I desperately need a spoiled Rich brat x Alastor smut LIKE THE THOUGHTS I AM HAVING ARE NOT IN THE BIBLE
Call Me Princess
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dom!Alastor, brat!reader, light degradation, praise kink, edging, power play, biting, slight bondage, overstimulation. 18+ ONLY
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The first time you met Alastor, it was because you demanded it.
You were boredâdreadfully soâlounging on velvet chaises in your ridiculous penthouse suite that overlooked the smog-drenched skyline of Hell. You had every material thing your blackened little heart could desire: diamond-studded heels that sliced the throat of angels, gowns stitched from siren song, a custom-built closet big enough to house your entire entourageâand not a single soul worthy of entertaining you.
And so you told your assistantâsome half-baked incubus you kept around to make your morning coffee and look pretty in tight pantsâto fetch you someone interesting.
âI want someone... dangerous,â you purred, twirling a cherry between your fingers. âNot one of those try-hard imps or washed-up sinners with daddy issues. I want someone with bite.â
That was how Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, ended up standing in your drawing room, a foxlike smile on his face and a cane in his hand.
âOh-hoho! My, my, what a curious little creature you are,â he said, voice buzzing with static charm. âSummoning me like a common cabaret act. You must either be terribly brave... or terribly foolish.â
You tilted your head, already smiling. âWhy not both?â
You were used to men simpering before you, licking your heels for the chance to taste your skin. Alastor did not lickâhe snapped. His teeth were sharp, and he never let you forget it.
âYou know, darling, thereâs a certain kind of beauty in your arrogance,â he drawled during one of your little âafternoon teas.â âItâs positively radiantâlike watching a canary preen itself in a lionâs den.â
You licked crĂšme brĂ»lĂ©e from a golden spoon, meeting his crimson eyes without shame. âAnd yet you keep visiting, Alastor. So what does that say about you?â
He leaned in, uninvited, and placed his hand on your bare kneeâhis touch light, but his smile heavy with meaning.
âWhy, it means I enjoy the taste of danger... as much as you do.â
Flirtation with Alastor was never innocent. There was always a blade beneath the velvet. A tension that pulled tauter with each conversation.
You werenât sure when it shifted from idle amusement to obsession.
Maybe it was the night you attended Valentinoâs masquerade, and Alastor cornered you in the garden, pressing you against a stone cherub while the moon cast silver over your skin.
âYou like the attention, donât you?â he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear. âWearing that little thing... parading yourself around like a spoiled debutante.â
You tilted your chin, defiant, heart pounding in your chest. âI am a spoiled debutante.â
He chuckled darkly, cupping your face. âThen let me ruin you, princess.â
But he didnât kiss youânot yet. That was Alastorâs game. Heâd bring you to the edge and then disappear like smoke, leaving you wanting, aching, furious with desire.
You started dressing just for him.
Scarlet silks that matched his eyes. Black lace gloves heâd once said made you look like sin wrapped in satin. Pearls he called âpretty little liesâ strung around your throat.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
âYou do so enjoy playing the temptress,â he said one evening as you reclined on your chaise, legs crossed just so, a glass of red in your hand.
âAnd you do so enjoy watching,â you replied.
âGuilty.â He grinned, but it didnât reach his eyes.
Tonight, there was something different in himâmore static in the air. His smile was strained, teeth too sharp.
âCareful, sweetheart,â he said, cane tapping against the marble. âYouâre walking a very fine line.â
âAnd what if I want to fall?â you asked, voice low, eyes lidded.
He was at your side in a blink, grabbing your wrist, pulling you up until your body was flush with his. His gloved hand slid up your waist, over your ribs, stopping just beneath your breast.
âYou think youâre ready for what Iâd do to you?â
You leaned forward, brushing your lips just short of his. âTry me.â
You never quite made it to the bedroom.
Alastor pinned you to the wall of your own dressing room, lips ghosting over yours, his body caging you in. You moaned as his fingers dragged your hem up, baring your thighs to the cold air.
âYouâre trembling,â he murmured, amused.
âIâm excited,â you snapped.
He laughed, then pressed a kiss to your throatâhot, open, possessive. âSpoiled little thing,â he purred. âYou want everything handed to you, donât you? Even this.â
âNo,â you breathed. âI want you to take it.â
That did something to him. His pupils blew wide, a growl rippling from his chest. In a blink, you were spun around, cheek pressed to the mirrored wall, his body firm behind yours.
âSo eager to be manhandled,â he crooned, hiking your skirt up further, gloved fingers sliding along the lace edge of your panties. âTell me, princess. Do you like being touched by monsters?â
âOnly if they know what theyâre doing,â you rasped.
Alastor chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your shoulder. âDarling, I invented the art of ruin.â
He didnât give you release that night. Oh no.
After winding you tighter than a violin string, Alastor left you panting, aching, dripping, while he smoothed his gloves and smiled like heâd just enjoyed a fine meal.
âPleasure must be earned, pet,â he said, straightening his waistcoat. âAnd you, Iâm afraid, have been very naughty.â
You threw a vase at him. He laughed like youâd gifted him a rose.
The next time you saw him, you werenât wearing much of anything. Just a silk robe and a pair of diamond earrings.
Alastor stepped over your threshold with a smirk, eyes drinking you in.
âPlanning to seduce me with luxury again?â he asked.
âNo,â you said, stepping close, gripping his lapels. âPlanning to break you.â
That was the moment everything snapped.
He shoved you back against the wall and kissed youâreally kissed youâfor the first time.
It wasnât gentle.
It was teeth and tongue and punishment, the kind of kiss that branded your soul. His hands explored every inch of you like theyâd been starved. Your robe hit the floor. His coat followed.
âIâve had enough of your teasing,â he growled, lifting you like you weighed nothing. âYou want to be a brat? Fine. But youâll learn how I deal with brats.â
You laughed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around him. âMake me, Daddy.â
That did it. That broke him.
The static in the room spiked. Somewhere, the lights burst. But you didnât care. You were too busy being pressed into the mattress, moaning his name like a prayer.
Hours later, you lay tangled in sheets and limbs, bruised, sore, sated. Alastor was beside you, shirt unbuttoned, suspenders hanging loose.
His smile was still thereâbut softer now. Less predator. More... pleased.
âYouâre delightful when ruined,â he said, brushing a knuckle over your cheek.
You turned to him, smirking. âAnd youâre less insufferable after sex.â
He laughed, full-bodied and rich, and you realized... youâd never heard him laugh like that before. Not on the radio. Not with others. Just you.
âCareful,â he murmured, kissing your temple. âI might just keep you.â
You smiled, lazy and victorious, and curled closer to him.
âGood,â you whispered. âBecause Iâm not done with you yet.â
You didnât sleep.
Alastor didnât let you.
Every time your body began to settle, shivering under silk sheets and cooling sweat, heâd start again.
A touch on your inner thigh. A kiss behind your ear. A bite to the curve of your breast. A hand around your throat, firm enough to make your lashes flutter.
âDid I say you could rest?â he whispered, his voice slick and dark, like a phonograph whispering filth through velvet.
You whimpered, half-laughing, half-pleading. âYouâre obsessed with me.â
âOh, absolutely,â he purred, licking a slow line from your navel to the swell of your chest. âIâm positively possessed, darling.â
Your wrists were tied above your head with one of your own silk scarves, knotted too expertly for a man who claimed to âhardly dabbleâ in sin.
He hovered over you like a storm: teeth bared, grin permanent, pupils blown. A god of want. And he wanted you.
âTell me something, pet,â he murmured, tracing a finger down your stomach. âWhen you dress like a whore, act like a brat, and look at me like Iâm dinner... what exactly are you hoping will happen?â
âI was hoping,â you gasped, âyouâd finally shut up and fuck me.â
The slap wasnât hard. Not really. Just enough to shock the breath from your lungs. Just enough to make you throb.
Alastor leaned in, his hand tangled in your hair, his knee parting your thighs again.
âOh, I am going to fuck you, sweetheart,â he promised, voice crackling like fire on old vinyl. âBut not until you beg for it. Properly.â
Your pride screamed at you not to give in. You were a queen. A rich, spoiled, untouchable brat whoâd never once begged for anything.
But Alastor wasnât just anything.
He was everything you werenât supposed to want. Wicked. Cruel. Clever.
And he knew exactly how to undo you.
He dipped two fingers between your thighs, groaning low when he felt how wet you still were. âGreedy little thing,â he said, curling them slowly. âSoaking just from a slap and a threat. You do love this, donât you?â
You whimpered, rolling your hips into his hand.
He pulled away.
âAh, ah. No touching unless I say so.â
You nearly sobbed.
âPlease.â
Alastor stilled. His grin returned, slow and shark-like.
âThere she is,â he whispered. âSay it again.â
âPlease,â you said again, breathless. âTouch me. IâIâll be good.â
He hummed approvingly, moving between your legs like a man starved.
âYouâve never been good a day in your life,â he growled. âBut youâre mine now. And I take care of my things... even when theyâre disobedient little sluts.â
He licked into you without preamble, his tongue talented, fast, merciless. You screamedâyes, screamedâas he devoured you like a man who hadnât eaten in centuries.
Which, you supposed, was probably true.
You writhed against the ties, cursed his name, begged for more. But Alastor didnât stop. Not even when your thighs shook. Not even when you came against his mouth with a sob.
You thought heâd pause. Let you catch your breath.
He didnât.
He slipped two fingers back inside you, fucking them hard and deep while his lips stayed locked around your clit. The overstimulation burned. Your head rolled back. You came again, faster this time, messier, tears spilling down your cheeks.
âThatâs two,â he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. âAnd Iâm not finished yet.â
âY-Youâre cruel,â you panted.
âCruel?â he echoed, mock offended. âDarling, I havenât even started.â
He flipped you onto your stomach, undoing your ties only to grip your wrists behind your back. You gasped as he bent you over, chest pressed into the mattress, ass arched.
âSuch a beautiful toy,â he murmured, lining himself up. âBeg for it, princess.â
You gritted your teeth. He slammed in anyway.
The scream that ripped from your throat was broken, filthy. He bottomed out in one thrust, thick and stretching you open, no time to adjust. Just the raw, brutal sensation of being taken.
He didnât hold back.
Alastor fucked like he did everything elseâwith elegance, flair, and terrifying focus. Each thrust was punishing, relentless, and perfect. He dragged cries from your lips, babbled praise from your mouth, slick heat between your thighs.
âWho owns you?â he growled, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
âYou do,â you sobbed. âYou own me, Alastor, pleaseâplease donât stopââ
âThatâs my good girl.â
He kept going until your legs gave out, until your voice cracked, until you were trembling and incoherent, drooling against your pillow.
Only then did he finally spill inside you with a guttural moan, hips stuttering, body collapsing over yours.
You woke in the crook of his arm, sore in the best way. He was already staring at you, shirtless, smoking something that smelled like cedar and burnt clove.
âYouâre insatiable,â you muttered, half-asleep.
He chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from your cheek. âAnd youâre exquisite when ruined.â
You rolled over, straddling him, still naked and humming with bruised satisfaction. âSo... are you finally done trying to teach me lessons?â






