate the moment into something grander than it was.

Alastor leaned back a bit, allowing his shoulders to sink into the grass beneath him, his gaze drifting upward once more.

"I didn’t intend for it to happen," he added after a pause, his tone almost ethereal now. "I don’t think people like him ever believe anything will return to them."

He took another pause, then let out a slow breath.

"And when it finally did... he was at a loss for how to handle it." That was all he said for a while, the field remained tranquil except for the whispering wind and the gentle rustle of grass around you both. The sun hadn’t shifted much, yet everything felt a bit denser now, as if the air had absorbed something and was unsure how to let it go.

You finally broke the silence, choosing your words with care. "And your mother?"

His eyes flickered at that, a glimpse into something deeper within. "She stayed," he replied simply at first.

"Until she didn’t." He didn’t elaborate, and somehow, he didn’t need to. The silence that followed wasn’t void, it was rich in a different manner now, as if something had been placed between you that couldn’t be articulated again.

"Until she was gone too."

After a while, he turned his head slightly in your direction, not fully, just enough to acknowledge your presence.

"I didn’t turn into what he expected me to be," he murmured softly. "But I didn’t emerge unscathed either." The wind stirred once more, weaving through the tall grass until it enveloped both of you like a curtain that didn’t quite close, and for a moment, neither of you uttered a word.

The wind eased once more, as if it had chosen to cease its interruptions. The grass surrounding you both swayed and straightened in a gentle rhythm, and for a time, neither of you uttered a word, not because there was a lack of things to say, but because the silence had begun to feel like an integral part of the conversation itself.

He shifted slightly next to you, just enough to alter the space between your shoulders, neither closing it off nor breaking it, but changing it in a way that heightened your awareness of him.

When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you, not with intensity or scrutiny, but with that calm steadiness he possessed when he simply wanted to be present.

“You keep gazing at me as if I’m saying something unspoken,” he remarked after a pause, his voice low and almost contemplative.

“I’m not,” you answered, though uncertainty lingered in your mind about the truth of that statement.

That caused him to exhale softly, a hint of a smile forming but never quite materializing.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in just a bit, not in a rush, but enough that the air between you thinned, transforming from mere emptiness into something shared. Your fingers brushed against his again, this time slower and less hesitant, as if you were discovering the contours of him without needing to articulate why… he didn’t stop you.

What lingered with you more than anything was that closeness, where the world around you faded at the edges, it wasn’t like a kiss that arrived out of nowhere. The space between your breaths shifted from feeling like distance to embodying an understanding that was hard to define.

And in that intimacy, something peculiar coursed through you, a sense of him that transcended the present moment, a weight of unspoken words. Paths not taken, a history you couldn’t visualize but could almost feel pressing gently against the moment.

It wasn’t about his words. It wasn’t even in his face, it was in the way he remained motionless when you were close enough to catch every detail, as if he was accustomed to bearing more than what was visible, and didn’t know how to let it go, even here, even now.

You lingered there a moment longer than you intended, close enough that it felt like your breaths were intertwined, close enough that leaving would have meant recognizing something was coming to an end.

When you finally pulled back just a bit, it was enough to see him clearly again, he looked at you the same way he had before, but with a softness now, as if something unspoken had passed between you without needing to be articulated. Neither of you labeled it, but it lingered there nonetheless.

Between you, silent, and undeniable.

The river didn’t feel the same as it did the first time you visited, but not in a way you could easily articulate. It was still just water, still just shore and light and movement, yet now it felt like a place you knew how to return to, like somewhere that had begun to recognize you both instead of merely holding you for the first time.

You were already half in the water, barefoot and carefree about it now, the hem of your dress darkened slightly where it had brushed the surface too many times to remain dry. He was a little further out, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp already as if he had been there longer than you, which he probably had.

“You always act like it’s cold every time,” he remarked, glancing back at you.

“It is cold every time,” you shot back immediately. He shook his head slightly, as if that was a lost cause he wasn’t keen on pursuing. “Non, tu refuses juste de t'y faire.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does, mon amour!” he declared, as if that settled the matter. You stepped in further, then instantly regretted your boldness when the water rose higher, and you reacted too visibly to it.

Alastor observed you for a moment, then shifted just enough to face you more directly.

“Do you see?” he remarked, a subtle smile playing at the edge of his lips. “You're always like this.”

“I’m not like anything!!” you retorted, splashing a bit of water in his direction more out of principle than intent.

This time, he let it hit him without flinching, merely blinking once before regarding you as if you had validated something for him.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Exactly like that.”

You squinted at him. “You’re unbearable in two languages.”

That made him genuinely laugh this time, a short and easy sound that carried slightly over the water as he stepped closer, allowing the water to swirl around him as he came within your reach. “You enjoy it,” he stated.

“I do not enjoy it.”

“Yes, you do!” he insisted again, quieter now, as if it was less about debating and more about observing. Before you could reply, he flicked a bit of water back at you, not much, just enough to make you flinch and instinctively retaliate without thinking.

It turned into something spontaneous again, just movement and reaction, small splashes breaking the surface between you, laughter punctuating it in quick bursts.

“You initiated it,” you charged.

“I didn’t initiate anything,” he replied calmly, catching your wrist lightly when you got too close, not holding it for long, just enough to steady you when the ground beneath the water shifted.

“You did.”

“That is objectively false.”

“Objectively,” he repeated, amused.

You attempted to pull your hand back but instead slipped slightly, and his grip adjusted immediately, steadying you without making it a big deal, something practical, as if he had anticipated your loss of balance before it even occurred.

“Be careful,” he said, quieter now.

“I am careful,” you replied, though your voice had softened a bit. He released you after a moment, once he was sure you were stable again, but didn’t fully step back, the space between you remained small, the water shifting.

"T'es toujours comme ça," he whispered.

"What does that mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

He looked at you, then down at the water lapping at your feet. "It's like you don’t trust where you’re standing."

You frowned a little. "I do trust it."

Then, as if he were addressing the river more than you, he said, "Not really."

You didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, you studied him for a moment, the way he seemed more at home in the flowing water than on solid ground, as if nothing here astonished him anymore like it used to astonish you.

Then you splashed him lightly again, not as a reprimand this time but as a way to shatter the silence.

He let out a laugh through his nose.

"You’re impossible," you remarked.

"And you’re still in the water," he countered.

"...so are you."

"Yes," he replied simply. "I am." Smiling at you cheekily.

That day, you had spent it at his place, in the cabin hidden deep in the woods that only the two of you knew about.

The darkest secrets were sheltered within those walls.

The ones only you and he were aware of.

The windows were wide open, he was in the kitchen preparing something before he finally washed his hands and made his way to you in the living room. This summer was relentless, you were fanning yourself with your hand while your dress was bunched up over your thighs.

He settled next to you, gazing at you with that same grin he always wore, fangs just barely peeking out from beneath his soft, plush lips that you loved to nip at and draw blood from.

"What?" you asked, turning your head towards him while you angrily fanned yourself. He knew you didn’t mean it that way, he understood that your irritation was solely due to the heat.

"Just admiring.." he chuckled softly to himself, then added, "tu es tellement belle.." His hand reached out to you, gently caressing your cheek as he let himself get lost in your gaze.

You smiled, leaning in towards him before sitting back modestly, adjusting your dress and leaning in for a kiss on the cheek, but before you realized it, his lips found yours instead.

He chuckled into the kiss, deepening it as his hands slid up to cradle your face, ensuring you wouldn’t pull away or anything.. which he knew you wouldn’t.

Your tongue slipped into his mouth, tilting your head to grant him better access, and you couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss, your hand trailing up his chest and lightly wrapping around his neck to feel the pulse racing beneath his skin.

When you finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless, desperately trying to regain your breath as saliva dripped down his chin.

You leaned in, licking it up before placing another gentle kiss on his lips.

A finger traced along your thigh, sending shivers down your spine, but panic surged through you as you felt his hands slipping under your dress.

Your fingers wrapped around his slender wrist, halting him.

He looked at you with a pained expression, immediately pulling back and adjusting his hair and clothes slightly.

"I'm sorry.. I shou—"

"Do you really want this?" you asked sharply, wanting to draw the truth from him so he could be honest without fearing you might use him for your own benefit and leave him behind.

"You’ve told me that.. you’re not really into this and I just.. want you to feel free, not pressured into anything like this."

He blinked once, then twice, before cupping your cheek with one hand, brushing your face with his thumb as he peered over his glasses, pushing them up with his other hand.

"I am absolutely sure, mon amour," he reassured you. "Only if you want this too.. of course"

You smiled, gently placing his hand against your cheek with your own, before pressing a kiss onto his soft, warm palm.

"More than anything."

Alastor laid you down on the pristine white sheets of the bed, while the handmade curtain from his beloved mother fluttered in the breeze from the open window, allowing fresh air to flow in as he kissed you passionately and deeply all over your body.

Your dress eventually slipped off, and most of his clothes followed suit, leaving you both clad only in your undergarments.

He gazed at you, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over your figure, making you look like a dream.

And you thought the same of him, his physique was something else entirely.

It made you want to devour him right then and there.

He leaned down, planting soft kisses on the curves of your breasts while maintaining intense eye contact, occasionally glancing at your other breast as he suckled on one.

His hands explored every inch of your body, thighs, waist, chest, arms, and legs.

His hair brushed against the insides of your thighs, locking eyes with your covered mound, which was already glistening, revealing the outline of your sensitive clit and soft folds, clenching around nothingness.

"Before I... do something... I want you to know that I've never... um... done anything like this before," he confessed, looking at you before averting his gaze slightly, a rare sight of him feeling shy.

"Neither have I," you replied. "But... if it feels strange or uncomfortable... I'll let you know, okay?" You smiled warmly at him, and he nodded, already hooking his fingers around the waistband of your undergarments, slipping them off with a soft shlick as he tossed them onto the bed.

It felt eerie to be doing this in such a dimly lit room, adorned with deer antlers on the walls and crooked crosses scattered about.

Yet, you felt an unexpected sense of comfort...

He stared at your cunt, licking his lips in anticipation, before he gently brushed a finger against your slick folds, drawing a whimper from you.

Instantly, he glanced at you, worried he might have caused you pain, but when he noticed your brows furrowing and your lips pressing into a thin line, he understood perfectly what he was doing to you.

He leaned closer, his lips grazing your clit, relishing your warmth and wetness as you squirmed beneath him, silently begging for more.

"More.. please.." you pleaded, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed it away from his face, tilting your head to the side.

He complied, enveloping your clit with his lips, suckling on it as lewd sounds escaped your throat and from the man nestled between your thighs.

His tongue danced over you, moving up and down in a rhythm that made you see stars.. your fingers gripped his hair tighter, tugging slightly at his scalp to grind against his face.

Alastor gazed at you with intensity, as if you were his entire world.

Alastor observed every reaction of yours as his unturned nose brushed against your pubic bone ever so gently.

"I'm..." before you could complete your thought, you hit your peak, arching your back as his hands encircled your thighs, drawing you closer to his face, allowing you to ride out your orgasm.

Your hands clutched the sheets, moaning his name repeatedly as he watched you become vulnerable with him.

As you began to pull away from his grasp, overwhelmed, he released you, placing a soft kiss on your thigh before straightening up.

"You did so well for me, ma chérie, good girl.. such a good girl for me.." he murmured gently, smiling in the dim light as he observed you twitch and struggle to form words.

He joined you, shedding the last piece of clothing as you gazed at him in awe.

The way his cock shimmered and twitched under the moonlight made your mouth water.

You were aware of what sex entailed, and so was he, but the intricacies of it were still a mystery to you, while he possessed a wealth of knowledge.

You swayed your hips, unsure of the reason behind it, yet the desire to have something inside you was overwhelming, you craved the sensation of him filling you up.

"You are absolutely stunning.. I feel so fortunate to have you all to myself.

Just me. No one else." He groaned at the last part, leaning forward to press his hard cock against your stomach, using his knee to spread your legs wider, capturing your lips in a kiss, encouraging you to hold onto him as you did.

Suddenly, his tip brushed against your entrance, and a squeak escaped your lips at the sensation.

"Shhhh.. take it slow," he murmured into the kiss, allowing your fingers to dig into his back gently while his hands tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp to help soothe you.

Then, gradually, he began to push inside, letting your body adjust to the stretch as you broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, both of you panting, fighting the urge to thrust hard into you.

"Shhh.. I’ve got you.. breathe, you’re doing so well for me, ma chérie. Always so.. good for me.. just relax for me.. come on, I know you can do it." He huffed, his hips faltering.

You inhaled deeply, allowing yourself to relax further so he could slide deeper into you, oh god.. he wasn’t even halfway in and you already felt so full.

You winced in pain again, your fingers digging into his back as you squeezed your eyes shut, while his dark gaze bore into you.

"It.. h-hurts.." you whimpered.

"I know, love.. I’m sorry.. I promise it’ll feel better once you relax a bit more for me."

And you did, letting him fully bottom out as you both sat there, still trying to sync your breathing with his to fully calm down.

Your cunt fluttered around him, eliciting a shaky moan from his throat, beads of sweat already forming on the back of his neck.

Your breathing began to slow, and you finally adjusted to the sensations below, boldly rolling your hips against his, eliciting simultaneous moans from both of you.

"Y-you can move..." you granted him permission.

And that was all he needed, he carefully pulled out of you slowly, just halfway, then pushed back in, whining at how your pussy was enveloping him.

He started with a gentle rhythm, allowing you to acclimate to the feeling.

"F-faster..! God.. hggghkk.. so good..!" You pleaded, your legs wrapping around his hips as he began to thrust into you harder and faster, his hips colliding with yours as he held you tightly, suckling on your breasts while you both moaned in bliss.

You bit down hard on his shoulder, making him groan, a droplet of blood landing on your chest, which he quickly licked clean.

Naturally, he had to reciprocate.

He bit into your collarbone fiercely, drawing blood as well, but only he suckled on the wound, his eyes locked onto yours, his hips mercilessly slamming against yours.

"You f-feel so good... so good for me... that's it... hah... let me hear you, scream as loud as you want, n-no one can hear us here... absolutely no one..! Fuck... mon ange... tu es mon ange."

He murmured against your skin, until another orgasm hit you like a freight train, arching your chest toward his face as you clenched around him, your pussy nearly milking him before he pulled out just in time.

Spurts of cum splattered across your stomach as his hips jerked, panting and huffing as he tried to steady his own heartbeat.

God, you looked stunning like this.

Hair tousled, sweaty, and panting just like him, struggling to catch your breath as you trembled from the aftershocks.

Once you both were cleaned up and snuggled in bed, he held you tightly, so close it felt almost surreal. You smiled to yourself as he mumbled something into your hair, inhaling your scent before finally drifting off to sleep.

Such a shame his mother is no longer around.

But Alastor was the only one feeling funny, and you were utterly oblivious about it.

Well, until you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, constricting, hips uniting so you could switch your positions.

Then that’s when you felt his desire, warm and thick and heavy.

Your skirt was knee-length, but the fabric had bunched up to your thighs, and he knew that you could feel it, his erection throbbing as your clothed heat came into contact with his erection.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your heart kickstarted in your chest, visibly shocked.

Alastor was your friend, that’s all you and him had ever been; and you were 19 years old, just barely deemed old enough to go out and about in the streets of New Orleans by your parents.

Neither of you went out without each other.

So, to have you pinned underneath him, wrists held hostage, crotches stuck together, it was entirely overwhelming.

The worst part was that you refused to utter a single syllable.

Alastor watched you stare up at him, wide-eyed and skin all hot and flustered, looking like the embodiment of innocence.

Guilt began to bubble up in his throat.

And so did an apology, his lips shakily parting, sweat trickling down his forehead.

But then the grip your thighs had on his waist tightened even more, and your hips moved and tentatively rolled upwards, a feeble moan slipping from his lips instead of an ‘I’m sorry.’

“Pl-Please?” You mustered sweetly, wrists anxiously flexing in his grip.

Alastor could only lean down, forehead meeting yours, eyes screwing shut, his hold on your wrists slackening.

He didn’t know what to do.

Hell, he didn’t even know that he was capable of feeling such things.

He thought he was immune to desires of the flesh after a friend of his, one he no longer spoke to, showed him a stag film. He had also gifted him French postcards — erotic photographs of women.

Alastor had grimaced at the film and tossed the photos to the trash, which he had shredded.

So, for a little rough-and-tumble to elicit such a volatile response from his body, it was astonishing and nothing short of unexpected.

And Alastor was ill-prepared to grant you your request, even though he desired you similarly.

He had a general idea about what to do, but what he knew, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you. He would most likely leave you disappointed.

Still, he found himself nodding his head anyway, his cock throbbing longingly in his trousers.

“Okay,” Alastor merely said.

His hands slid down your wrists, fixing to remove your skirt, but you were quick to tell him no.

“No, k-keep them there,” You breathed out, looking a bit embarrassed. “Keep holding me like that.”

His eyes fluttered open, brows knitting together, confusion swirling in his gut.

“You don’t want me to take your skirt off?” Alastor tentatively asked. “What am I to do, then?”

Your tongue swept over your lips, wetting them.

He stared down at you, waiting, anticipating your response.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it,” You nervously swallowed. “Just… pretend as if our clothes were off, all right?”

Alastor was no idiot.

You wanted him to rut into you like some animal, but the way you refused to be specific was what had him complying with a newfound confidence.

His hands returned to your wrists, gripping.

And his hips pressed down against yours with an experimental roll, massaging his erection on your clothed cunt, bumping your clit.

“Like that?” Alastor breathed out.

You didn’t say anything, nor did you nod.

However, you did part your legs and toss your head back against the grass, eyes shut, chest heaving, telling him everything he needed to know.

And so he proceeded to rut into you like a wild animal, rubbing your crotches together.

Your clothes softly rustled with each and every roll of Alastor’s slender hips, soft mewls and whimpers poured from your lips, and his trousers grew damp as your wetness penetrated the thin cotton fabric of your panties.

Neither of you were paying attention to your surroundings.

You were completely lost in the new sensation, and though Alastor had his eyes open, they were trained on you and only you.

Something about keeping you hostage underneath him, entirely at his will and power, was riveting.

Alastor felt a hot pressure steadily building up in his gut, a tight coil that was ready to snap, his cock stiffening in his trousers and his thrusts growing sloppy and uncoordinated.

You were close, too, your back arching up in a sinuous curve, shaky, high-pitched breaths tumbling from your lips.

The two of you were so busy chasing your peaks that you forgot you were outside, in broad daylight.

His mother could stumble into the two of you rutting against each other like the inexperienced virgins you were, but at that moment, it was just you and Alastor.

The only thing that mattered was how your clothed cunt pulsated and throbbed against his cock.

How you writhed and moaned underneath him.

How you let out the filthiest cry known to mankind with every wave of pleasure that rippled through your body as you came undone.

Because that’s what coaxed him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” Alastor’s forehead met yours once more, eyes screwing shut, his trousers growing damp and sticky with his pleasure.

It was delicious.

He wanted to feel it again, but as you wriggled your wrists out of his hands to caress his face, nimble fingers touching his sweaty cheekbone, a familiar voice called out to the two of you.

It was Alastor’s mother.

“Lunch is ready if you want to come n’ eat!”

He instantly rolled off of you, back colliding with the grass, legs clamping shut to conceal the dark patch on the crotch area of his trousers.

Of course, you pulled your skirt down and scrambled to sit up on your elbows, eyes wide open, heart hammering in your chest.

“C-Coming, maman!” Alastor hollered out.

Thankfully, his mother didn’t bother coming out to retrieve the two of you.

But unlike you, Alastor couldn’t easily conceal his dignity. He had to walk into his home with his trousers drenched and soiled in sin.

You looked at him, an apologetic look befalling your features. Before you could utter a syllable, however, Alastor stood up.

He was facing you, slightly hunched, unsteady.

“I’m going to sneak into my room,” You blinked up at him, confused. “I can’t walk in like this! She’ll… she’ll — well, I don’t know what she’ll do, admittedly, but I have no intention of finding out!”

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, towards his house, panicked and flustered.

“Are you asking me to distract her?” You asked.

He vigorously nodded his head, strewn curls bouncing all over the place, glasses sliding down the bridge of his sharp, upturned nose.

“Yes. Please. You owe it to me. It was your idea.”

As soon as you huffed out a ‘Fine,’ Alastor darted off with trembling knees and both hands in front of his trousers, tucked in between his legs, making a beeline for his window.

His back was turned to you, of course, but he knew you were fighting the urge to giggle.

Alastor decided he would avenge himself — in due time, of course.

It wasn’t fair.

At first, dating Vox felt like slipping into a luxury advertisement you didn’t remember signing up for. Everything with him was neon-lit and polished to perfection. Private screenings in glittering studios, dinners with higher-priced meals than your monthly rent, oh, and he also took care of that, too. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, his slick voice humming through every television screen like a secret meant just for you. It was intoxicating, and you told yourself it was just his charm. 

But little things began to creep in. 

You’d catch yourself losing time during conversations, nodding along to things you didn’t remember agreeing to. Your thoughts would fuzz around the edges when his eyes glitched with static, or when his voice dipped into that low, humming register that vibrated in your skull. You’d wake up the next morning in lingerie you didn’t remember putting on, or with a phone full of horny texts you didn’t remember sending. At first, you brushed it off. Vox was powerful, sure. An Overlord. But he wasn’t that powerful. Right?

That was your first mistake. Assuming that your charming, devoted boyfriend was nothing but exactly that. Charming. Devoted. Oh, and how devoted he was. Vox couldn’t stop thinking about you. In meetings, when scheming against Alastor, even when he still had the occasional fuck with Valentino. All he could see was you. Chasing after the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his painful, hard cock, the sight of hot tears welling in the corners of your eyes, those pathetic, cute gasps that would sneak past your lips with every thrust. It was an obsession. Wanting to see you beneath him constantly. 

Which is why he had no issue using a little hypnosis on you now and again to make you…a little bit more eager to slip into bed with him. A quick little flash of his eyes, and you became so willing, so pliant to his desires. Dragging him by the tie to the bed, allowing his long frame to encase you on the mattress. Lips meeting his with a frenzied need, nipping softly at the flesh of his neck, hands wandering everywhere and anywhere. You needed to get him out of that stupidly hot suit, needed him to be bare above you. 

“So needy, doll. What’s gotten into you, I wonder–”

“Come on, Vox, just take it off already!”

“As you wish. Whatever my girl wants, she gets.”

Peeling off his suit jacket and starting to unbutton his undershirt, he barely got the offending fabrics off before you were all over him again. Kissing and licking down his chiseled chest and abs, hands roaming without purpose across the expanse of his back. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as his head tilted lower, long tongue running across the supple flesh of your neck before starting to suck harshly. 

It quickly devolved into a scene of pure desperation after that, a mess of bodies and clothes on the floor. Continuing to drag his finger across your slit, you couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped your lips as you pulled slightly on the restraints he had put in place. Two of his ties now cuff you to the expensive bedposts. You could feel the weight of his cock press against your leg as he continued dragging his deft digits across the slick that spilled from your cunt.

“V-Vox–”

“Sound so sweet, moaning my name like dollface.”

Bucking your hips up slightly, a silent plea for him to just fuck you already, Vox couldn’t help the amused laugh that left him at the sight. But being the merciful boyfriend he was, how could he not oblige you?

Slowly sliding his cock in, he stretched your needy hole. A slight shuddered groan passed his lips, both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved. Taking a few experimental thrusts, making sure to draw out every noise. He relished the sight below him. All tied up and pretty, moaning and writhing in pleasure, all because of him, his power. The thoughts alone nearly had Vox busting inside you before you had already started. Mumbling incoherently as he picked up the pace, driving deeper, the walls of your cunt squeezed onto him for dear life. The added weight and pace were becoming nearly too much. 

“Yeah, feel so fucking good, doll. Gonna ruin you for anyone else–.”

“Fuck, only you—holy shit—just you.” 

“You loved being tied up like this, mhmm….like my little needy whore?”

Oh, fuck yes. You loved it. Relished in it. How could you not? You don’t even remember how you got here, but that didn’t matter. Not with the way your boyfriend was mercilessly pounding into you, the heat building and building until you couldn’t take it anymore. You felt the coil in your stomach snap as you cried your lover’s name. Surely, the whole office, maybe even Hell, had heard you by now….just as Vox wanted. That’s what got him. The sight he chased after, again and again. You, creaming around his cock, tears running down your face from pleasure, and those whiny little breaths passing your puffy lips. Oh, he was absolutely ruined. 

Cumming nearly seconds later, spilling hot ropes of cum into you, Vox collapsed, slouched on top of you with a heavy moan. Both parties were covered in a layer of thin sweat, panting heavily, and overcome with arousal. Walking his hands forward till both of his arms caged you in on the desk, pushing his cum back into you as he drew himself on top of your panting body. And for a split moment, even in your post orgasm haze, you could’ve sworn one of his eyes glowed red and squinted like a pocket watch. 

“Round two, doll?”

"I love him," you said with another sigh, glancing out towards the stage where you could hear Vox from. "But he needs to be knocked down a peg or two, so whatever it is you're doing, Al. Do it faster."

You took a step back, leaning against the wall, your eyes returning towards the monitor, just as the feed flickered with Lucifer's presence. Your hand instinctively found Alastor's shoulder before you remembered yourself, uttering a soft apology. Your brows furrowed as you listened to Vox confront Lucifer, the way he remained unmoving was…weird. Even Alastor had initially been annoyed at Lucifer's presence when he first showed up at the Hotel. Threatened by the power he held.

But Vox was arrogant, as though he knew that Lucifer couldn't lay a hand on him. You shared a look with Alastor, a knowing passing between you silently as Vox actively flipped shit on Lucifer. He had always been good at that, one of his many talents. Your eyes returned to the screen, a gasp escaping you, just as Lucifer let his fist fly towards Vox's face.

Only for Lucifer's fist to stop short.

Your brows furrowed, your hand relaxing against Alastor's shoulder, where it had found it's place again. You didn't exactly agree with Vox actively antagonizing the King of Hell. But the fact Lucifer had stopped short was curious. Why? He had the power to hurt Vox, right? Unless this was some elaborate PR stunt by Vox, but that didn't make sense.

You were starting to think there was more to this than even Vox had let you in on, which frustrated you to no end. You let go of Alastor fully, muttering another apology as you rolled the Radio Demon further back behind stage. You sat down heavily on a container, resting your head in your hands. You kept an eye on the feed being streamed from the stage, needing to know that Vox was safe even if you needed to physically distance yourself from it. From him and his antics.

It wasn't long after, that a group of angels appeared. Your anxiety flared as Vox cried out, "Oh my god! They're here to silence me!"

You leapt to your feet, prepared to rush out on stage when shadows wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back. You glanced back towards Alastor as he tilted his head, his eyes sharpening as he watched the screen intently.

"Al?" You questioned, relaxing slightly as you heard the angels say they were there to apologize, meaning they posed no threat to Vox. Yet.

"Don't, my dear." Alastor warned softly, his eyes narrowing more as Vox provoked the angels.

Your jaw clenched, but you sat down next to Alastor again, using the Radio Demon's presence as a way to distract yourself. To keep you grounded and to keep you from bursting out on stage. Vox wouldn't exactly be happy about that, you knew. And despite yourself, you trusted Alastor, you trusted his judgment, especially when it came to Vox.

"What the fuck is he doing?" You asked no one in particular, as Vox declared a holy war against the angels.

Alastor's shadows preemptively came to wrap around your waist, keeping you seated next to him. He said nothing, only watching the monitors as Vox mocked the high seraphim with his own form. Your nails dug into your palms, your teeth grinding in anger and worry. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down, to no avail. Vox was an idiot. He was an idiot. You repeated that to yourself over and over, as the consequences of his actions started to fall into place for you. You couldn't sit idly by and watch Vox declare himself the leader of a mission that would only result in, not only his death, but so many others.

"Fuck this shit," you muttered, standing up and grabbing the back of Alastor's chair.

You silently wheeled him out from behind the stage and back into V-Tower, practically buzzing with anger. Alastor quirked a brow, amusement evident on his face, but underlying it there was a sense of worry. Though who that worry was for, remained to be seen. Still, it was a crack showing through his carefully crafted facade.

About an hour later, You walked into Vox's office, still absolutely seething. He was sitting at his desk, working on something or another, a wide smile on his face. He was clearly still riding the high of his power show.

"Vox, can we talk?" You asked, your voice tight, strained with emotion that you were barely holding back.

He looked up, flashing you a dazzling smile that was softer than the showman one he had used earlier, "what's up, baby?"

You took a deep breath, before snapping, "what the fuck were you thinking?"

He blinked in surprise before his eyes narrowed, "excuse me?"

You started pacing then, your anxiety spiking through the roof. "I mean seriously, Vox? You not only challenged Lucifer, but then the high seraphim? I can't fucking believe you!"

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair, his left eye starting to spiral, a show of his annoyance. Who did you think you were, coming into his office to yell and scold him?

He picked up a stack of papers to neaten, his voice level, "I don't see what the matter is, doll. You always knew I was taking the fight to Heaven."

You turned on him, "yeah, okay, but this-" you gestured around you both- "it's fucking suicide, Vox! You don't just declare a fucking war. You have no fucking authority to do such a fucking thing!"

His laughter echoed around you. "Don't I? Lucifer is powerless to stop me- he couldn't even touch me. Don't you see, baby? I'm so close!"

You crossed your arms, "'you're" so close? What happened to we, V? The Vees, me, us."

He chuckled nervously, remembering himself, "I meant we. You know how I am, I get so stuck in my head that I forget myself sometimes."

You shook your head, turning away from him, "yeah, sure."

You closed your eyes, centering yourself. You loved him enough to stand by his side though his dreams had seemed farfetched. Now you realized that you couldn't stand by and watch him kill himself for that dream. Perhaps if you left, he would see reason. That much you could hope for.

When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, "Vox, if you continue this suicide mission, I can't… No, I won't stand by your side."

"What?" He asked, his voice soft, almost breathy in disbelief.

He couldn't believe his ears. Did you really say that? After everything you had endured together? He was terrified of losing you, he loved you, though he had never admitted it. The thought of you not by his side when he achieved his dreams was almost unbearable. But the fear, his concern of losing you, was quickly overridden by anger. He surged to his feet, slamming his hands down against his desk.

"What?" He sneered, "you want to run that by me again, baby?"

You opened your eyes, turning back to face him, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. Tears that took him aback for a moment before his eyes hardened again, his mask falling into place perfectly.

"I said," your voice was thick with emotion, "if you continue with this misguided path, then I will not be here, Vox. I will be gone, we'll be… Over."

His claws gouged vicious paths across the surface of his desk, his heart seizing in his chest as you spoke. You didn't exactly put a name to whatever had been going on between you, but the acknowledgment of it, followed by your suggestion of it coming to an end, was enough to make him see red.

"Come here," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, a mix of desperation and fury.

You swallowed nervously, taking an unconscious step back from Vox before you forced yourself to approach him. You had never been afraid of him, but in that moment, with his voice a low growl, you wondered if there was reason to be. Still, you approached him, your chest aching with a desperate love and hope that he would see reason.

Perhaps you could get him to see reason.

"Please, Vox," you whispered, trying to appeal to some aspect of the humanity you knew he had.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reached for your face. His touch was gentle, belying the way he had tore gouges through his desk mere moments before. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip in a way meant to placate you. When you leaned into his touch, that's when Vox knew he had you.

His eye spiraled, his voice low and deep as he said your name, "You will stay here with me. You will not question me."

Your eyes widened as you realized what he was trying to do. He stood up, his hand tightening around your chin as you tried to pull back, but he was stronger. He had never hypnotized you before, never had any reason to. You had always been so complicit, so good. Even when you were staying in that shit-ass hotel away from him. You had always been his.

He was going to ensure you stayed his. "You will do as you're told and you will be a good girl for me."

You whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut. He narrowed his eyes, his claws digging into your cheeks hard enough to cut into your skin. He had to admit you were strong willed, enough to try to resist him, to resist his hold over you. But when you opened your eyes again, they spun with his powers. He could feel your consciousness melting away, could feel your body growing complacent.

"You will stand by me when we take over Heaven. You will be mine." He growled, letting go of your chin in favor of sliding his hand down to your neck.

He held you by the throat, not tightly, just possessively. Enough for you to know that he was in control. That he had the power to snuff out your life in an instant if you crossed him, if you continued to resist him. You swallowed hard, some part of your mind aware enough to know that he was hypnotizing you. You pressed your thighs together as a warmth gathered in your core, unexpected and as consuming as his powers. His brows furrowed as he watched you, watched the way you shuddered. A soft laugh of disbelief escaped him as he realized you were growing aroused.

"Well I'll be more damned than I already am." His thumb brushed over you pulse point, his voice lowering into something low and husky, "you like me in control, don't you, baby?"

You nodded, almost moaning your answer, "Mhm, yes."

A manic grin split across his face, an idea forming in his head. He had you in his control, completely under his spell, aroused and willing to do anything for him.

"You want to please me, don't you? Want to make me proud of you?"

You nodded again, completely lost, "yes, Vox. I want you to be proud of me."

He chuckled, oh, he was loving this! "Tell me, babydoll, are you getting wet for me?"

You blushed, the spirals fading from you eyes and leaving behind a dazed look, evidence of his complete and utter control over you.

When you didn't immediately answer, he tightened his hold around your neck, his voice a low growl. "You will answer me when spoken to, baby. Now. Are you getting wet for me?"

A whine escaped you, "y-yes, Vox. I'm so wet, I'm so fucking horny right now."

"Yeah?" He leaned in closer to you, his mouth brushing against your ear. "Then get on your knees and open that pretty little mouth for me. I need to teach you a lesson about questioning me."

He watched as you did as you were told with zero hesitation. He reached for the clasps of his pants, popping the button and shoving them down his legs. Far enough to give him access to his aching cock. He groaned softly as he wrapped his hand around his length, stroking himself idly as he watched you sit there for him. He took a step forward, running his cock-head over your lips, coating them in precum.

His eyes darkened as he watched your tongue dart out to lick a drop from your lips. A shudder running through him as he imagined that tongue sliding over his dick. But he needed to ensure you were programmed to his will before he decided to play.

His voice was low, sinful. "You are not to touch yourself, you are not to touch me. Just sit there for me, baby…and try not to choke."

He thrust into your mouth without warning, not able to withstand another second not buried inside you in some way. A soft groan escaped him as you immediately wrapped your lips around him and began to suck. He tangled his hand in your hair, holding you in place as he began to rock his hips forward. He fucked your mouth with shallow thrusts, his eyes never leaving your face. Your hands twitched by your sides, but remained where they were. He smirked, loving the control he held over you in this moment, the way you were nothing but a wet hole for his cock. On your knees and ready to serve him. It almost made him want to do this to you more often. He wondered just how many rounds of his hypnosis you could take before he fully broke you in as his little fuck-toy.

"Fucccck! Just like that," he moaned, his hips moving a little faster as he took his pleasure from your willing mouth, spurred on by thoughts of using you completely.

He thrust forward at the same time he pushed your head down his cock, forcing you to take all of him. His cock-head hit the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow around him to keep from choking. He groaned softly, his hips stuttering as he held you there for a long moment. He listened to your noises of desperation, watching the way your nails dug into the floor as you fought against his hold on your mind. As you fought for breath. He took pleasure from pushing you further than he had before, watching your eyes flutter close as your vision grew fuzzy. He pulled you off his length before you could fully pass out, his cock slick with your saliva.

He watched as you spluttered and coughed, inhaling deeply as you fought to regain your breath. He stroked his cock slowly, his thumb brushing over his tip, smearing his precum. A thousand ideas of what he wanted to do to you ran through his head, but none as compelling as taking you hard and fast. Nothing as compelling as shooting his load deep inside your womb, marking you completely, inside and out.

"Do you think I'm proud of you?" He asked, grabbing the back of your hair and yanking you up to your feet.

You cried out in pain, flinching at his rough touch, "n-not yet."

He raised a brow, not having expected that answer from you, "oh? And why's that?"

You wet your lips, "because I haven't made you cum."

He laughed, "Oh, doll, as much as I love cumming all over your sinful tongue, the only place my seed is going tonight is inside your tight cunt."

He shoved you towards his desk, "now, how about you strip for me and bend over my desk?"

He squeezed his cock, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you move without question. Obeying him without hesitation. Fuck it was hot.

He watched you pull off your clothes piece by piece, until you stood before him, completely nude. He looked at you expectantly and you turned your back to him, bending over his desk. He licked his lips, his cock throbbing in his hand as he admired you. Your arousal shone in the low light of his office, and he was pleased to see that you were absolutely drenched for him. Vox stepped up behind you, pressing his hips against your ass as he leaned over your back.

"Mhn, such a good little slut for me. You're mine, aren't you, baby?" He asked, grinding his cock against your ass.

"Yes," you whimpered, "I'm yours. All yours."

He rocked his hips forward, nudging your clit playfully. "You want me to fuck you?"

You nodded, shifting your hips back to press against his. Vox's hands found your waist, his claws digging into your hips to keep you in place.

"Yes!" You whine, closing your eyes as your body practically buzzed with need for him. "Please fuck me, Vox!"

He chuckled, positioning himself at your entrance. But he didn't immediately penetrate you, instead teasing you mercilessly as he rubbed his cock up and down your slit.

"You will take my cock, baby. Every fucking inch of it." He growled, positioning himself back at your opening. "Over and over until you're an overstimulated mess."

He surged forward without warning, filling you completely in one harsh thrust. You cried out, your back arching as he stretched you around his cock, filling you deliciously. Vox set a hard, fast pace right out of the gate. This was your punishment, as much as it was his celebration of his control over the masses, and he was going to dictate just how he fucked you. His hips slapped against your ass harshly, the wet slaps of your skin meeting over and over filling the air. The sound twisting with your wanton moans and his low grunts.

His claws dug into your hips as he yanked you back onto his cock harder, his hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit in firm circles. "Fuck yes, you feel so good, baby. So good when you're a mindless little fuck-toy for me."

You could only moan, your mind still fully under Vox's control. Whether that was because of the lingering affects of his hypnosis or because of how he played your body like a fiddle, you weren't sure. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, you held no complaints as you barreled towards your orgasm. He felt too good for you to truly examine what was going on. Too good for you to question why you were naked, or why he was fucking you against his desk. He felt too good for you to wonder how you had gotten here. After all, you had just come to talk to him. But what was it that you had wanted to talk to him about, again? You couldn't remember anything other than the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt.

Vox cursed as he felt your walls beginning to flutter around his cock, signaling your impending release. He thrust into you faster, harder, chasing his own pleasure. Taking it from your susceptible body. His hips stuttered as you cried out beneath him, your walls clenching around his cock almost painfully hard, as you came apart in his arms.

He thrust into you a handful of more times before seating himself fully inside you as his release crashed over him. Thick, hot ropes of his seed splattered against your inner walls, flooding your womb and painting it white.

"Fuck! Take it all, baby! Take every last drop of my fucking seed!" He yelled, grinding his hips against yours as your pussy milked him for all that he was worth.

Vox collapsed against your back, panting hard. As soon as he regained his breath, he pushed off you. He pulled from your heat, watching as his seed leaked from your well fucked cunt and ran down your legs. He smirked, tucking himself away, not bothering to clean up yet. He knew he wasn't done with you, not by a long shot. But he would prefer actually taking you back to his bed and keeping you there, desperate and wanting for his cock for the rest of the night, if not for the rest of the week.

"Get dressed and meet me in my room, doll." He said, slapping your ass, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. Until you remember that you're mine and that you aren't going anywhere."

You knew that Vox couldn't be without his body for too long before his systems started shutting down. So while he was sulking and resting, you were on a mission to retrieve his body. It was easy enough to find, and luckily besides a few scratches and bruises, it seemed fairly undamaged. Getting it inside, however was going to be a bitch. Dead weight wasn't an easy thing to carry, but you were determined.

Still, you had to take a break halfway up to Vox's room. You ignored the stares of the few sinners who weren't still actively hiding as you dragged his body into your small, employee-provided apartment. You closed the door, panting. First things first, you were going to catch your breath and then get a glass of water. Then you'd finish the trek upstairs, hoping that the elevators would be back in service by then. Stupid lock down.

You returned to Vox's limp body a moment later and felt the temptation to kick him. After everything he had pulled, it was deserved. Besides, his body was detached, surely he couldn't feel anything, right? Now that you were thinking about it, there was a lot of things you had always wished you could do that you hadn't. You knew, best case scenario, that Vox wouldn't hesitate to put you in your place. The worst case would be that he'd kill you. But you figured he wouldn't notice one or two more additional bruises now.

You set down your glass of water and crouched down, yanking his body a little deeper into your apartment. You glanced at the clock, noting the time and letting out a soft sigh. You had a little while before Vox really started to get into trouble from being disconnected from his body for too long. And as tempting as kicking him was, especially for the shit he had pulled, you knew you wouldn't. But it wouldn't hurt to clean his body up a bit and treat his wounds before you reconnected his head. It was the least you could do after he got so humbled.

You were a little bitter that his outfit had gotten ruined, he had looked damn attractive in that suit. You traced your fingers down the front of it, trailing them lower until they brushed against his belt. Your thoughts during his little soiree had been nothing short of sinful. You just never expected that you'd be peeling his currently ruined suit off his headless body. You started at his top buttons, then opted for grabbing a pair of scissors, realizing it'd be easier to physically cut him out of his clothes. You weren't thinking about how you were going to explain his missing clothes. That was a problem for future you.

When he was down to his boxers, you gathered a washcloth and a bucket full of warm water, alongside a first aid kit. He wasn't all that harmed, still you were issuing caution. You started slow, washing away any visual grime from his body. Your touch was almost reverent, gentle with care. Your gaze softened as you worked, affection stirring in your chest that you refused to acknowledge.

Upstairs quite a few more floors up, Vox's face flickered back on. He had been in and out of sleep, trying to conserve as much of his energy as possible. He wondered where the hell his faithful assistant was, you were taking an awfully long time. Then again, he knew how heavy dead weight was and you were small. He let out a soft sigh, he never should have trusted you to go after his body, he doubted you had even managed to move it an inch. He was about to call Valentino or even Velvette, despite knowing they were pissed at him, when his head connected back in with his body from range.

He blinked in surprise, a soft smirk forming on his digital lips. Ah, so his little assistant had managed to get his body inside after all. He settled back against the pillows he was resting against, trying to discern what he was feeling. It took him a second to decipher what felt like a warm wash cloth being wiped over his shoulders and gently down his chest. He shivered, gooseflesh rising over his disconnected body.

"Fuck," he muttered, a soft cyan blush dusting his cheeks at the sensation.

His body was disconnected which meant that every touch he was feeling was distant, but no less intense. It was as though he was being touched with a blindfold on. He was centered in on every fleeting touch against his skin, the way the wash cloth felt against his cooling flesh. The textured cloth brushed over his nipple and he closed his eyes, inhaling sharply.

"Shit," he whispered, he knew it was you touching him, even through an over-glorified Bluetooth connection to his body, he recognized your gentle touch.

Your reverent touch.

The washcloth brushed against his nipple again and a soft moan escaped him, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Distantly, he could feel his body responding to your gentle ministrations. He bit his lip, feeling his cock begin to harden. He closed his eyes, hoping you wouldn't think any lower of him for it. He had embarrassed himself enough as it was with his botched plan and even further ruined mass murder-suicide. He didn't need the only person still at his side to abandon him now.

You continued your soft strokes of the wash cloth down Vox's body, taking care to clean him as well as you could of all the grime that had accumulated during his brief descent into madness. You trailed it down lower, reaching the waistband of his boxers where you came face to face with his obvious arousal.

"Oh." You blinked, your face heating up at the sight of his quite impressive endowment tenting his boxers.

It had never occurred to you that his body would still be able to respond to stimuli when it wasn't connected to his head. You gently set your washcloth aside. You could feel a warmth settling in your lower gut as you watched his length twitch beneath the thin surface of his boxers, a small wet patch forming near his tip. With a morbid sense of curiosity, you slid your fingers beneath the hem of his boxers and slowly began to pull them down.

You let out a soft gasp as his cock sprung free, nearly smacking you in the face as it did so. You pressed your thighs together, trailing your eyes down his length. You hadn't expected the tip of his cock to be the same glowing cyan as his fingertips, but you were pleasantly surprised. Hesitantly, you reached out, brushing your fingers up his length. It jumped beneath your touch, the tip leaking more precum. You wet your lips, as yoy slowly wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.

You told yourself you were just curious, that you were just going to hold him for a moment. After all you'd never be able to get to do this again. Never get to see his beautiful cock again. The thought made you feel bitter, but you ignored it in favor of leaning in closer. A distant part of you knew this was wrong, but you figured Vox would never know the difference. And after standing by his side for so many years, your loyalty never once wavering, didn't you deserve something? Something nicer than a shitty employee-provided apartment?

You opened your mouth and flicked out your tongue, lapping up the small amount of precum that had leaked from his slit. You moaned at the taste, your face flushing further. You took another taste, then pulled back only to settle between his legs fully. Slowly you ran your tongue from his balls up to his tip, reveling in the way his cock twitched and jumped in your hand. Encouraged by his body's reaction, you continued.

You licked teasing stripes up his length, alternating them with long, slow, sensual licks. You swirled your tongue around his cock-head before finally closing your lips around it and sucking lightly. His cock jumped more, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your palms. You took your time, working your head lower and lower with every slow bob of your head. Until finally you managed to press your nose against his skin. You swallowed around him, your hand gently fondling his balls before you pulled up and off his cock. A string of saliva connected your lips to the head of his dick before breaking.

Upstairs Vox was fighting for his life. His breath was coming faster, soft, unabashed moans escaping his mouth as his eyes fluttered.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He cursed, feeling you swallow around his cock.

He was certain he was going to cum right then and there, shooting his load down your throat. But then he could feel you pulling off him, the cool air blowing over his heated flesh. He let out a shout of frustration, his left eye swirling with his power uselessly.

He wanted nothing more than to have been connected to his body fully. To be able to see you as you worked his cock with such eagerness. He wanted to thread his hands through your hair and hold you in place while he fucked your mouth. Wanted to hear your beautiful little gags as you choked around his thick length. He wanted to see the way you'd look up at him from your position between his thighs, the pure want shinning in your eyes as he took control.

But instead his head was up here while you and his body were downstairs somewhere. Was it weird he felt jealous of his body? It was his body! And you were his assistant. His…fuck—he wanted you to be his, not just his assistant, but more. You had been loyal enough to stay with him through everything. You had been with him for nearly as long as Valentino had. But instead of tossing his head aside like his supposed business partner had, you had brought him back to his room and promised to retrieve his body. The same body that you were currently worshiping, unaware he could feel every single one of your touches.

He closed his eyes, a soft whimper escaping him as he felt your hand wrap around his member again. He was expecting you to take him back into your mouth, to suck him off to completion and swallow his cum. Hell, he was expecting you to finish him off with your hand, to marvel in the way his cock twitched and pulsed as he spilled his seed. But the sensation that enveloped his cock-head wasn't either of those.

His eyes shot open in surprise, saliva dripping down to his bezel. "Oh fuck-!"

You knew this was selfish, but as you positioned your naked pussy over his cock, you realized you truly did not care. Slowly, ever so slowly, you sank down onto his cock. You moaned loudly, your walls flexing around his length as you split yourself open around him.

"Fuck!" You moaned, bracing yourself against his shoulders as you guided yourself down lower and lower.

After what felt—somehow like a century and only a few seconds, his cock bottomed out inside you. You stayed there, panting lightly as you took in the feeling of his hot length filling you completely, the head pressing against your cervix, kissing it. You had never been so full, never been so utterly turned on. You stayed there for a long moment, your pussy fluttering around his cock desperately as your body grew used to the sensation.

Then you were pulling up his length, sliding higher and higher until just the tip remained inside you. Before you surged down. You closed your eyes as you rocked your hips against his, bracing yourself against his shoulders as you slowly began to ride him. His body may have been limp, but his cock was certainly not. It throbbed inside you, a thick, pulsing heat that was all yours, at least for the moment.

You quickened your pace, chasing your own release. You shifted, bracing yourself against his thighs as you fucked yourself on his dick. You slipped your hand between your thighs, rubbing tight, firm circles against your clit.

"Fuck!" You moaned, "oh fuck, oh Vox!"

Vox clenched his teeth, his brow budding with beads of sweat as he was driven wild with sensation. He could feel every little flutter of your walls around his cock, could feel your every shift. His face was flushed a bright cyan blue, a string of curses and needy moans escaping him. He knew he was getting closer, could feel every single sign in his disconnected body. He wondered if you'd stay seated on him as he came, if you'd let his seed flood your womb and fill you completely. The very thought was enough to make him cum, but he managed to hold back. But only just.

You closed your eyes, your pace growing faster as you grew closer and closer to your release. Sweat budded on your brow, staining through your clothes and sticking them to your body. Just a little bit more, just a little longer…

"Yes, yes, yes! Fuck!" You yelled loudly as your climax hit you hard, tearing through your body with a viciousness that made your vision blur.

Your pussy clenched and spasmed around Vox's cock, your release flooding out around his length, dripping down his balls. The sensation was enough to yank him over into his own release. His cock pulsed inside you, twitching hard as it pumped you full of what felt like an endless amount of cum. You collapsed against his chest, breathing hard as you caught your breath.

Vox had blue screened upstairs, the feeling of your tight pussy milking him for every drop of his seed was overwhelming. As his cock softened inside you, his systems slowly flickered back online. Said systems were running overtime to cool him down. He was left panting, leaned up against his pillows that were now soaked through with sweat.

"Oh that little minx is going to have a lot of explaining to do." He muttered, grimacing as he felt you pull off his cock.

He missed the feeling of you around him instantly. He knew that once his head was reconnected to his body that you were going to have a replay so he could feel everything first hand. You owed him that much at least, for taking advantage of his body without his consent. Now all he had to do was wait for you to bring his body back up to him.

You slowly pulled off of Vox's cock, your face flushed as you looked down at his body. You bit your lip, your eyes zoning in on his flaccid cock covered in a mix of your fluids. It was only now that you were beginning to question how his body had responded to your touch, but you decided to ignore it. Best not to speculate least you feel guilty. You knew you needed to clean him up and then clean yourself up before you finished carting his body upstairs.

It took you a couple of minutes, but once you were presentable and Vox's body was mostly covered (and cleaned), you began the slow trek back up the stairs. About fifteen minutes later you pushed into Vox's bedroom, using your keycard to access it. It had never occurred to you why you had clearance into his room, but it was certainly helpful today.

"Vox! I got your body," you called in to the disgraced Overlord, practically dragging his body behind you at this point.

His screen powered back on, his face flickering back to life. You looked more put together than he had expected you to be. He raised an eyebrow at the way you had brought his body in.

"Did you drag my body all the way up here?" He asked, sounding less than impressed, not giving anything away.

"Eh, mostly. Don't worry, I ensured to take care of it," you reassured him, flashing him a smile before turning back towards his body to sit it up against the wall.

You were acting like nothing had happened, that frustrated him, "Uh-huh. How well did you "take care of it?'"

You gave him a sheepish smile, "you may have a couple more bruises and bumps than what you had sustained initially."

"hmm, and nothing else?" He questioned as you picked up his head and carted it towards his body.

"No other damages," you reassured him, moving around him as you slowly reconnected his head to his body, a familiar task at this point.

As soon as he had most of the feeling back in his body, he clenched and unclenched his hands, wiggling his toes, to test his strength. You took a step back from him but he caught your wrist, keeping you from moving too far from him.

"You should know something, baby," his eyes searched your face, wondering if you'd break before he told you.

You remained passive, a soft hum escaping you as you prompted him to continue.

Fine, if you didn't want to fess up to your misdeeds, he'd tell you. "I could feel everything you were doing to my body."

Ah, and just like that your face heated up with a deep blush. Vox watched in amusement as you stuttered and tripped over words, unable to articulate anything. He squeezed your hand with his, smirking up at you.

"Relax, doll. We're both in Hell for a reason, right?" His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, "but you owe me a first hand experience once all my systems are back up and running. So be ready and waiting for me."

You swallowed thickly as you helped him stand up, "uh, y-yes sir."

he knows this because he has been there long enough for the ice in his untouched glass upstairs to dissolve into something thin and flavorless. he prefers it that way because it tastes like nothing, like rubbing alcohol, clean, innocuous. a purging translucence that makes him feel hospital clean the next morning, prepped for a blood transfusion.

you are seated at the bar between angel dust who drapes himself across your shoulders like a feather boa and that unfortunate soul you dragged in on your arm. vaggi it's with charlie who seems simply delighted that everyone is in the same room without immediate bloodshed and husk is nursing on a bottle.

the wretched creature decides to lean in, hand sliding just a fraction too familiarly along your waist, mouth hovering near that delicate hinge of jaw. and alastor balks.

for some reason, he can stomach the thought of you doing what you're doing—finding a surrogate who fits the part, works like a band aid, fills the void—but the thought of another man touching you like he has touched you makes him sick.

( maybe because nothing has ever been so totally and completely his as your body. not even his own body, not since rosie's deal. but you— you give yourself to him. every fraction, every whole belongs to him. your mouth and all it's teeth, your flesh and all it's blood. )

that is when charlie's eyes flick over your shoulder and wave an overly enthusiastic hand to him.

"oh, alastor!" she chirps, bright as a flare. "i'm happy you accepted the invitation!"

of course she does. he had not planned to assist in the first place. he had been occupied— either with swallowing and torturing sinners to relieve stress or ripping his hair off and measuring amber liquid in a glass. not like it matters.

"why, of course," he says, stepping forward into the light, "it would be rather dull if i didn't."

your shoulders go rigid before you school them into something looser before you turn, expression morphing into a wince, like you've bitten your tongue and tasted something metallic.

"you didn't tell me you were coming." you all but hiss through clenched teeth.

"you never asked," he makes a non-commitment sound at the back of his throat.

"and i'm supposed to know these things?"

"no. hence why you are supposed to ask"

angel dust lets out a low whistle, gaze ping-ponging between you and alastor. "ohhh, this is new. is this sexual tension or am i just projecting again?"

"angel," charlie warns gently, even if you can hear her swallowing. "everything's fine. we are all friends, right?"

"perfectly fine," alastor's forces his smile wider.

it's weird, trying to find something salvageable amid the wreckage. trying to be his partner when he's still so in love with you, and when he's not your partner, you're still his ex-wife. alastor doesn't want to be your partner and certainly he doesn't want to be your fucking ex, but at least there are seconds to count.

your date clears his throat. the fellow has the audacity to look confused rather than afraid. "uh, hey. i'm—"

"irrelevant," alastor supplies, but he extends a hand anyway just so he can have an excuse to squeeze until he feels the tremor in the other man's bones. "a pleasure. any friend of our dear princess is a friend of mine."

crossing your arms, you lean against the bar. "we were in the middle of something, you know."

"i apologize" he says after he finishes cleaning his hand along the front of his suit. "i must have mistaken this for a public establishment."

husk coughs into his hand.

"it is," you reply, and your frown deepens. "but you're making everyone uncomfortable."

"am i?" alastor snaps his neck back unnaturally. "charlie, dear, does this feel uncomfortable to you?"

"w-what—?" vaggi pets her back when charlie chokes on her own drink, a painful smile stretching her lips. "um— i think maybe we're just all a little tense?"

"that's one word for it," you repeat. "some people have a habit of inserting themselves where they're not wanted."

a small flinch at the corner of his mouth, there and gone.

your fingers curl around your glass but you do not drink. he wonders if you let the burn do the talking for you. he hopes not. he hopes yes.

"we were just talking about—"

"i can imagine," alastor interrupts lightly. "you do seem the talking sort."

the man bristles, and you shoot alastor a vexed look. it only makes him want to bare his teeth wider, to see how much of your patience he can peel back before he hits bone.

"you don't have to stay if you're bored."

"on the contrary," alastor folds his hand behind his back, "i find myself invested in how your peculiar tastes has evolved. i'd think you might refine your selection process."

your jaw tightens. "that´s none of your bussiness."

the man shifts, uncomfortable. "if this is a bad time—"

"it is," alastor answers.

"it isn't," and you snap back, placing a hand on your date's chest, reassuring. alastor watches your fingers splay there and thinks about how easily he could fold that hand back, knuckle by knuckle, until you remember the proper shape of it.

out of the corner of his eyes, he can see angel dust gesturing "what the fuck is happening?" while vaggi murmurs something urgent to the princess. charlie, bless her saccharine heart, claps her hands once.

"okay! maybe we all just take a breath?" she jumps out of her sit. "alastor, do you want a drink? we have—"

"no," he says, too quickly, then softens it into a lilting chuckle. "i'm quite satisfied, thank you. wouldn't want to overindulge."

the glitter, the bar, angel's soft snickering, husk's bottle clinking against wood, sound dipping and warping. the gilded molding gleams like rows of polished teeth. he imagines biting down on the moment, cracking it open, tasting the marrow inside.

you slide off the stool before anyone can corral you, disentangling from your date with careful fingers.

"we're fine, charlie," you insist, and turn to alastor, furious, "stop it. you only show up when—"

"when you invite carrion to feed?" alastor leans in, enough that the din of the bar swallows the rest. "i thought the buffet was open."

the man beside makes a pitiful, scandalized sound "maybe we should—"

"maybe you should," alastor doesn't even look at the creature anymore, and the temperature drops a degree.

"and maybe you should stop being angry," you say softly. it´s a warning. a plea. he can taste both.

"oh, i would never" he places a hand to his chest in mock offense. "i simply wanted to make sure this gentleman was aware of how fortunate he was."

"he does."

"mm." his gaze drifts to the man beside you. "i imagine he appreciates many things he hasn't earned."

no sleep, his mouth everywhere, his stomach a cavernous pit of hunger eating him alive. you look at him with those exhausted, angry eyes like you're a benevolent god. like you don't also destroy the things you create.

"why the fuck do you care now?"

something fractures: an invisible glass barrier rendered to glittering dust around him. he feels wild—like a dog with it's leash unclipped at the park. he spins, he does donuts. he salivates, he bites. it all comes out as laughter—wheezing, hysterical, on the edge of tears.

"whyever would i ever do something like that?" he asks, smiling with every last one of his teeth. "i only keep things that make me laugh."

that makes you flinch, expression pinched and savage as it reduces him to cinders. he planned for the possibility of something coy, don't flatter yourself, sweetheart, maybe, but then your hand jerks, and the edge of your glass tips. amber arcs through the air in a brief, glittering parabola before cascading down the front of you.

there's a colective silence before angel moves first.

"shit— that's a look" he hops down from the stool, already snatching up a rag from behind the bar to press the cloth to your chest.

you stand there, looking down at yourself, at nothing at all. your date hovers uselessly at your side, half-reaching, half-withdrawing, as though you might bite. alastor knows you would.

"oh my gosh! are you okay?" charlie and vaggi are hovering as well, but you don't seem to notice.

alastor's fingers twitch behind him. for a moment, he has this impulse to press his mouth to the damp fabric, tasting the spill, proving a point no one else in this room would understand.

"i need a moment," you spin on your heel without sparing a glance, pushing past angel towards the stairs.

the silence you leave behind is thick enough to chew.

"what the fuck was all that?" vaggi is talking, probably, or so he thinks.

alastor is quiet for a moment and prays she won't bring it up again, won't push, because the truth is, he feels as he is made from wet tissue paper and he'll rip if someone pushes him. alastor resisted you once and it was the hardest fucking thing he has ever done and he is not sure he can do it again.

"if you'll excuse me," he says instead, already stepping toward the stairs, "i've just remembered something terribly important."

the wanting is what ruins him. the desire for something more makes him feel like his skin has been torn off and what lies underneath has been exposed for everyone to see. he feels like a disgusting mockery of a man. to feel is abhorrent. to want is repulsive. sometimes you look at him like he is absolutely transparent and he cannot handle the sensation of being scrutinized any longer. he wants to tell you the truth so whatever deluded idea you have about his nature can be shaken out of your thick skull.

"what is wrong with you?"

you turn left, another five steps. you pass the tall window at the end of the hall, red neon from the street below staining the carpet, and then your feet suddenly stop.

he does none of that.

"my dear," he drawls from the dark, because of course you know he is there, poured into the shadows like ink, "i haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

he can see your squared shoulders where he stands, smell the sweet, acrid booze that clings to your dress like a second skin. you don't have to turn around for him to know what kind of expression you must be wearing.

"so we're gonna act like you didn't make a fool out of me in front of everyone?"

"that wasn't necessary," he steps forward, cane tapping once against the carpet before he stills it. the red light from the window catches in his grin, paints it infernal. "you did a splendid job of that on your own."

"this isn't a joke."

"oh, but it is a joke." he spreads his hands. "an exceptionally funny one, i must say. you always liked to play make believe."

you whirl on him then, eyes wet as two open wounds, sulking and skinny. you are enacting some elaborate plan to punish him, but it doesn't work because he is so good at punishing himself.

"look around and tell me what part of this is make believe, alastor."

there are no longer delirious afternoons of seeing you in the kitchen and memorizing every freckle and mole and stroking your hair and seeing you wake up, drifting and hazy. he ruined that by trying to protect you, and now, when it happens it comes in short, pathological bursts of near-violence. a swinging pendulum on a broken clock.

sometimes he keeps his distance and you stop being regular in the hotel and he lies to himself it's over, he's cured, until he can't take it anymore and he erupts in a overflow of maddening, animal desire.

"you surely didn't expect me to applaud you." he says instead. there's a trapdoor beneath his feet.

you take a step toward him this time.

the hallway holds the echo of the party three floors below—distant laughter, the faint clink of glassware, someone shouting something that might be angel dust's voice carrying through the stairwell. it all feels very far away. the carpet here muffles everything, turns the world soft and padded like the inside of a mouth.

"you know that's not the point."

"then do enlighten me."

your jaw tightens. another step.

"whatever. not like it matters, now. you're going to decide for me one way or another."

"i decided nothing," he laughs. it sounds too big for the walls. "if your companion wilted under minimal scrutiny, that hardly speaks well of him."

you take a step. then another.

the corridor feels suddenly narrow. the neon glow from the window across your face, painting one eye red and leaving the other swallowed in shadow.

alastor wonders briefly if this is how prey animals see predators in tall grass—half revealed, half imagined. he should know this.

"you're jealous."

"of that?" alastor can feel his ears pinning, wrestles them back into place by sheer force of will while you close the distance in three quick strides before he can decide whether he intends to move and shove him in the chest.

it is not particularly hard. you have never been especially violent. it is, however, startling enough that his cane skids a fraction against the carpet. alastor also knows you are not trying to hurt him, but your palms hit solid muscle under tailored fabric and the contact sends a bright, stupid spark up his spine.

"jealous," you repeat, and shove him again. this time your hands don't retreat, fingers bunching the fabric of his coat for half a second before doing it again.

up close, the smell of alcohol blooming from your clothes becomes something warm and sweet and faintly medicinal. it reminds him of sterile rooms. antiseptic. the clean burn that scrubs rot from wounds.

"you—" you start, breath hitching with anger, "—you ruin everything i try to build and then you act like i'm crazy for being upset about it."

your fist lands against his sternum this time. it barely moves him. but it keeps happening—small angry pushes, the heel of your palm bumping his chest, your knuckles knocking against the bone beneath his ribs.

"you had no right," you say, breath sharp. "none."

alastor lets it continue longer than he probably should. it's almost comical. almost. and maybe there is some humor to be found there but humor is another one of these emotions that alastor doesn't feel too strongly these days, and even if he is maybe considering laughing, something deeply unpleasant sears into his stomach.

"is that enough small talk, or do we need to run a few more lines before you get to the point?" he asks instead.

"shut up," you hiss. tap, tap, tap. "stop acting like you are the victim here when you were the one who left. you said—"

alastor catches your wrists mid-swing. it happens quickly: one moment your hands are hammering uselessly against his chest, the next they're pinned between his palms. his grip it's firm, the bones shift slightly beneath his fingers.

"how curious." his head tilts, antlers casting crooked shadows along the wall. "i seem to recall the situation being a touch more mutual."

you stare up at him, burning vicious and bright.

"get your creepy hands off me."

your arms jerk to no effect.

"temper, temper," he sighs, leaning down just enough that his voice brushes your forehead, "we're far too old for tantrums."

you twist against his hold. he can feel the tendons flexing, the stubborn strength in the movement. you have always fought him like this—quietly at first, and then with your whole body.

"fuck off. all this drama because you can't—"

"can't what?" he snaps, something sharp finally slicing through the sugar. "can't what, darling?"

you yank again, and he tightens his grip just enough to stop you. your chests are nearly touching now, alastor can feel the damp chill of your dress through the fabric of his own.

"can't stand that i'm finally happy without you" you finish.

and that's the thing, isn't it: deep down, at the heart of all this, he wants you so bad because he loves you. he has loved you so hard his whole life that in this after life, he dugs straight through the crust and the mantle and the molten center of the earth to the other side, where everything is upside down and backwards. he has loved you through blood and rot and grief and mud and agony and one hundred nightmares, through normal and not-normal and whatever this is, here, now. he loves you, and he was alive, and it's over a hundred degrees outside every day, and a decade ago you died.

"if that is happiness," he replies quietly this time, "you have set a remarkably low bar."

you half growl, half laugh, before surging forward instead of back. for a split second, alastor genuinely thinks you've struck him across the face— his teeth knock together, jaw snapping shut on instinct.

you make a small sound against his mouth but you don't pull back. if anything, you press closer, fingers bunching in his suit while the other fist into his shirt as though you intend to drag him down with you. he can taste copper now— breath hot, liquor-sweet and blood-bright.

you are bleeding, and you are not stopping.

your hand slide from his lapels to his jaw, gripping, insisting. alastor it's not entirely sure if the strangled noise at the back of his throat it's meant to be a laugh or a growl because for a brief, terrifying second, alastor considers the possibility that this is a hallucination brought on by some delayed intoxication. it doesn't matter, you're furious and shaking and still choosing him in the most reckless way possible.

his hand slides up your back, fisting in your hair just enough to tilt your head. it's been so long since he kissed you alastor forgets how to kiss you. a broken dam, a sudden downpour—he just lick at your mouth like an animal, claw at his skull, try to eat you alive. everything is wet, like you're both bleeding. you bite back, just to show him you have teeth too. the neon from outside paints your skin like a fresh wound and he has the irrational thought that if he presses hard enough, he might crawl inside your ribcage and sit there where it will always be warm for him.

your mouths finally part with a wet, loud sound. a thin thread of saliva stretches and snaps between you like a severed wire. your lip is split where his teeth caught you earlier. a bead of red gathers there, bright as a dropped cherry. yours, mostly. perhaps a little his. he can't tell anymore.

alastor's gaze fixes on it, the way one might watch a drop of syrup sliding down the rim of a glass. it's just you and him—this messy, mutant, melted-together thing—you'll talk him out of it. you'll get in his head, you'll get him high, you'll poison his spit with your spit and he'll end up lost in the taste of you all over again.

he has to hurt you, he decides. he has to hurt you to make it stick. hurt you for real.

"well," he hums, a little breathless around the edges, "that was profoundly embarrassing for you."

your expression snaps from stunned to furious so quickly it almost makes him proud.

"excuse me?"

alastor releases your hair as he smooths a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve.

"you heard me," his thumb brush absently across the corner of his mouth where the blood has begun to bead. "if this is how you behave when denied, it's no wonder none of your companions could keep up."

( he feels like every night he's digging himself deeper into dysfunction, destroying his shot at living a normal life again. he has create a high that's unreachable without you. no one in the whole world has skin as soft as yours. lips that taste like this. no one will ever, ever look at him with more adoration or more hatred. other futures forevermore pale in comparison to the thrill of this.

every night he is condemning himself to a life of that is either empty, or on fire. eternally oscillating between dullness and danger. )

your grip loosens, the muscles in your hand suddenly remembering how to work.

"i—"

it's almost casual, the way his leg slips forward between yours. the polished edge of his shoe nudges past your ankle, then further, until your stance falters and instinctively widens to keep your balance. suddenly you are propped up on his thigh with his knee pressed into the wall behind you.

the movement presses you back a fraction into the wall, whatever hurtful thing you could have said died on your tongue, replaced instead with a shaky, quiet breath.

"you are doing wonderfully," he murmurs, voice smooth and venomous, tilting his head. "do try again."

your mouth open, then close it again. it's mostly a testament of your willingness to play this game, or else is his knee that keeps pushin up, up, up— until he feels the heat of his skin againts your clothed crotch, and you jolt.

"move," it's all you can spit out before it stumbles into nothing because alastor's hand is squeezing a side of your hip, fingers digging into your pelvis, close to your cunt.

"oh?" he lets his eyes widen in faux surprise, pausing his claw's slow, inevitable descent. "i thought touching you is exactly what you wanted from me,"

"i want you to get the fuck off my life."

you wince because it sounds so bad, like that, so clear, so indisputably fucked up. his stomach betrays him as it twists around the shape of you, the memory of your body against his, that terrible perfect fit.

"i can tell," he says immediately. the words drag against his ribs on the way out. "you've been doing a marvelous job demonstrating that, haven't you? cycling through replacements like a child with broken toys."

there's hurt seeping in your face through the anger before you can seal it over, and alastor relishes in the treacherous, sickening curl of satisfaction coil warm in his gut. he needs it to. he is the one who tears open his ribs for the sake of becoming less of him and more of you, and you are the one who cradles the heart inside

( tell him to close you up again, he will close you up from the inside )

"i've never done that," baring your teeth, alastor can feel the tremor in your legs now. the effort it takes for you to hold yourself rigid above his thigh rather than sink your weight into it. "but i guess i would be bitter too if i realized i've never needed yo—"

his legs shifts upwards at the same time he lifts your body up just a little, it's not enough to carry you, not enough to truly move you anywhere— but it's breaks your footing completely before his hand tighten on your hip and drags you down against his thigh.

the sound that leaves your mouth is mortifyingly soft as your head tips back against the wall with a small, helpless sound. your fingers tighten in the fabric of his suit like you might tear it off him.

"what was it you were saying?," he coos. his fingers drum lightly along your hip, the same idle rhythm he once used when hearing you talk—tap, tap, tap. "something about not needing me?"

"i´m—"

alastor is reaching down, shushing you, but even then, that grip of his on your hip, the one that keeps you right where he wants you, starts grinding you hip down and forcing you to surge and move as he shifts you. the angle has you moving up more against your cunt than your clit, another impossible-to-satisfy little trap of looping pleasure.

"see," he hums, almost gently, as if explaining something obvious to a particularly slow child, "this is precisely the problem, my dear." his thumb traces an absent, idle line against your side, mockingly soothing. "you insist on saying things you clearly don't mean."

it makes you melt all the same, forehead knocking lightly against his collarbone when you sag forward for a second before catching yourself. there's sheen gathering at your lash line. they cling stubbornly, making your eyes shine in the dim hallway light.

"i said i don't need you," you force out, quicker this time, like if you rush it you might outrun him.

it's okay. if he has to choke on this—on you, on everything you've ever been to him—then you will too.

"i'm beginning to suspect otherwise," his eyes flick briefly toward the direction of the stairs, where distant laughter still echoes faintly "then should i fetch your charming companion from downstairs?"

you make something akin a whine. your hands have landed on his shoulders at some point, whether you are trying to push him or just helping yourself to rut against him, the intent has clearly been lost somewhere along the way.

"what— no."

he leans in and down until he curves closely around your head. his hand grips your hips bruisingly now, guiding your back on his thigh as you whimper in relief at the long-desired friction to your cunt. alastor knows it's a bad angle, shallow and not quite firm the way you want it, but it's something.

"no? you don't think he'd enjoy it? you seemed so keen on his attention" he presses. alastor can feel the tremor run through you where your body rests against his leg. it travels up through bone and fabric and settles somewhere low in his stomach. "though i can't imagine he's ever seen you like this."

alastor hates thinking about it, his teeth itch and his guts tie into knots. he has mapped out every part of you with his lips. he has licked your shin bones, kissed the back of your knees, the crease of your thigh, the bones of your sternum until your little pink nipples pebbled up into hard points and then he licked those, too. nothing in the world is as his as your body, and that means all of it.

"don't— talk about him," you bite out, though it lacks its usual edge, probably because alastor decides that would be the perfect moment to shift slightly so the friction hits you just right, and you can feel him tensing under you to help you along. your mouth gap open as moans and whines push their way out of you at the abrupt change, hands digging into his shoulders. "alastor— "

the friction burns right through you, a lot but not enough- not enough for you, even if you are so fucking wet that you're sure he can feel it by now, the damp patch steadily ruining your flimsy lace, slick against where his fingertips are just shy of pressing against your cunt.

"what do you suppose he'd think?" he hums conversionally. "would he still look at you the same way, i wonder?" alastor's tone brightens, cruel amusement curling through it. "or would he finally understand what exactly he was borrowing?"

small whines and whimpers leaving you, despite the fact that you're biting your lower lip in an attempt to stop them, eyes are all bleary and unfocused.

but you shake your head once while a tear slips free this time, it gathers at the corner of your eye, then another. your lashes clump slightly as they spill over, sliding hot and silent down your temples.

alastor look absolutely livid about it.

"sweet girl, crying for little ol' me," he coos, acrid tone and all. "don't look so upset," he says, almost fondly, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. he doesn't wipe it away, just smears the evidence of it, like ink dragged across paper. "you're the one who wanted attention, aren't you?"

he pulls back to admire his work. you're debauched like this, erratic pants leaving your mouth, and then you finally meets his gaze, eyes a dark, sexed shade, pupils blown from the rush of the moment and your red of him.

"you don't need me," his smile tilts. "and yet you're still right where i left you."

in hindsight, alastor is surprised it didn't happen sooner. it was unspoken but he expected you to snap sooner than this. every thought is gone. your hands snap up, fingers closing tight around his throat, where you squeeze to feel his pulse, his swallows.

a sharp, jagged burst of sound cracks out of him, distorted at the edges. static crawls up his spine, spills from his mouth in a brief, violent flicker of radio feedback. you surge foward, and in an explosion of blood-red static sends both of you crashing down in a dull, carpeted thud. every denial and precaution and restraint wholly obliterated by the steady, unrelenting churn of your body.

his heel skids on the carpet; his staff clatters somewhere useless. alastor hits the floor first, back meeting the ground with a soft impact that knocks the air (not breath, exactly, but something adjacent) out of him. you follow immediately after, landing over him. teary-eyed, clothes a wreck, something like praying.

his antlers scrape faintly against the floor as his head tilts back, red eyes blinking up at you.

"well now—"

"you know what the worst part about you is?" you cut him off with a laugh, cracked down the middle, "is that you talk too much for someone who couldn't even stay."

you're considerated enough to remove your hands for a moment, fingers no longer at his throat but fisted tight in his lapels. a shame he can't say the same about your knee that keeps pressing uncomfortably against his crotch and the obvious hard-on.

another flicker of static threatens in his throat, instinctual, but he swallows it down this time. barely.

"what is it, then?" you drag him up slightly by the coat before letting him fall back again. it echoes in alastor's skull. "can't stand the idea of me choosing someone else? or is it that you can't stand not being the one i come back to?"

that gives you just enough time to rip apart the suit. you snatch the bow tie first, you're grabbing his red shirt next until the first buttons give up. alastor is acutely aware that you would be tearing him apart if he hadn't been wearing clothes.

your eyes are half lidded and it makes him throb and you're going to leave and he misses you even though you're right there, scalpel bared, and just like that, alastor lets you cut him open.

"or maybe—" your voice dips, quieter now, crueler for it, "—maybe it's simpler than that. maybe you just hate i'm the only thing you've ever wanted that you couldn't keep. embarrassing for you, huh."

well, you had your fun. at least you don't have to worry about him using his tentacles or his demonic form because alastor has the upper body strength to hook one arm around your waist while the other catches your shoulder, grip iron-tight as he uses your own forward lean against you.

he twists, shifts his weight, and suddenly the balance tips again.

you make a startled sound when the carpet rushes up to meet your back. alastor even catches your leg mid-flailing kick, jamming it into the floor before latching both of your wrists to the floor.

"i do admire the effort," he murmurs, watching a stray lock of hair trail down and brush against your temple "truly. it's not often you bare your teeth first."

you swallow, eyes flicking to the side. you have a look like you're about to say again something alastor suspects he will not like at all, but self-preservation clearly gets the best of you, so you stay quiet.

"pity you don't know when to stop biting." he can see the slight shiver of your starched collar as alastor's breath brushes against it. the closeness is that of a lovers' intimacy in all ways except that alastor's intentions are not so benevolent as any of that. "shall we correct that?"

"as if ever beg for you again," you spit, even as shadows writhe out from under the floor to hold your hands above your head, pinned like a butterfly. "i should have left when we were still alive."

alastor is too pleased with himself to fully feel the sharp sting of those words.

"now there's a thought," he muses instead, and slides down your legs until positions himself primly between your thighs. you don't try to kick him this time, which says a lot about your pants and cries.

alastor puts his hands above your knees and shoves your legs apart, wrenching your dress up in the process.

"fuck you."

"if you insist," alastor says, and finishes yanking your dress. you whine once.

you're wearing surprisingly regular panties. alastor isn't sure what he expected—something more deliberately sensual, perhaps. you did wear pretty lingerie when you were with him back then, at least in the few special occasions. alastor doesn't know how to feel with the fact that you didn't dress up for your date.

"good grief, what a mess you've made of yourself tonight." alastor hums, tracing a claw up the inside of one of your thighs. the muscles don't so much as twitch. "and you were so worried about making a scene."

and you really are such a mess: wet with arousal, the swell of your clit visible through the dampened fabric of your panties and moulding to your pussy lips, leaving nothing to the imagination. slick beading through the material of the underwear.

alastor pulls them aside, but clicks his tongue and just cuts them off entirely, dragging the sharp edge of his claw through the simple fabric until you are entirely naked below the waist.

then he snaps his fingers and peculiar toy manifest in his hand.

"what—" you choke out, scandalized, voice still ragged with tears. "why— how do you have that?"

alastor's grin is unfriendly but wide. he is holding a—sex toy. yours, he may add, and it sits awkwardly in his palm: a thick, textured, gaudily purple thing with a strange weight to it that he assumes you sometimes use and alastor just happens to know you keep it hidden in a drawer under your clothes.

"all those little outings and not a single one capable of satisfying you?" alastor sighs, shaking his head like he's genuinely disappointed. he bumps the head of the toy up against your cunt, watching idly as the head of it parts your labia and nudges teasingly at the underside of your clit.

"you don't know anything about that." your eyes flick up from where you're straining to stare at what alastor is doing, and your eyes meet for a split second before you avert your gaze.

"i know enough."

he takes his time positioning you just right. he'd shoved your legs apart haphazardly earlier—now he takes care to set them at the appropriate distance, bending them at the knees and propping them up. it's like posing a helpless little doll, if the doll was whimpering and dripping all over herself about the whole thing.

"i know you keep this tucked away like a shameful little secret," alastor says, dragging the tip of the dildo down to prod at your entrance—this earns you an anticipatory gasp, which he rewards by pressing in just slightly before dragging the dildo back up, reveling in the way your face drops and then twists in annoyance. "i know you only reach for it when whatever poor substitute you've dragged home fails to measure up—"

"that's not—"

"—and i know," he cuts cleanly over you and taps it lightly against your clit, watching the involuntary reactions of your body with fascination, "that you never needed such tools before."

alastor is too frustrated, with this, with you, to argue and instead he finally works the head of the toy inside your drooling cunt unceremoniously. you're shaking, trembling, as he pumps the cock into you slowly, feeling it fill you to the brim and beyond. you squeeze, shocked at the intrusion, and your back arches with a cry ripping from your lips.

it's a stretch, your mouth drops open in silent pleasure. you can't utter a single word, not with the silicon abusing your cunt at the pace he's set. he doesn't even provide you with enough time to adjust, so you just lie there and you take it, blinking back tears and your walls fluttering around the toy, sobbing and chewing your lip until you're choking on your own tears, and throws yourself into getting fucked with the same aplomb at the exact same time.

alastor imagined that this would bring him some sort of satisfaction, to see you undone like this. he's meant to be getting his revenge, in truth. making you feel as wretched as you made alastor feel. he doesn't know what this is. he doesn't want to know, but you are perfect and putty beneath his hands, with all the hard-won inches he finds inside of you and begs him to find your heartbeat up there, a precious nervy tremble.

he touches it and your head tilts back, your eyes roll. he touches it and wonder if this is what it felt like for god when he made you, then let you slip away all the same. something so striking, so beautiful, so fragile, he knew it couldn't last.

"wait, fuck," the toy it's pounding into you, alastor's steady hand pumping it into you at a speed that has you seeing stars, that has you on edge. "you're—such a bastard."

"that may be," alastor responds flatly. a moan is punched out of your lungs. satisfaction and pleasure makes a mess of your nerves— so worked up you have to make effort to breathe around the pleasure. "i assure you, i'm far more offended than you are."

you moan his name feeling especially helpless to it. your mind feels completely blank, you're barely able to respond to his taunting. all you can feel is white-hot pleasure, heart pounding as your fingers curl up. the euphoric drag of the head through silken walls.

( it makes him feel like he wants to touch you again. or let you touch him. he feels hot under the collar, watching you cry and writhe. the cold satisfaction of violence is gone—all that's left is the memory of your warmth.

and it's really fucking pissing him off. )

"don’t you think its unfair, acting so shameless when i’m meant to be taking it out on you?" alastor hums, and snaps the toy against you with such intensity, that it makes you feel like he hates you. it borders on painful. "that certainly explains how you seem to be incapable of doing anything except thinking with your littler brain, sometimes."

he can hear the slick sounds of the dildo driving in and out of your pussy, feel the arousal dripping from your hole down your thighs with every thrust and it makes you breathless how quick he's changed the pace.

"fuck, i can't—s-slow down—oh god—it feels so oh—" just as the words leave your mouth, his hand is re-angled to push up into your pussy, the right-bound hook he sports curving right up to a gummy cushion in your walls.

"but that's not what you are trying to say," alastor smirks down at you, shaking his head mockingly, like his heart isn't thumping a rabbit-quick pulse in his throat, "tell me what you want"

he's not wrong though. you can feel how wet you are, sticky on your skin as the thrusts make it hard to think. you can't even focus on how it makes you feel good, how he manages to push it deep enough inside against your sweet spot and paints dark spots in your vision. your eyes are going hazy, thr pleasure building and threatening to send you over the edge.

"i-i want—" the sheer weight of this impassioned thrusting has you jolting up the floor and thrashing around under him, looking to escape the white-hot harvest of pleasure pulsing in your pussy. "cum oh— i'm cumming—!"

"well, i don't want you to"

you come with a shriek of snapping electricity. sort of. alastor doesn't know what he's doing—all he knows is that he's angry, so he rips the dildo out off you in one, swift motion and tosses it away, vanishing it into the extradimensional space.

"what—what are you—" you make a small, wounded sound. the shadows tighten instantly when your hips trash senselessly against the floor while your thighs try to rub together, but with alastor between them there's so much you can do.

tears stream down your cheeks to mix with a layer of slobber splayed on your skin—a pitifully nasty mess, born out of the relentless palms of him. he has the liberty to see you at your most vulnerable: degeneracy painting itself all over your body. a beautifully disgusting mess, you are, and he only makes it worse.

"oh dear, that looks like it really hurt" alastor laughs, delighted.

your clit is so engorged with your arousal that it twitches with your frantic heartbeat, and your abused opening leak, almost incessantly. it spams and clenches over nothing even as alastor smooths a hand over the inside of your knee.

he doesn't try to touch you again, instead watching until the pitiful not-quite-orgasm fades.

"this isn't fair," you whine—and then wince, the breath leaving you all in one go, before alastor pulls his hands away. one of your heels kicks at the ground, somewhere to alastor's right.

then it ends, the shadows loosen first at a snap of fingers—reluctant at best, curling back like they were never there, and your wrists drop, your body following a second later while the sensation returns in uneven, trembling waves. you don't move immediately. you can't.

alastor has the half-mind to help you, or tries to, pulling your dress down over your thighs again as you gasp, abjectly appalled at the disgusting, wet sensation between your legs before you threaten to boot his side. your hands fumble with your clothes instead, smoothing, pulling, fixing what can be fixed. it's a losing battle, but you try anyway.

across from you, alastor is already standing.

he straightens to his full height, settles his suit back, tugs his cuffs into place shortly after and adjusts the bow tie at last—the torn fabric you left behind doesn't even last; it mends under his touch, threads slipping back together until there's no evidence left of your hands on him.

by the time you've managed to sit down, a tendril is already handling the microphone to him. alastor thinks you're about to ask him for help, see if he can carry you to your room and then clean you up.

you do none of that.

"why did you leave?"

ah.

that is the absolute last thing he wants to deal today, a figment from a far off daydream in which he finally got the chance to tell the you how he felt, not unlike a ragdoll being dragged around by its owner under the promise of eventual love and affection.

"now, now," he starts, and he can feel his smile straining at the corners, "i hardly think dredging up old domestic grievances is—"

"was it me?" you insist, looking dazedly around the walls until your eyes fell on him, an unrecognizable emotion blossoming behind them. "was there something i did that—"

"don't be ridiculous"

you push yourself to your feet, slower when your shaky legs threaten to betray you, one hand dragging along the wall for balance while the other fists at your side like you're bracing for impact.

"then why?" your voice rises just slightly, the remnants of breath mold into something ugly, something animalistic, something that makes you sound like you got blood in your mouth and you're trying to swallow around it. "because you never gave me a reason until—"

you swallow the words, and while it never bothered him before, this time he needs you to say it, need to hear you dismissing him from your own mouth. the desire is utterly masochistic, yet his reasoning behind it is one of the most selfish things he has ever felt, ironically coming from him. alastor wants more from you.

the silence is heavy, and he's wrecked.

"it wouldn't kill you being honest for once. you owe me that much."

"owe you?" he echoes, a soft, incredulous laugh slipping through. "i don't owe anyone anything."

"except maybe the person you married."

he stands there, despite he knows you want to go for his jugular. he's irritated for no real reason. alastor's fingers twitch againts his staff.

"i—"

"well!" he claps his hands together once, the sound makes you flinch all together. "that's quite enough of that. i appreciate the entertainment—"

you blink at him. "what?"

you're genuinely confused, and for a moment he feels bad for using you to quell his own rapidly growing hunger. there's no way he can be honest. he never learned how to chew through without choking.

"—but i do believe we've overstayed our welcome and frankly, it's becoming boring."

"alastor—"

"do try to compose yourself before returning downstairs. wouldn't want your date to get the wrong impression—"

"i don't care!" you shoot back. "i don't know what i did wrong! i don't know what to do, i don't know why you left!"

"it wasn't my fucking choice."

neither of you speak, and he's conscious of another line in the sand between the two of you. he's well acquainted with boundaries. he's the first one to cross it.

alastor can feel his ears flatten, an involuntary reaction to information that he was never meant to share. fuck. fuck, he hates this—you always do this, always makes him feel things and say things and do things that he doesn't want.

your breath catches, but he doesn't wait for you to finish. doesn't give you the chance.

"goodnight, my dear," alastor hisses, and turns to the shadows. a split second before he fades, he can see your mouth moving—but he's already gone, too far to hear what you're saying.

he returns to his room and wonders what in the hell could have possibly been worth all this loss.

he keeps forgetting why he did it, he lets himself just want, purely with his chest, his guts, it's okay because you're safe, and so is he. he is those holes that keeps getting bigger the more the storm erodes away its sides. mud in the pit of it, worms, sludge. he is bad at being good. even if he bit, he can't pierce your skin. he can't make new holes in you. it's better this way, he thinks.

he lies face down in bed, does nothing about the uneasy ache between his legs and pretends he is made of acid rain.

maybe you both deserve this. to fit against each other, one begging, one dying inside.