#radio actor

Fic Available Here

Alastor can feel his mating season approaching, creeping over his limbs like an unwelcome, burning frost. And it’s all the fault of the immovable object to his unstoppable force.

His estranged wife. His better half. The only other deer demon that seemed to both illicit and satiate the sudden spike of hormones and arousal of his annual rut.

Unfortunately for him, she’s as stubborn as he is, and is still pissed at him for disappearing without a word for the past seven years.

And for the first time in a long time, Alastor has to rely on his ability to woo her to convince her to spend the duration of his rut with him.

TLDR: actions speak louder than words, and Alastor attempts to seduce his estranged wife over the course of a week leading up to his impending rut.

Fic Available Here!

I may or may not write this as a fully fledged fic , I’ll wait and see what public reception says lol

2 | Rain ‘N Fall

this is part two of an nine part mini series, and can also be found on my ao3

part one

pairing: alastor x wife!reader

divider credit: @steviebbboi

series content: fem!doe!reader, alastor is down bad and needy, male! masturbation, bickering, temporary angst, fast burn, courting, mating season, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, body worship, praise kink, biting, scent marking, knotting, soft-top!Alastor/power-bottom!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: Alastor can feel his mating season approaching, creeping over his limbs like an unwelcome, burning frost. And it's all the fault of the immovable object to his unstoppable force.

His estranged wife. His better half. The only other deer demon that seemed to both illicit and satiate the sudden spike of hormones and arousal of his annual rut.

Unfortunately for him, she's as stubborn as he is, and is still pissed at him for disappearing without a word for the past seven years.

And for the first time in a long time, Alastor has to rely on his ability to woo her to convince her to spend the duration of his rut with him.

TLDR: actions speak louder than words, and Alastor attempts to seduce his estranged wife over the course of a week leading up to his impending rut.

wc: 5.8k

author's note: wow, the concept post for this fic blew up lol, ngl this is the first time l've actually felt the pressure to produce something great since it seems so many people like the concept, hopefully it's met expectations, and like always with me, this story kind of got away from me and it looks like it's going to be eight chapters of longing and horniness

plot notes: the mc is a doe demoness, she is also an established small-time overlord who specializes in theatre and is a semi-famous showgirl in hell, and while her appearance is mostly left ambiguous, she does wear a porcelain half mask over her right eye, her stay at the hotel occurs only because she knows alastor doesn't want her there, she's a petty woman and he loves it, she will be featured more prominently in all of the other parts, we just need alastor being stubborn and horny alone first

She had a stalker.

Of that, she was certain.

And the question of just who was responsible for the newly constructed theory didn’t go unanswered for much longer than the time it took for her mind to concoct it.

She knew her husband better than anybody. And, loathe as he was to admit, or perhaps, he was simply far too stubbornly ignorant to the fact, she knew him better than even himself sometimes.

She knew he didn’t realize that he lingered around her like an old cologne. That he leaned into her when she spoke. That, even when she wasn’t speaking to him, she noticed out of the corners of her vision that the fluff of his ears twitched to catch each and every syllable. That his eyes itched familiar journeys along her spine, that his stare lingered just a little too long to be subtle on her mouth whenever she met his scathing taunts with biting remarks of her own.

She knew he wasn’t fully aware of just how often the sentience of his silhouette unstitched the constricting threads tying it to him and sought her out. Interrupting the tranquility of her lonesome bedroom, or grinning down at her from the rafters of her theater during glittering shows and dimly lit practices.

What she didn’t know, what she couldn’t begin to theorize a plausible explanation or reasoning for, was why. Why now?

She’d always known her husband was a strange man, and, perhaps to her own detriment, she’d loved him to pieces for it. That he’d been an unconventional man in life, and had only grown less so with time. But, even as the sole arbiter of everything Alastor and his unusual whimsy, even she could only hope to dwell on the strange doings of her estranged spouse.

She ruminated through the stormy bewilderment, the steel of her umbrella twirling under practiced gloved fingers, interrupting the heavy cascade of acid rain sizzling through into the streets of Pentagram City. She stood on a street corner among the dwindling population of the Entertainment District, bottom lip jutted in a thoughtful pout as her wide eyes lifted from the screeching disarrayed sinners fleeing from the burn of hellish rainfall to watch for the indicative change of light hithering her across the rush of the street.

“Don’t ya just love the smell of melting flesh in the morning?”

The voice made her jolt, unfamiliar and low, knuckles whitening under the satin enveloping her fingers as she tightened her grip on the stem of her umbrella. She kept her eyes forward, fixed to the light and watching the blur of cars before her, sidestepping the forced intrusion upon her space when the sinner toed the curve next to her, larger arm brushing her own.

“I prefer the sound of tortured screams to start my day,” she snipped.

He barked a laugh, loud, boisterous, and painfully fake. It made her limbs tense slightly. And, almost as quick as the humored noise left his lips,

“So, what’s a little thing like you doin’ out in this weather?”

“Waiting for the lights to change,” she drawled flatly, rolling the handle of her umbrella between her fingers to send a twirling spray of acidic water out around her, hitting the stranger’s arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he jerked his arm, other hand instinctively clamping down around the spot where his shirt fizzled with a hiss, and she realized belatedly just how big the sinner was.

It probably should have been intimidating, but his smarmy down talk had only ignited an ancient righteous fury. She made a small noise of contemplation before adding with a shrug; “Same as a ‘little thing’ like you.”

“Ain’t nothing little ‘bout me, dollface,” he corrected quickly and lowly.

Her upper lip twisted with poorly restrained disgust at the insinuation.

“So, how’s bout it?” Out of the edge of her peripherals, large fingers curled around the edge of the umbrella, tilting the metal frame up until his imposing leer came into view. “Wanna get outta the rain with me?”

“No, thank you,” she chirped, lifting off of her heels with a faux playful and insolent dismissal of his advances. She brought her free hand up to block his face from hers, wiggling her satin clad fingers with an exaggerated bend of her ring finger. “I’m married.”

It made her heart pang a little, made her throat bob around the word as she felt a shallow furrow settle between her brows at the inadvertent mention of her husband.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the sinner crooned, lids lowering obsequiously. Hot breaths fanned across the masked side of her face, and he kept his hand on the rim of her protective parasol as he leaned down to murmur huskily into the twitching fluff of her ears. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“Trust me, he will,” she assured, tonality flat and eyes fixed forward, jerking her wrist to force him to relinquish the hold he had on her umbrella.

The sinner made a small sound of annoyance.

“And I’ve already said no,” she griped before he could make another bid to convince her, flicking her finger sharply without making contact with the tip of his crooked nose. Instead, the gesture sent a flurry of petals and scarlet puffs of magic into the incessant man’s visage. “So kindly, fuck off.”

He coughed around the petals that had invaded his mouth, tears glistening on his waterline as her magic dissipated around his face.

“Jesus, lady,” he wheezed, scrambling away from her with the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. “Lighten up. Christ.”

And, as he fumbled his way around her, vision impeded by a blurry filter of water, cursing her blind under his breath, she felt her shoulder droop. Her ears twitched at every uttered swear aimed for her between heady coughs and gasps for air. But with every grumbled demeaning word, his voice sounded quieter and more distant.

And suddenly she was alone again, still waiting for the lights to change.

Until she wasn’t.

“I can kill him for you, dear.”

Alastor’s voice came with a warble of static, a fog of darkness rolling off of him in dissipating waves until he solidified beside her. He kept himself at a preserved distance, the corners of his ever present grin sharpening when she regarded him with an arching brow and a lidded gaze.

She didn’t otherwise acknowledge him with her physicality. And he couldn’t be certain if the breath he let out in response to her lack thereof was one of flooding relief or immense disappointment. Either way, his ears perked and flicked towards her when she finally acknowledged him through an assertive quip. “I can kill him myself.”

Alastor hummed.

“Still so independent,” the buck mused, reaching up to catch one of the petals still spiraling through the air where she’d sent a burst of flowers and magic between his fingertips.

“Not like you gave me much of a choice,” she grumbled, chewing on her bottom lip.

Alastor reached out to pinch her cheek between his thumb and forefinger, giving her head a gentle little shake. “And still so antagonistic.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t go radio silent on me for almost a decade and expect me not to be pissed off at you,” she snipped, elbowing him between the ribs and batting the offending hand away with a riled noise of exasperation at his handsy teasing.

Alastor stilled beside her, the petal he’d caught between his claws wilting under a tensing grip at her words.

“Besides, you need someone to give you a bit of lip,” she added, sending him a flat look over the curve of her shoulder that was instantly undercut by the sly smirk tempting the corner of glossy lips. She broke the gaze with a roll of her eyes and a loose lift of her shoulder. “Keeps you in your place.”

Alastor hummed, standing his staff upright and bending by the waist to rest his forearm on the microphone, a sanguine hitch at the corner of his lips as he leaned under the edge of her umbrella to catch the corner of her eye. He tilted his head at her. It was a subtle motion. Not enough to draw the curious eye of another intrudingly nosey sinner, but enough to snag her attention, his grin broadening when her iris twitched to watch him out of the corner of her eye. “And where would that be?”

Under you; his traitorously incensed mind provided unhelpfully, and he stiffened a little when a creeping stretch of heat fanned across his cheekbones as she turned to face him properly.

His breath caught behind his teeth, and if it wasn’t for his hellbound physiology maintaining his omnipresent grin, he was sure it would have wobbled and collapsed under her attention. It felt as though she’d heard his innermost thoughts, like she could see right through his aloofness and straight into the endless void of his hungering longing for her.

He had to force his ears to stay upright, fighting the urging instinct to flatten them against his scalp and keep whatever teasing remarks she could possibly utter at his pathetic expense at a muffled distance.

But instead of ridicule and derision, instead of a mean admonishment of the shameful thoughts echoing throughout his mindscape that he really should have known better than to fear she’d resort to, even if she could read his mind, he was met with a tired little smile.

“Under the umbrella for a start,” she urged quietly, so unlike what he deserved. After seven years of silence and nothing, no nightly affections or morning murmurs. No reaching out and seeking contact when he’d finally returned. Just a soft, unfettered humorous offering of the shadow of her umbrella as she lifted her arm just enough to accommodate for his height.

When he didn’t make a move to slip under the shelter of her umbrella, she made a short noise of halfhearted exasperation, eyes rolling as her head lulled before she closed the space between them herself. Her free hand reached out and hooked onto his belt loop, dragging him in just a little closer and making him stumble as if she’d jerked him violently under the protective slope of the umbrella. “You want your face to melt?”

Alastor felt his brows twitch, the corners of his mouth quivering as he bit down on his tongue to halt the rising keen ruminating the back of his throat as her knuckles subsequently skirted the waistline of his slacks. He straightened suddenly, sucking in a sharp intake of hot air when she retracted her hand at the sudden change of posture.

He missed it instantly. The emanating warmth of her knuckles. The familiar tug on his belt loop, born from a habit originating from long before they’d even been wed. Her eyes on him when she glanced toward the dwindling rush of the road before them.

Alastor’s eyes didn’t falter, didn’t drift from her face, just to different anchor points in her visage. From the gentle curve of her porcelain mask, concealing one of her eyes from him forever. From the slight pinch in her brow as her exposed eye narrowed in on the traffic lights. To the shadow below her jawline, or the contours of her nose, or the tufts of fluff sitting pretty atop her head, flicking to catch every little noise vibrating around them. Or, to the subtle jut of her bottom of lip.

He wanted to bite it.

She didn’t notice his staring. Or perhaps, she did, and chose not to make any commentary on it. So, she nodded head towards the street and stepped down from the footpath.

Alastor followed like a dutiful shadow, keeping closer to her than he should have. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

He should have apparated away in a flurry of shadow and wit. Then, he wouldn’t have had to worry about the tightening at his waistline, of his newly excitable manhood hardening where he kept it tucked behind his belt. He wouldn’t have to subject himself to the listless urge to touch her, to take her umbrella from her smaller hands only so that he could slip his fingers between hers. He wouldn’t have to resist the wistful craving to cradle her jaw and tilted her mouth towards his.

The words tumbled from his mouth before pride and stubborn refusal to acknowledge the lightheaded weightlessness her floral aroma bestowed upon him could alter his decision making.

“Would you leave me if it did?”

He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the final syllable parted from his tongue, a small, embarrassed, needy whine ruminating beneath the slope of his sternum. And when she paused midstep, cocking her head up at him and arching a curious brow at the question, the Overlord braced himself for a laugh. He prepared himself to joke along, to play off his genuine disquietude at the internally tumultuous prospect of her moving on and leaving him behind.

His ears clamped down over his scalp, and his shoulders hiked up by his jawline. He wanted to step out into the downpour and let the acidic falls melt him down into nothing more than an ashamed, flustered heap of atoms.

But then, she considered him with a sweep of her eyes up and down his posture, and through an amused hum and around a coquettish grin; “Depends on how you behave.”

Alastor felt like a freak.

He knew it was probably the most apt description of his psychology.

He supposed he’d known he was crazy for as long as his heart had beat, that it had only been cemented within his very soul when it had halted.

He'd been informed of such by the furious snarls of his father when a fifteen-year-old version of himself hit him back for the first time. Had been forced to bear it, grin, and listen to the naysayers of his early twenties when they’d procured the knowledge of what occupation he wished to pursue. Garbled between desperate pleas for mercy from the men he’d secluded and slaughtered, all trying to retaliate in the only manner viable before he’d slit their throats and silenced their derision.

Through a girlish laugh and a wide smile when he’d whisked his newlywed off of her kitten-heeled feet and into his arms to cross the threshold of their home for the first time after their marital union.

He’d taken it in stride every time it had been uttered to undermine him. And he’d blossomed under the lighthearted admonishments of his wife’s playful chastisement.

But he’d never truly felt the shame that came along with such a characterization.

Not until he was sitting in the center of a nest of blankets and sheets in the distant heart of his bayou.

It wasn’t a new routine. To form a protective alcove in which he and his beloved could copulate and reside for the duration of his rut. His hellish physiology bound him to the incessant need to provide for his mate. To comprise a nest of warm sheets and cozy blankets within the confines of his four-poster bed. Anything so that she’d be content to lie with him.

He had barely even noticed he was doing it. That he’d spent the past week collecting soft fabrics and hoarding them for safekeeping on a bed he didn’t even use. He hadn’t given his newfound habit of rearranging and fluffing up pillows and cushions a second thought. Hadn’t questioned why it bothered him so when duvets he wouldn’t be lying on that night were wrinkled or in disarray. It wasn’t until he caught himself meticulously arranging the vast selection of sheets and fluffed-up pillows that he froze and recognized just what his primitive instincts were instructing him to do.

The nest wasn’t anything new.

The theft of her garments was.

He’d snatched the tee from his silhouetted counterpart out of sheer instinct to guard it, of having something that smelled so like her in a place that only smelled of him. His cheeks burned as he knelt at the center of his unoffered gesture of longing, haloed by a neatly tucked array of blankets and keeping the shirt hugged to his chest.

Breaths came in short huffs, fingers nearly trembling where they curled into the fabric of his wife’s sleepwear as he let his carmine glare twitch from corner to corner of his bed.

He should have given it back. Should have shoved it back into his shadow’s hands and admonished the theft with a punctuating command to return it before she noticed.

He shouldn’t have snuck into her suite in the first place.

Because now he was stuck. Stuck with a wistful desire to eradicate the distance between him and his beloved. Stuck with an affronting t-shirt as he slipped it beneath one of the pillows at the head of the bed. Stuck with the dawning realization that he was losing his mind.

That he was finally going crazy.

That he was a freak.

That he’d only spiral further down into the depths of his lustrous torment if he didn’t fix it.

Every morning since her impromptu arrival at Hazbin Hotel, she’d woken to find her estranged spouse lounging by her side.

Sometimes, he woke her up with a startlingly cheerful greeting, watching with a broad grin as she jolted awake before he allowed himself to bellow a laugh at her panting expense. It was days that were prologued by her husband’s mean, chaotic whimsy that he chose to follow her like a bothersome shadow. Disturbing her peace in the most innocuous of ways, teasing and goading her into a battle of wits and verbal jousting.

Other times, she was roused from her slumber by the cautious hand of her spouse fiddling with her sleep-slackened fingers, twisting the golden band haloing her ring finger with an unusually quiet countenance. On mornings like those, he chose not to speak to her, to vanish into the shadows of the morning glow as soon as she began to stir. To avoid her until Hell’s moon rose over the Pentagram and she retired to bed with no notion of what she was going to wake up to in the morning.

The only constant to be procured from the dichotomous routines was that his shadow acted as though it were her own, chasing her down every busy street and winding hallway. Offering little confectionaries and a helping hand, just like a lightless manifestation of the gentleman her husband could be when he wanted to.

It was weird.

It confused the ever-loving fuck out of her.

Yesterday had been a quiet morning. The only difference was that he had actually spoken to her, voice low and wispy as he ran his thumb over her knuckles. Like he was exhausted in a way that bled into his static, like he’d been screaming, yelling, crying his throat raw.

He’d asked her what her plans were for the day, and she, a little caught off guard, had stumbled over her response. He’d nodded astutely, and she could feel the tickle of his gaze on her face as she closed her eyes momentarily and sleepily settled back down onto her pillow. The emanating warmth of his hand had tightened around her fingers briefly before it had vanished completely.

She’d ignored the ebbing disappointment weighing down upon her chest when she cracked an eye open and found nothing but rumpled sheets and dissipating shadowy wisps.

She’d assumed that would be the extent of their interaction for the day.

That was until he’d appeared to interrupt the constant fall of rain and greet her with an offer of mercenary assistance.

He’d walked her back to the hotel, relieving her of the umbrella at some point during the journey and holding it above them himself. He’d bantered with her, had shared a burst of laughter with her. He’d spoken to her. Not with short quips and goading remarks. No, he’d asked about her day, wondered aloud if she’d chosen to walk home in detrimental downpours because she loved the rainy weather of home so much, inquired about her evening plans.

And when she’d bid him a goodnight, she shut the door and let her back hit the wood, a wistfully bewildered sigh left her lips.

She’d banged her head against the door. Once, twice. Soft enough for the impact to come silently. Hard enough to rattle her poor, bemused brain before she settled under her covers.

She’d also set an alarm to bellow a distant ten minutes before the time her estranged spouse usually arrived in the dawning hours.

And when he’d appeared the next morning in a smoky pool of wisping shadows, reposing across the uneven terrain of her mattress with his ever-present grin poised and sharpened, she was awake and ready.

The cushioned impact shoved the air out of him, eyes wide and chest stuttering. His scarlet gaze found hers instantly, and whatever bravado he’d corralled and sequestered inside himself was burnt and vanquished by the weight of her sitting on his stomach. His breath hitched, caught, and choked, heart lurching within the cage of his chest cavity when her hands caught his wrists as he made a short-lived bid to sit himself up and pinned them either side of his head on her pillow.

He swallowed thickly when she leaned down over him with a sleepy glare, bottom lip jutted in an exasperated pout when he forced the corners of his mouth into a sharp upward quirk. She tilted a knowing brow at him, head cocking with an amused sort of arrogance that served only to make his hormone-addled mind long to twist his hips and flip her onto her back and take her as she was.

The temptation hit him like the flowery scent that invaded his mind with every huffed intake of breath. It made him want to steal her away in a burst of shadow and green luminosity. He wanted to pull her into him and keep her for as long as she’d let him. It made him want to ask her forgiveness, to kiss her senseless and speak of his devotion.

To beg for her company for the agonizing, drawn-out week to come.

And, if he hadn’t been acutely aware of the warmth of her muscular thighs, of the careful press of her thumbs to his pulse points, or of the instantaneous stiffening within the dark confines of his slacks, he might have let out a disbelieving laugh.

Because she was unknowingly giving him exactly what he wanted.

Because she was innocently fulfilling the lustrously concocted fantasy he’d indulged himself in two nights before. Of the warmth of her thighs pressing into his ribs, the familiar weight of her settling onto his midsection. Of the little scrunch between her brows as she inched closer to him, of the enticing shallow dip in her bottom lip as she stifled a grin at his expense.

It made nostalgic panic surge through his bones in a rippling tremor.

So he did what he’d been doing since the first unwitting stirrings in his loins.

Distracted himself with deflecting her attention.

“You’re up early,” he chirped, overly chipper and mutely praying to whichever God had damned him to such torment that she wouldn’t lean back, lest she brush up against the beginnings of an erection. His fingers twitched to touch her when her hands tightened around his wrists, and like the gradual soak of rainwater into the threads of his clothes, her touch lit a burning line across his skin.

His gaze twitched to the plump flesh of her lips as she chewed listlessly on her bottom lip, brows flattening into a playfully unenthused scowl before she questioned him through her teeth. “Don’t you have other guests to bother every morning?”

“None as fascinatingly tantalizing as you, dear,” he crooned, the uttered affection tumbling from his lips before his consciousness could stumble to catch up to his mouth.

“You-” She pulled away from him, the fingers shackled around his wrists twitched, and Alastor could do little but watch with rapt awe as an awfully endearing look of bemusement filtered across her masked visage. Her brow pinched slightly, the edge of her smile wobbling as uncertain consternation bled into her expression before she questioned him through a huff of laughter; “What?”

“How’d you sleep?” He detracted quickly. “Sweet dreams?”

She hummed dubiously, eye narrowing dangerously as her eyes flicked across his visage.

“Thoughts about me?” Alastor asked with a teasing lilt. Despite the sardonic amusement lacing his tonality, the Overlord could only hope that her exclusive insight into his vocal habits didn’t collect the evidential pitch of his voice. That she didn’t notice the insecure little warble that edged his static.

“Yep,” she affirmed with a pop, tilting her head to squint down at him, a petulant grin crinkling the corners of her eye. “Thinkin’ of all the ways I could snap your slutty little waist.”

And divinely, that seemed to shut him up, if only for a few short-lived seconds. She watched with gleeful satisfaction as he blinked slowly, his open-mouthed smile frozen in uncertain consternation. “…My what?”

Mentally she had to stifle the urge to coo at his uncharacteristic doltishness.

“Never mind.” Instead, she groaned at his cluelessness, eyes fluttering up to glance at the ceiling before she rolled off of him. She clambered to the edge of her bed, letting her hooves settle on the carpeted floor of her suite as she interlocked her fingers and stretched her arms above her head.

Alastor, chest collapsing as he let out a relieved breath and limb-locked, quickly shook his head free from the hazy thoughts plaguing his mind and made quick work of tightening his belt. Cinching it just a little closer to his skin, a little more secure across his trapped manhood, hiding the would-be protrusion.

His fingers retreated from the buckle as soon as his peripheral vision caught his wife’s face turning to peer at him from over the gentle curve of her shoulder. And in the time it took for her eye to meet his, the buck managed to readjust his positioning, reclining on his side with his jaw perched on his fist.

And though he’d managed to evade her scrutinous gaze from latching onto his roaming fingertips, he was certain that she had caught the sharp twitch of his dilated pupils as his fiery gaze skittered down the enticingly arched column of her clothed spine. Down until he could fixate over the plume of fluff sitting pretty and perked between where he knew a pair of delightful, shallow dimples resided.

“What do you want?”

His wife’s question, careful and probing, dismantled the ensuing silence, shattering every mouthwatering, hankering desire to puzzle his thumbs over the slight dips at the base of her spine.

“Ah, right to the point like always, dear,” he cheered with an exaggerated swing of his elbow, voice a little terse, head wordlessly pondering just why he was entertaining the question.

Because he knew exactly why he was there, why he couldn’t seem to stay away.

His tongue clicked, watching as she rose from the edge of her bed and sauntered over to her wardrobe, throwing the doors open with a small sound of agreement.

He took the noise and ran away with it, dissipating into a cloud of wispy darkness and almost instantaneously reappearing behind her as he slipped into an unpracticed ramble.

“I realize that I’ve been a little hostile since your impromptu arrival at this fine establishment,” he offered, hooves guiding him on a repetitive back and forth on the roughly threaded carpet behind her. Arms folded behind his back, his fingers tapped an incessant rhythm against the opposing elbow.

He briefly wondered if that was what nerves felt like.

“I must apologize for my previous propensity. I was simply caught unawares. It’s been so long since we last…” Somewhere between his confessional regret and uncharacteristically pledged apology, she stilled in her efforts to procure an outfit for the day, fingertips stalled upon cascading fabrics as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Despite his ceaseless pacing, his gaze found hers, like it always seemed to, and made his voice waver and slow, trailing off before he could shake his head violently and begin anew. “You see, I have a proposition for you. I would like to make up for my initial indiscretion by offering the opportunity for us to reach a sort of…”

Alastor’s wrist twisted, hand making a rolling motion as if to conjure the correct conclusion to his little soliloquy. “Modus vivendi.”

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til I was out of bed?” She remarked, combing her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair and wincing slightly when they snagged. “Or made up?”

Alastor paused mid-step, correcting her with a limp bend of his wrist and a light shake of his head; “I think you look ethereal.”

So casual and earnest, the complimentary assurance almost made her allow the garments she’d scooped into her arms to fall victim to gravity. Her lips parted wordlessly, blinking slow and breath stuttering as heat bloomed across her cheekbones.

“But, I thought it to be pertinent,” he breezed on, hand perched above his heart as if he hadn’t just sent hers stumbling. “Besides, we’re married, dear. I’ve spent countless nights lying next to you.”

That rattled her from her stupefied stillness, head cocking to the side as she rounded on him and closed whatever distance remained between them. “Yeah, and you were invited all those times.”

“And…” He began, slow and thoughtful as he drew out the syllable. His eyes flicked between her face and the newly fascinating patterns of her wallpaper as he tensely avoided her gaze. “How would one go about attaining an invitation into your bed now?”

“Al! Wha-?! What? You—you can’t just say that.”

The buck only hummed in response, pretending to inspect the shine of his claws with a contemplative purse of his lips.

“Would dinner suffice?”

He pestered.

“Are you even listening?”

She griped.

“I’ll listen to an answer,” Alastor chirped, gently nudging at her cheekbone with the backs of his knuckles.

She snatched his wrist, and it sent a tremulous thrill through his bones.

“Fine,” she snarked with a playfully defeated sigh and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, head lulling back in time with the upward toss of her gaze. Her hands acquainted themselves with the broad slope of his shoulders, shoving him in the direction of her door, fingers drumming against his jacket as she listed off a litany of falsified requirements with a grumble. “Dinner. Flowers. Serenade Me. Whatever. You happy?”

“Ecstatic!” Alastor exclaimed, the solidity of his figure clouding under her palms as he disappeared in a short slither of shadows and reappeared cross-legged on the end of her bed.

She stared at him flatly, he stared back with lowered lids and an impish grin.

Her mouth twisted into a skeptical pout, brow arching above a narrowed gaze, drawing out the single syllable of her one-worded inquiry when he met her gaze with a blank smile. “Well…?”

“Well, what?”

She blinked.

“I need to get dressed…” She enunciated slowly, gesturing with a dazed confusion at his near-innocent cluelessness to the clothes in her arms. The arch of her eyebrow deepened into a baffled frown when he failed to follow the overtone of her implication. “So you need to leave.”

“Oh…” he said, eyes widening just a fraction as realization settled over his bones. Heat fizzled over his cheekbones in a way he hadn’t felt for years, and he was eternally grateful that the grayish coloration of his demon form’s skin didn’t tint red. The momentary lapse in his usual lackadaisical grinning expression was masked almost immediately with an exaggeration of his smile. Invisible stitching pulled harshly on the corners of his mouth as he grabbed the hand she was pointing to her wardrobe with, and raised it over her head, twisting her arm and forcing her into a slow spin so that she was facing him.

Whatever blazing remark stood poised on the sharpened tip of her tongue was extinguished as Alastor threw an arm loosely over the sloped curve of her shoulders. He jostled her stiff figure with a sprightly laugh, avoiding her glare so that he could inspect the points of his claws as he added slyly; “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, dear.”

The bow of her shoulders drew tight, her arm falling by her side with an annoyed huff. She ducked under his arm, and he let her, content with the exasperation rolling off of her in hot waves. She spun on her heel, hoof stomping with a muffled sound into the carpet as her arm shot out to point at the door to her room.

She didn’t otherwise grace him with a response. And at the prolonged silence, Alastor peered over the sharp angle of his shoulder, his tight-lipped smile parting slightly with the intention of breaking it.

The demoness beat him to the punch.

“Fine,” she chirped, teeth scraping her bottom lip as she bit the word out. A sanguine simper tugged at the corners of her mouth as something petulant and vindictive stirred in her gut. “Stay.”

Alastor turned to face her fully, smile fixed, though his brows dipped into a diminutive frown at her newfound acceptance of his presence. And she reveled in the moment that Alastor’s confusion morphed into flustered stupefaction when her hands crossed over her midsection, fingers curling around the hem of her t-shirt as she yanked the oversized garment up and over her head.

The sudden screech of stuttering static spoke a thousand distressed words.

And in the split second that Alastor disappeared from her sight, when the dark fabric slipped over her face and blocked out her vision, he also disappeared from her bedroom in a confounded cloud of shadow.

She was left bare-chested and satisfied, a wide grin stretching her face as she tossed the scrunched-up ball of fabric into the residual plume of dissipating shadows, the shirt unfurling right where Alastor had stood just seconds before. “Coward.”

And, as she turned away to parse through her the garments hanging listlessly in her closet, a cautiously amused smile tempting the corners of her lips into an upward quirk, she missed the sight of nabbing, shadowy claws reaching out from the dark abyss beneath her bedframe.

And she certainly didn’t notice when sly, shadowed fingertips snagged the cottony fabric of another t-shirt and dragged the sleep garment into the cover of darkness offered by the suspension of her mattress.

notes: ah mutual pining, my beloved. no smut this chapter because unfortunately for us, stubbornly avoiding his feelings is alastor’s foreplay of choice but he’s a romantic at heart so he’s not gonna leap straight into jumping your bones lol

let me know what you think, comments and reblogs are my life force. the next part shouldn’t take as long as this one did. this chapter just got way too long and i had to split it into two.

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist by, reblogging, commenting or liking my comment

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, always

thanks for reading

-route

next part

Feed Your Ego

this is part five of my nsfw alphabet challenge, and can also be found on ao3

pairing: alastor x wife! reader

divider credit: @steviebbboi

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, body worship, blow jobs, praise kink, biting, scent marking, oral male!receiving, soft!dom!Alastor/brat! sub!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: Alastor, ego-driven as he could be, would prefer it if sinners outside of his marriage knew nothing about his proclivity in the bedroom.

His wife respects that, most of the time. But she also feels as though sometimes even he needs to be reminded of it.

wc: 3.3k

“Angel thinks you’re a virgin.”

She said it like they were exchanging pleasantries or passing comments about the weather. As if she weren’t seated firmly in his lap, back to the inviting burn of their bedroom’s fireplace, teeth scraping loving lines over his jawline, tail swinging happily against his thighs.

Her hands cupped his jaw, holding his face in place as she peppered chaste kisses, long and sweet, across his visage.

“I hope you told him he was correct.” Alastor huffed, readjusting his crossed legs as best as he could with the familiar weight of his wife pressing down on his pelvis. His nose rested in the crook of her neck, every inhale inviting the pleasant and familiar floral aroma that seemed to emanate from her body into his very mind. “Or else he’ll start asking for a…”

He shuddered, ears pressing flat to his skull.

“…Demonstration.”

She laughed into his hairline, the sweet sound urging his ears to stand erect and listen.

“You know he’s just teasing,” she assured, fingers dragging along his jaw and down to the broad slope of his shoulders, bunching in the cottony fabric of his pajama shirt.

“Yes, well,” he grumbled into her shoulder, eyes rolling with listless annoyance. “Ever since he realized I wouldn’t harm your best friend, he’s gotten ever so brazen.”

“Angel wouldn’t home-wreck me.” She sat back on his thighs, legs folded and bracketing his own. A soft, fond smirk tempted the corners of her mouth, her ring finger lifting to flick him gently on the tip of his nose. “You’re just so easy to fluster sometimes.”

Alastor caught her wrist with a half-hearted glare, giving the heel of her palm a warning nip of his jagged teeth.

And, he supposed he should be relieved, that he was married to possibly the only soul in Hell who found the evil in his carmine eyes and the danger of his serrated teeth to be just as enticing and charming as a disarming smile or charismatic voice.

“He thinks it’s funny,” she pressed, undeterred and laughing girlishly, a faint warm flush teasing the edges of her cheekbones. “Big bad Radio Demon blushing like a schoolgirl.”

Alastor scowled, expression twitching at the comparison. “I do not blush.”

“Not in front of others,” she agreed slowly, voice quiet and salacious, leaning in close enough that it would have been considered a scandalous breach of public decency in their time, the plume of chest fluff peeking out from the low neckline of her satin pajama top flattening against the buttoned front of his own shirt. “But you’ll blush for me, won’t you, baby?”

Alastor’s eyes widened just slightly at the unusually husky tone she’d adopted. Just enough for her to notice.

A sly grin took hold of her mouth. And it took everything within him not to wrangle her back into his proximity, to press his mouth to hers in a claiming stifle of her irreverent teasing.

He shook his head, instead, shrugging with a petulant drawl and goading smirk; “Perhaps.”

Her nose nudged at his. “And only me?”

“Of course, dear.”

She grinned down at him triumphantly.

“And how does that feel? To be the only soul in all of eternity to have me like this?”

He would have brushed off the softening of her eyes as just her being tired. He would have told himself that the hopelessly devoted sigh that left her mouth, and left her whole body deflated in an adoring slump was simply her giving in to exhaustion.

If not for the response his teasing prompted, all soft and gooey, like he was the most important thing to have ever materialized on the everlasting plain.

“Like I don’t appreciate it enough,” she murmured, gaze never leaving his. She reacquainted her forehead with his own, hands roaming along his shoulders and back into his hair, combing through the soft tufts of scarlet locks until her fingertips brushed the sensitive base of his ears. “I love your ears.”

He resisted the urge to jolt at the sudden caress of the two fluffy projections crowning his head, a low rumble of constant static filling the air between them as he grumbled; “They’re a nuisance.”

“They’re pretty,” she countered, punctuating the gentle rebuttal with a lasting kiss to the tip of one of his ears. She dragged her lips along his hairline, hot breaths fanning over his face as she ducked her head back into the crook of his neck.

And, when her lustful gaze fell upon the beautiful spatter of love-bidden bruises dotted across on the side of his throat, something primal and possessive coiled hot inside of her. Her pupils dilated, mouth watering at the sight, the glow of her irises intensifying as she tucked the bridge of her nose under his jaw, nudging at him to urge an accommodating tilt of his head.

“And I love your voice,” she drawled into his skin, voice certain and unwavering. Her smirk turned positively evil when Alastor let his head walk back against the back of the armchair with a quiet groan, eager tongue and pointed teeth scraping over the newly exposed jut of his larynx. “I think it’s the radio filter.”

He hummed thoughtlessly, mind clouded by the euphoria of her complimentary listicle. “What about it?”

Her answer came quick and instant, gushed into the darkening side of his throat with all the enthusiasm and seductive allure of a pornstar. “It’s so fuckin’ hot.”

Alastor paused at the tone, an unwitting tremor of heat shooting through his limbs and accumulating in a roused coil of amorous heat in his groin, shuddering under her mouth as he teased her uncharacteristically loose-lipped declarations. “Have you been drinking?”

“If you think I need to be drunk to compliment you,” she griped, concluding her lustrous attack on his neck with one final press of her lips to the shadow of his jaw. She pulled back, hands slipping under the neck of his sleep shirt and sinking into the plume of fluff there with a reprimanding squeeze. “Then you’re hot and stupid.”

“And don’t even get me started on how amazing you are in bed.”

“Did you tell the spider about that?”

“Not in detail,” she replied, fingers intertwining at the back of his neck, thumbs rubbing genial patterns over his undercut. “But I think he got the idea.”

“What did you say?” He pressed, slotting his face against hers and allowing the animalistic instincts of his hellish form to drag his cheekbones in a claiming caress over her own.

She mimicked his movements, bunting her temple into his as a simultaneous chorus of pleased rumbling emanated between them.

“That, sometimes, I think you know my body better than I do.”

Her hands dragged along his shoulders, nails catching in the soft fabric of his sleepwear, gliding along the lean muscles of his arms until her fingers slotted over his.

“Your fingers always know exactly where to touch me.”

She took his hands in her own, sitting back on his lap and pulling his fingers to her mouth. Alastor reflexively retracted his claws when she parted her lips around his fingertip, tongue dragging over the gentle lines of his fingerprint. She repeated the ministration on each of his fingers, mouth enveloping his digits while her own free hand skittered over his sternum, fumbling to open with the buttons of his shirt before she let his hands fall listlessly by his side.

“And your mouth is dangerous.”

“I know a few souls who’d agree with you,” he chirped sardonically, turning her face to press his lips to hers. Only to let out a short huff of indignant offense when she ducked her chin and purposefully avoided his needy mouth.

“Not like that, you psycho,” she chastised, swatting him playfully on his newly exposed chest. She stilled at the content with the burst of fur jutting out messily from his sternum, letting her fingers sink into the fluff before she shoved her face into his chest, voice muffled and gleeful. “And the chest fluff.”

Alastor let out a loud laugh of disbelief, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her head and tugging her face away from his sternum, an expression of scandalized amusement toying with his facial features. “Darling!”

His playful chastising did little to deter her, grin broadening and eyes twinkling.

“And I can’t even tell you how often you’ve made me cum just from riding your thigh.”

Her hands framed his face, cradling his cheeks, keeping his eyes aligned with hers as they widened briefly and darted bashfully downward. She could feel the burning heat blooming beneath his cheeks, letting the edges of her thumbs sweep over the blossoming warmth pooling under her palms.

“Dear-”

“You do so much for me,” she mumbled into his mouth, slotting her lips over his. Not quite touching, just a barely there caress. And she denied his wordless attempt to close the distance between their open mouths by pulling away when he tilted his head, smirking down at his disappointed little pout. “You have any idea how few men are happy to give and give and ask for nothin’ in return?”

Alastor let his large hands settle on her waist, thumbs drawing delicate circles over the silken fabric hanging low on her hips. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m content just to have you as mine.”

“I’m always yours,” she promised, dragging her lips over the curve of his cheekbone before she pressed her temple to his, tilting her head so that her mouth aimed towards the perked fluff of ears. “But I wanna return the favor.”

He made a small, inquisitive noise, eyes fluttering open when the closely pressed warmth of her body retreated from his. He watched with rapt awe as she sank to her knees between his legs, palms planting firmly on the lean plains of muscle of his thighs, pushing them apart and edging closer to his groin.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t,” she interrupted, hands massaging the innermost clothed flesh of his upper thighs before they began their ascent to undo the knot of drawstrings tied tight at his waist, eye lifting to meet his through her lashes. “That's exactly why I want to.”

“You’re an insatiable woman,” he crooned, radio static warbling his voice when she tugged his hips up by his newly untied drawstrings. He allowed her wandering hands to commandeer his body, hips lifting enough for her to tug his pants and underwear down in one, enthusiastic swoop.

She shattered the mesmerized stare she held on his newly freed and hardened member to grin up at him, teeth shiny and glinting in the fire glow. And Alastor jerked when her smaller hand wrapped around his base, thumb running a practiced caress along the thick vein running along the underside of his cock. A burst of static parted the curtain of comfortable quiet that had fallen over them when the glossy pout of her lips touched his leaking tip. “You’re a delectable man.”

His hips lifted slightly, instinctual and embarrassingly needy, rutting into her hand when she ran her thumb over the pearl of pre-cum glittering tantalizingly at the tip of his cock.

She jerked her hand slowly, wrist twisting with careful movements, eyes fixed to his twitching expression, working at a practiced rhythm that she’d perfected over the course of a century of mutually intimate familiarity. She sank lower on her knees, the backs of her thighs pressing closed to the muscle of her calves so that she could easily sink her teeth into the flesh of his thigh.

Alastor’s leg jumped at the biting contact, the sting of her canines fizzling out into something familiar and pleasant. She ran her tongue over the marks, suckling at the taut muscle before instinct tempted the reflexive nuzzling of her cheekbone against the area.

She could feel static buzzing in her ears, fizzling along her fur in gentle, embracing hums, and she found her eyes breaking away from his to drag along the hardened length pulsing in his careful grip. She readjusted her position a final time, pushing off from her sunken kneel so that the fronts of her thighs pressed tight to the cushioned front of the armchair between her husband’s spread legs.

“I love you,” she murmured, breath hot and eyes lidded.

He tried to reciprocate, to whisper back to her that he adored her so. But every utterance that could have surfaced was immediately vanquished along with every other coherent thought in his mind when the wet heat of her mouth enveloped the head of his cock.

“Darling-!”

She hummed in response, and his head lolled back at the tremulous vibrations the noise sent along his length, a low groan rumbling behind his teeth as his hand spread over his flustered face. Her eyes flitted up to meet his, lidded gaze finding hazy eyes. And Alastor near whimpered when she slackened her jaw and urged her face closer to his pelvis, hand wrapping around his base as she pressed the flat of her tongue to the vein pulsing rhythmically along the underside of his member.

He called her name when she hollowed her cheeks, breathless, needful, and wholly enraptured. His hips rolled slowly into her fist when she twisted her wrist just enough to send sparks along his spine, ears wrenching back and flattening against his skull when he heard the broken gasps for breath and little moans he was making.

She bobbed her head just enough that his leaking tip grazed the back of her throat, and the little choked noise that trembled in her larynx had him boneless as he reached aimlessly for her, fingers catching on her ears and tangling in her hair.

Alastor didn’t pull or push, didn’t fist her hair between his knuckles, and urge her to intensify the steady pace she’d set for herself. Just let his palm rest on the back of her skull, thumbing gently at the base of one of her flicking ears.

His hips rutted up into her mouth, rolling into every enthusiastic bob of her head. Normally, he would have chastised himself for such a baseless display of depravity. But in that moment, when his mind was lost to a traitorous haze and his body moved of its own instinctive volition, he didn’t have the nerve to care.

His pupils, haloed by glowing ruby irises, expanded and dilated when she lifted her gaze from the coat of saliva she’d left along the lowest inches of his shaft and her wide eyes found his. One hand pumping slowly on the base of his cock, she kept her watery eyes glued to his when she pushed her head forward, taking the length of him in one fell motion, stopping only when her lips met the edge of her fist. “Sweet thing-”

He spilled into her with a soundless gasp for air, static screeching and contorting the surrounding air into a warbled field of domesticated electricity, the fine, silky furs adorning each of their bodies lifting just slightly before he collapsed into the armchair. Boneless and chest stuttering for air, Alastor’s fingers twitched in the loose tangles he’d weaved into her hair.

She gulped around his shaft when his salty seed spilled onto her tongue, the muscles of her throat tightening around him and tempting a low mewl from his lips. And, as she pulled her head back enough for his member to spring away from her swollen lips, she peppered kitten licks and chaste kisses to his softening shaft.

Alastor watched her through half-lidded eyes, letting his fingers tighten ever so slightly in her hair. Just enough to nab her attention, enough to inch her face away from his groin. He jerked his head, wordlessly asking that she clamber back into his lap, into his warmth, into his proximity.

A snap of her fingers sent wispy tendrils of power along her husband’s undone and disarrayed clothing. Threads of magic pulled his pants up and over his hips, drew the front of his shirt together, and slipped every shiny button into their corresponding hole. And as her peers worked to make him decent, her hands found purchase on the lean muscle of his thighs, climbing into his open lap with a stammering chest and scratchy throat.

And after a moment, quiet blanketing the couch in a warm embrace, shuddering chests evening out into synchronized and steady breaths for air, she broke the silence. “I told him there’s never been anybody else that I wanna sleep with for a reason.”

Her words caught in the shadow of his jaw, lips brushing over his pulse point with every other syllable as she readjusted the loop of her arms around his neck.

She pulled herself closer, knees drawn tight to the plume of fluff adorning her chest as she turned her head to bury her nose in the crook of his neck. She sighed into him when she felt his clawed fingertips traced along the slope of her arms. The other dragged disruptive lines in the silky fur of her thighs before his hands settled on her hip and ears respectively.

Alastor felt his own ears twitch at the admission, at the intimate declaration of her eternal devotion. He kept his carmine gaze fixed on the fire raging with crackling pops inside the hearth, burning his pupils and warming his face.

He hummed down at her, titling his head to rub his cheek against the crown of her hair, fingers scratching through the short, fluffy hair of her ears, the edge of his mouth lifting at the content rumble ruminating in the back of her throat.

“And I did do a couple of shots with Angel before I got up here,” she confessed coyly, teeth grazing the side of his throat as she tucked her smile away next to his stammering pulse.

Alastor's eyes flicked upward.

“Oh, so you lied to me?” He crooned, tugging gently at her ears and prying her face away from his neck. “Pray tell, darling, what else have you lied about this evening?”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, following the wordless command of his puppeteering and pulling away from the inviting warmth of the curve of his neck. She shifted in his lap, hands combing through the exposed plume of fluff sitting pretty and disarrayed on his chest. Her knees slid into place on the cushions of the armchair, bracketing his narrow hips as she leaned into his emanating heat, eyes lidded and lips quirked into a coquettish smirk. “You know how sexy I think you are.”

“How can I be sure?” He hummed, head tilting curiously. He poked her gently in the center of her forehead, and his ever present simper only softened when she purposefully leaned into the touch. “Your mind is addled and tipsy.”

She peered up at him through her lashes, smaller fingers curling around his own and pulling his pointer down to her lips. She pressed chaste kisses to his claw, dragging her lips along the digit until she could press a flutter of kisses to each of his knuckles. “I’ll say it all again when I’m sober.”

Alastor made a small noise, low and soft and rumbling somewhere deep within his chest cavity. He removed his hand from the reach of her mouth so that he could brush a stray strand of hair from her eye. “You sure you’re going to remember that come morning?”

“Oh, Allie,” she cooed, fingers furling in his chest fluff, and she used her hold on the plume of fur to tug him forward, until his grinning mouth hovered above her own. “You’ve got a looong mornin’ ahead of you tomorrow.”

Her amorous grin broadened at the tiny keen that pitched behind Alastor’s teeth, high-pitched and flustered in the taciturn way she so adored. Her free hand cupped his cheek, thumb chasing the bright flush of roused warmth as it bloomed across his cheekbones.

She touched her mouth in a gentle press to the blush adorning his flustered expression.

“There it is.”

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, always

thanks for reading

4 | Wine ‘N Dine

part one | part two | part three

this is part four of an nine part mini series, and can also be found on my ao3

pairing: alastor x wife!reader

divider credit: @steviebbboi

series content: fem!doe!reader, alastor is down bad and needy, male! masturbation, bickering, temporary angst, fast burn, courting, mating season, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, body worship, praise kink, biting, scent marking, knotting, soft-top!Alastor/power-bottom!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: Alastor can feel his mating season approaching, creeping over his limbs like an unwelcome, burning frost. And it's all the fault of the immovable object to his unstoppable force.

His estranged wife. His better half. The only other deer demon that seemed to both illicit and satiate the sudden spike of hormones and arousal of his annual rut.

Unfortunately for him, she's as stubborn as he is, and is still pissed at him for disappearing without a word for the past seven years.

And for the first time in a long time, Alastor has to rely on his ability to woo her to convince her to spend the duration of his rut with him.

TLDR: actions speak louder than words, and Alastor attempts to seduce his estranged wife over the course of a week leading up to his impending rut.

wc: 4.8k

author's note: wow, the concept post for this fic blew up lol, ngithis is the first time l've actually felt the pressure to produce something great since it seems so many people like the concept, hopefully it's met expectations, and like always with me, this story kind of got away from me and it looks like it's going to be eight chapters of longing and horniness

plot notes: the mc is a doe demoness, she is also an established small-time overlord who specializes in theatre and is a semi-famous showgirl in hell, and while her appearance is mostly left ambiguous, she does wear a porcelain half mask over her right eye, her stay at the hotel occurs only because she knows alastor doesn't want her there, she's a petty woman and he loves it

also, oops, because this is another chapter that has to be split into two 🙃 at least the next part should out be out rather quickly lol

Angel

Sooo???

What he say?

You

I look ravenous, apparently.

Angel

Told ya.

He wants to eat ya ;)

You

…

I’m blocking you.

Angel

You don’t know how to do that.

Old.

With a slight shake of her head, the doe demoness tucked the blackening screen of her phone into the silky confines of her dress’ pockets, ears flicking as a heady sigh parted her freshly glossed lips. Her gaze flitted to the side in a quick, amused roll of her eyes, catching on the mirrors lining the walls of the restaurant’s bathroom, resigned to her fate of eternal torment at the hands of her closest arachnid companion.

It stalled there, collecting a few seconds of wordless inspection of her own visage before she turned to lean over the porcelain sink bowls and ran the edge of her thumb across the outline of her bottom lip. Lips pursed and lipstick inked. One exposed eye flitted across her pinched expression, a little more intense and nit-picky than her poor, dolled-up face was used to being subjected to.

She caught herself perhaps a little too late, having sought out and recognized the shallow lines beneath her exposed eye. An eternal reminder that she’d been forced to grow a little older than the man she had married, that her human physique has aged slightly in the seven years she’d had to endure after his uniquely unfair death. Her tongue clicked and echoed in the lonely bathroom, and she wordlessly chastised her self-inflicted critiques with an admonishing shake of her head.

She stood upright, shoulders rolled back and spine rigid. Her chin tilted up, and she breezed past the cacophonous reflections, ignoring the way her dress caught on the air of her departure as she slipped through to the entryway and back into the dimly lit hall of Ozzie’s dining area.

And again, her roaming gaze stilled from her vantage point, gaze piercing through zigzagging waiters and over the heads of sinners too absorbed in their dinner partners to pass any heed of the doe demoness stood stock still as she inspected the side profile of the man who had whisked her away from the hotel’s front porch in a flurry of careful shadows. Who had insisted she perch her hand in the crook of his elbow as he guided them past the security with a flash of golden, serrated teeth and a wielded silhouette, to allow him to be a gentleman as he led her to their table and began to chatter her ears off in that old, animated timbre about everything and nothing.

Who had been acting rather strange since he’d first found it within himself to seek her out and needle at her for attention.

She had to assume it was so that he could fill the quiet between her little hums of agreement and countering quips.

Just like he used to. Back when they were alive, and long after they’d both succumbed to the heartless hand of death.

And, if she were a little more dubious of his intentions, perhaps if she knew him a little less, she wouldn’t have assumed his incessant ramblings were those of a nervous man. That it seemed as though he was trying to make up for seven lonesome years of no words between them at all by rattling off every utterance and commentary his stumbling mind could comprise.

Or that maybe, just maybe, he was attempting to drag her attention away from the gratuitous displays of bodily unity and lustrous depravity that seemed to haunt every shadowed corner and spilled into each downpoured ray of a neon spotlight.

She’d been subtle about it. But she’d kept her eyes fixed on him ever since his skulking presence alone had been enough to encourage the line of sinners and hellborn alike to scramble away from the front of the queue outside. Waiting with bated breath and teeth in her bottom lip for the moment realization dawned upon him like an ice-cold sweat.

That he hadn’t acquired a table at the haunt of loving couples sharing conservative affections and conversations.

That, by his own chaste standards, he’d brought her to a glorified sex club.

And her wordless endeavor had proven to be fruitful. Because she’d spied the first twitch in his brow when he’d scoped out the skimpy attire of the waiting staff. She’d watched as his poised posture stiffened and straightened under the harsh glow of bright neon colors as they were chaperoned past tables occupied by lust-addled sinners. And she’d had to bite back a harsh laugh at the sudden collapse of his expression when the waiter had bid them a temporary farewell at their table with a sliding hand along the forearm of her husband and a small whispered flirtation she didn’t have the privilege of hearing. Just witnessing the paling reaction of her spouse was enough.

It was cute, she supposed. The little wrinkle in his nose, the slight squint to his eyes, his desperate attempts to hold her attention with his boisterous voice.

It had forced her to grapple with her visage to suppress an expression of circumspect fondness, the very edge of her lips warbling around an amused grin as she’d watched from over the edge of her menu as he fumbled to stifle a growl of annoyance as hearty groans emanated from the table beside them and interrupted his attempts at conversational distraction.

She’d realized it was a losing battle when his carmine eyes flitted upward as the itching creep of her scrutinous stare burrowed into his skin.

Her face had split into a wide, satisfied grin that could rival only his own when the steadfast hold he had on her eyes was broken by the obscene sounds emanating from the darkened table beside them, face paling and static screeching.

She’d had to excuse herself, chomping down on her bottom lip to impede the bubbling giggles ruminating in her chest before scurrying away from the table and hiding away in the women’s bathroom and leaving her husband to his disturbed devices.

And as she’d encroached on the table she’d abandoned to conceal her boisterous laughter at the buck’s distraught expense, her ears perked and twitched around the clinking of glasses and thrumming rhythmic music to catch it as her estranged spouse grumbled under his breath.

“Oh, dear,” Alastor grimaced, brows wobbling into an ill-concealed, downturned scowl as another duo of drunken sinners stumbled into each other as they slipped past him. The corners of his omnipresent grin twitched around an agitated frown when they, consequently, eyes closed, lips locked, and entirely unaware of their surroundings, fell into the table behind him. His ears collapsed against his skull in a vain attempt to block the obscene sounds pouring out between their open mouths. “How distasteful.”

“Where’d you hear about this place?”

The sudden reappearance of his wife’s voice made the demon jolt, and she had to fight off the urge to curl her fingers around the curve of his shoulders when they hiked up by his jawline in reactionary retaliation to her question.

Limbs stiff and throat tight, Alastor swallowed thickly around a keen of static when the distant touch of her fingertips brushed along the tightly drawn bow of his shoulders as she passed him.

Alastor coughed into his fist, flustered chagrin heating his cheeks, and air punched from his lungs as the floral aroma that seemed to orbit her arrival invaded his lungs on the sharp inhale. His claws bunched in the fabric of his pants leg, impeding on their instinct need to reach for her, to curl into the silky fabric of her dress, and to pull her down into his lap. To bunt his cheek against her own and inundate the flowery scent with his own musk. To mark her as his, and his alone. To keep keen eyes from roving over her figure, to prevent other wayward sinners from sullying her image with their lewd, wandering thoughts.

“Oh, you know. Through the grapevine,” he answered lazily, claws tracing the rim of an emptied champagne glass as he tilted his head to avoid her scrutinous gaze, waving down one of the waitstaff in a muted effort to proffer an alternative route of discussion. “Little birdie.”

She hummed, doubtful and skeptical and entirely enthralled by the falsehood of his nonchalance, nodding along slowly.

The sound was epilogued by a loud sound of impact, and both deer sinners’ heads turned sharply to locate the source. To the pair of sinners that had rolled off the edge of the table and onto the ground next to them.

Her eyes fluttered back to her husband to gauge his reaction.

Suddenly looking a little less sure of himself, a little more apprehensive, she watched as he let his newly doubtful eyes wander over the pair of sinners in their blissfully unaware exchange of saliva and lustrous touches with an air of distressed snootiness.

“What is this place?”

He’d said it under his breath, shining his claws against the lapels of his jacket, tilting his head just a little. Enough to look down his nose at the debaucherous scene playing out like a reveling performance of bare skin and public humiliation. It was quiet and to himself, a twinge of panic plucking at his horror-stricken heart when he settled the corner of his jaw on his thumb, fingers massaging careful circles over his temple.

She watched him from over the rim of her champagne glass, a cavalier smirk tempting the corners of her lips before she chirped at him, a little too peppy to be genuine; “Ask your birdie.”

“What-?”

“Because I actually looked into it a little,” she interrupted him, leaning back in her chair, elbow perched on the backrest as she twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Turns out this place has a whole franchise. Started in the Lust Ring, of all places. D’you know that?”

She cocked her head, brows pinching above narrowing eyes as she watched him with an air of immovable scrutiny.

He gulped around a small, panicked noise. Because he knew that tone, all sugary sweet and pointed. Because he had long since familiarized himself with that knowing drawl of hers when she was privy to a certain parcel of knowledge that he hadn’t yet procured for himself.

But he’d never been one to claim ignorance, too proud in his damnation to admit and concede and beg for enlightenment.

So instead, Alastor nodded stiffly, hands steepling and mouth pulled back in a tight-lipped smile, waving off her catechism with a haughty roll of his carmine eyes; “Of course.”

His voice was tight, clipped, and apprehensive, chin lifting slightly as he eyed her with a growing sense of dread towards the unknown.

She watched him for one long, dragging moment, the corner of her mouth twitching upward with every prolonged second, every nervous flick of his eyes, or restless drum of his fingers against the tabletop. She arched her brow at him, waiting, wordlessly insisting that he elaborate on his findings in his search for a dining experience as she took a short sip of champagne.

The veil of quiet was pierced and shattered by the emergence of a voice they’d grown accustomed to hearing over the course of the evening.

“You guys look thirsty. Can I get you off?” Almost as instantly as they’d purred the innuendo, the imp had slapped an open palm over their mouth in an exaggerated expression of silly me before they tried again; “I mean, get you refills?”

Alastor blanched, shoulders lifting once again as he glared up at the imp with a rigorous fury, blinding ire burning behind his monocle as the hellborn cleared their throat with a playfully nervous giggle as they corrected themself. His fingers tightened around the fabric of the tablecloth, claws ripping through the white linens in jagged, resentful lines.

“I’m sorry, could you give us a minute? He’s…” The doe’s apologetic gaze flitted between the waiter’s expectant, lidded gaze and the stiff, forcibly enforced grin stretching along the lips of her husband. The sudden widening of his eyes, bidden by uncharacteristically flagrant panic. The violent twitch of his neck as his antlers creaked and crackled in a reflexive burst of frustration induced growth, sharp little tines spiking along the branches of dark protruding bone. “New to all this.”

“Oh, of course,” the imp nodded slowly, as though realization were dawning upon them in time with the slow backward drag of their feet. They offered her a sheepish grin of faux understanding, tucking their hands behind their back as they stole short, tentative steps back before turning to another passing waiter. Unsubtle and boorish, they cupped a hand around the side of their mouth, capricious in their thumbed gesture towards the buck in question, and muttered an injudicious; “Virgin.”

The doe scoffed at the insulting display, upper lip curling just a little around stifled admonishing declarations as her glare met the ceiling briefly with an irritated grumble and a shake of her head. And, when her irked gaze fell victim to gravity once more and dropped to reacquaint itself with her husband, she was met with nothing but a deserted chair opposing her own.

Her head swiveled, ears twitching around the atmospheric sounds of slow crooning brass and the quiet scrape of utensils on dishes, flattening and twisting in a fruitless bid to trace the room for any signs of her husband.

And then, there was a sharp snap that echoed along her ear canals.

Like the bows of a tree’s spindling branches bending and breaking away to the demanding whims of the winds.

Brows pinching in an upturned arch of dawning confusion, she slowly slipped out of her chair and knelt before the cascading whites of the table’s cloth, following the sound down, down, down.

Ears twitching still, another sharp snap permeated the constant drone of outside chatter, needy cries for a reciprocating partner, and thrums of lyricless music. She reached out, fingers unfurling and furling again when they made careful contact with the cottony fabric’s bottom edge. She pulled the draped material up, forming a narrow entrance under which bright neons poured in and shadows crept, stretching along the cavern of stark darkness until the harsh glows highlighted the hunched figure of her husband.

“Al?”

She squinted at him, exposed eye twitching with an unmitigated flinch when she was answered with another snap of twig-like protrusions, followed by a grunt of muffled frustration imbued by spiking static bursts.

Or perhaps, to be a little more apt, the sound of delicate bones snapping under violent hands.

She crawled forward, letting the tablecloth fall to conceal them both in shared darkness as she settled on her knees before him, questioning him slow and gentle. She craned her neck, head tilting a little to catch his eye. She called his name, slow and scrupulous, uttering an old sobriquet she hadn’t pronounced since his abrupt disappearance from her everyday seven years prior; “Allie?”

“I’m going to kill him,” he growled, under his breath, punctuated by the salient snap of another newly formed extremity lining his antlers coming undone in his hands, more so to himself than as a response to her perturbed tone.

“Kill who? The waiter?” The doe felt her brow pinch, thumb reflexively gesturing over her shoulder as her head cocked with a baffled squint of her eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s their job to-”

“Angel Dust,” the overlord ground out, static popping like he wanted to take the spider’s agnomen and imbue its every syllable with the same vitriolic venom that bled from the side of his mouth when he was forced to endure any length of interaction with his television-headed counterpart. Like he wished to disappear in a whirl of shadows and enact a frenzied brutality upon the arachnid for tricking his desperately malleable mind. “He told me to take you here.”

“You-” Her words died on her tongue, surprise filtering across her masked visage as her hands fell limply into her lap at the biting accusatory tone. Her head cocked to the side, genuine bewilderment pulling at her features as she earnestly questioned his judgment with an air of emphasized bemusement, like it was the most obvious thing in hell; “Why would you listen to him?”

The overlord let out a short noise. Something akin to a sighed groan, like defeat was weighing heavy over his bones as he dragged his hands down over a resigned expression.

He didn’t say anything to counter her bafflement.

And she refused to fill the air with meaningless syllables if he was unwilling to grant her a response.

She settled back on her heels, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the newly exposed furs of her thighs when the fabric of her dress shifted slightly, sliding against the muscle of her thigh to reveal the hip-high slit bisecting the skirt of her garment. Watching. Waiting.

More patient than he probably deserved, if he was truly honest with himself.

Which was why, after another long moment, untarnished by unnecessary words and apologies, Alastor let out another breath. A sigh, a resounding sound of resignation.

“He’s occupied more of your time since you first arrived at the hotel than I have in the past seven years,” he admitted quietly, like he was ashamed, brow tilting downward into a scowl, smile tight and forced. As though the radio demon, of all people, feared the verbal retaliation of his wife if he uttered his failings as a husband into the hellscape of their eternity. “I assumed you’d spoken about places you wanted to go. Things you wanted to do.”

“Oh…”

It was all she could say.

Pleasant surprise painted her expression in place of a spoken response.

The sound of static warbling around them refocused her eyes on the man emanating the distressed signals. And her gaze zeroed in on his shadowed face, on the downward trajectory of his stare. On the subtle wobble at the corner of his mouth, as though he were fighting the instinctive urge to frown at his foibles. In the slight waver in his voice when it came again; “You must think me a fool.”

She hummed in wordless agreement, eyes softening and lips tilting into a tentatively encouraged smile. All the while, something worn, wary, and undeniably soft throbbed inside of her, beneath the slope of her sternum, protectively caged behind bone and muscle and years of painstakingly built fortifications.

All crumbling down around the delicate, fragile echo of her heart in a matter of melting seconds.

And after a long, drawn-out moment of quiet. After a prolonged, dragging moment of watching her husband curl in on himself until he somehow managed to make his tall, imposing self look a little small, did she decide to have a little mercy on him.

“I’ve known you were an idiot for decades,” she shrugged with an aloof twitch of her brow, lips edging upward as she sat in shadowed viewing as her husband stiffened under the drawling, humored affront.

Something akin to amused pity twinged at the threads of her soul when his fingers tightened their hold on his hair, a short, muffled whine rumbling in the back of his throat serving as the sole flustered response to her teasing.

Maybe, if he had been anybody else, she would have reveled in the inward curl of his body in weakened retaliation to her words. She would have cackled at the mere thought of hell’s most powerful overlord withering under her tickled gaze.

But he wasn’t, so she didn’t.

“But, no,” she mused slowly, a small hum parting the veil of dolorous quiet that had fallen upon them as her hands reached out to his buried face. She didn’t pry, didn’t tug at the tresses of scarlet hair peeking out from between his white-knuckled grip. Instead, she imprudently plucked an incongruous fallen piece of brittle, broken-off antler from the fluff of his hair, letting it clatter to the ground between them as she scooted a little closer to him. “I think it’s sweet.”

And, only when the light brush of her fingertips disturbed the tuft of his fringe, as all the practiced and sharpened edges framing her tonality softened into something old and fond and so uniquely enamored, did Alastor’s head lift from the cradling hold of his cupped hands.

It felt as though she’d doused the feverish burn ruminating under his skin, like she’d simultaneously reignited the fiery desire of his loins with just a careful brush of her fingertips.

His lips parted in wordless astonishment, hands grasping at the air as he instinctively nuzzled his head forward and into her gentle caress. And she huffed a small laugh through her nose, bemused delight sparkling in her exposed gaze as her head cocked and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I think we should get out from under here though,” she murmured, ducking her head so that she could meet the lowered cast of his gaze, instinct puppeteering her joints as the edge of her thumb grazed above his brow bone. The corners of her painted lips quirked at the hazy look that haloed his dilated pupils, at the fleeting bonelessness that seeped into his joints before his slow-to-rouse mind seemed to register her whispered suggestions, eyes twitching up to find hers in the darkened canopy of their table. “They’re gonna start thinkin’ we’re doin’ something other than talkin’.”

He blinked at her, jaw working slowly around a grasping utterance of a quiet; “Oh.”

She swore she could feel the flood of heat that rushed to the buck’s face, fleeting as the feeling was when he scrambled to emerge from beneath the tablecloth. The doe demoness let out a huff of puzzled amusement, brows pinching as a bemused grin broke out across her visage, and she mirrored the hurried retreat of her spouse, crawling backwards and out from under the cascading purple tablecloth.

By the time she’d fully surfaced, the porcelain curve of her half-mask glinting under thrown neon glows, her cheeks were aglow with a warmth that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar and yet, somehow, felt garishly brand new and uniquely girlish.

Alastor kept his gaze downcast and hardened, cheeks alight with flustered chagrin as his fingers fiddled idly with the silvery twists of his fork handle. And when she couldn’t help but huff an amused little laugh through her nose, lips tilting into a sanguine simper as her head tilted and she watched his awkward shuffling of hands and stiff throws of his gaze in her direction, his shoulders hiked up by his jawline. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

She hummed, jerking her head to just one example of their company’s distracted, lust-driven depravity before whispering with a conspiratorial reassurance; “I don’t think anybody noticed.”

Alastor’s eyes flicked to the side, lids lifting enough for her to notice his quiet and gradual reprieve, surprise filtering across his visage as his fingers slowed in their fidgeting.

“Yes, I suppose they are a little…” He shuddered and grimaced, voice trailing off as his gaze trailed over her shoulder to the gratuitous displays playing out behind her. The fluff of his ears fell back and along the curve of his scalp, pitching static warbling through the surrounding air before the overlord concluded with a troubled mumble; “Preoccupied.”

The doe made a short noise of agreement, eyeing her spouse, gaze scurrying over tensed shoulders and folded ears. And when her roaming gaze snagged on something hidden in shadows and smoke, something heinous and deliciously scandalous, her lips curled around a knowing smirk.

“You know…” She started, swiping a matching pair of bubbling champagne glasses from a passing waiter’s tray and offering one to her husband.

Alastor accepted the offer with careful claws, ensuring that his larger hand didn’t overlap with hers. He wasn’t sure how he’d survive a brush of her skin against his if she refused to let him near her once their night was over, if she realized and decided he wasn’t worth the wait of seven years.

He downed the beverage in one fell swig.

“That guy’s married. Brings the missus to my theater every month,” she confided putatively, flicking her eyes to the side with a purposeful intensity. “And that’s not his wife.”

Alastor’s eyes darted to follow the sharp trajectory of her own, lids lifting in surprise at the shameless display of infidelity.

“Yep,” she nodded in confirmation, answering an unspoken question when his ears stood tall to invite the whispers of gossip. The doe felt an amused grin creep along the painted flesh of her lips at his renewed enthusiasm, felt as something old, worn, and slowly reconstructing twinged deep within the cage of her ribs when the deer scooted his chair a little closer to the table, subtle as anything as he rested his elbows on the table and cradled the angle of his jaw in his hands.

She felt her own spirits lift a little under his rapt attention, tentative bashfulness blooming across her cheeks as his gaze resigned itself to remain fixed upon her expression. She had to smother the urge to mirror his lax posture, to let her limbs abide by ancient habit and a longing to inch closer. She found her tongue lay heavily in her mouth, momentarily useless in her endeavor to alleviate her husband’s unusually uneasy countenance when she found her eyes locked onto his.

What she found was nothing short of spellbound awe, admiration twinkling in his lidded gaze under the low lights flashing throughout the dining area in time with the rhythmic pulse of music. And it only made every working impulse inside of her halt any imprudent efforts to demand that she close the distance between them and coax the old flame embering dimly between them into a blazing burst of light and warmth.

Her breath caught as she cleared her throat, forcing her eyes away from her buck so that she could scope out the rest of the restaurant’s patrons. Her grin stretched around glinting teeth when her probing eyes encountered yet another family face among a sea of seduction and revelry.

“And that lady?”

Alastor’s eyes twitched to follow the curt nod of his wife’s head, roaming over the enticing slope of her neck and shoulder until his squinted gaze landed on the sight of a female sinner seated just a few tables away. To her tossed-back head and wandering hands as they skittered along the broad shoulders of the two taller sinners ravishing her neck and lips with open-mouthed kisses and bites.

He felt the origins of a disturbed grimace begin to tempt the very corners of his grin as his brows dipped over wide eyes when the captivating allure of his wife’s whispered tonality demanded his attention in its scandalized utterance.

“She runs a women’s club way down south for practicing celibates.”

She leaned into him so that he’d hear it. And the overlord leaned into her because it was the most subtle opportunity to invade her close orbit.

His ears perked instantly, teeth showing in a dangerous expression of delight at the mere idea of such a scandal, glancing back at the display of hypocritical debauchery with a newfound appreciation for the ignominy. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” she guffawed, nodding earnestly, mirroring her husband’s instinctive lean, resting her elbows on the edge of the table and letting her chin sit atop the flexible stage her entwined fingers provided as she angled her upper body a little closer to him. “She asked me to join a couple of years ago.”

Alastor made a small noise. Akin to a hum, closer to a grunt before he asked her slowly; “Did you accept?”

She blinked at him. And the quiet almost killed him.

He felt his ears twitch with the urge to sheepishly press flat to the curve of his scalp. Felt the impending dread of a sudden and gentle rejection born from his too-eager inquiry.

But then, gentle and sudden, a little tentative and a little probing, almost as though she were testing the waters just as much as he was; “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

He tilted his head, avoiding her steadfast gaze. And though he approached the suggestive finality of her riposte with cautious exhilaration, he felt the familiar swish of the fluff of his tail strumming against the base of his spine as his ears caught the softened tone she’d adopted; “And that means…?”

She hummed, head tilting against her fist as she eyed him from the very corner of her vision, the edges of her painted lips quirking upward.

It made something twist and writhe with unexcised desire inside of him. The enticing lift of her cheek as her lips sharpened into a coquettish smirk, perfectly kept brows arching over the slight crinkle at the corner of her exposed eye. All serving anew as a wordless reminder of just how attractive he found that arrogance looked on her.

His claws twitched against the tablecloth with an inhibited urge to entwine his fingers with her own.

And then, something else, like a warm chill skittering along his spine, a rattling shiver through his bones, echoed along his nerve endings when he felt something foreign and all too familiar all at once. The tentative brush of a hoof against the hem of his pants leg, skirting just under the shadows of his slacks so that she could caress the side of her hoof against his shin with a purposeful, coy look playing on her expression.

Carmine eyes met lidded ones, and his pattering heart jumped in time with the careful thrum of her own as she grinned up at him and proffered a glinting show of teeth that made his breath catch slightly in the back of his throat.

“Depends on how you behave.”

notes: So? Whattya think? I'm trying to work out my writers block by working on this mini series, but I'm not a hundred percent on my prose at the minute, so any feedback is appreciated.

Surprise, surprise. The word count for this chapter got away from me again, so it’s been spilt into two lol.

My initial word count goal for this entire fic was about 20k. But alas here we are; 20k and not even halfway done. Hope you guys don’t mind the longer chapters lol.

Let me know what you think please. I really appreciate and love reading all of your lovely comments. Feeds my ego 😈

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist

next part coming soon…

Take Your Pick

this is part six of my nsfw alphabet challenge, and can also be found on ao3

masterlist.

pairing: alastor x wife! reader

divider credit: @steviebbboi

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, missionary, biting, scent marking, banter, soft!dom!Alastor/brat! sub!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy smut

summary: Alastor is deeply offended by Angel’s attempt at a ‘gift’ to him and his wife for Valentine’s Day. Unfortunately for him and his ego, she seems to find ‘Sex For Dummies’ to be an enlightening read.

He sets out to prove that the book is as redundant as it is insulting, that doing things the old fashioned way is the most effective way of making his beloved come undone.

wc: 3.2k

“Quite the tantalizing sight to come home to.”

Alastor crooned lowly into the fluff of his wife’s ears, hands clasped behind his back as he snuck up behind her and leaned over her shoulder. He let his chin fall to the curve of her shoulder, grin sharpening at the sudden jolt that echoed through her body at his newly apparated form.

He met her widened eye in the mirror she was posing in front of, leg thrown up on the edge of her dresser, extended in a manner that would have made him flinch had he not been familiar with her bodily virtuosity.

She recovered quickly, the fluff of her tail swishing happily against his stomach as tension alleviated from her limbs, and she turned her head just enough to smirk coyly over her shoulder at her husband’s grinning visage. “You’ve seen me in far more compromising positions than this.”

“Whatever are you stretching for?” He probed with a nudge of his nose against the underside of her jaw, letting his hands slide along her ribcage over the loose fabric of her oversized t-shirt. “You said you were taking a break from the evening shows.”

“I’m testing something,” she hummed, jerking her head to the side and drawing his attention to the book laid open and inviting on the dresser.

A vexed scowl played at Alastor’s expression, dragging both of his eyebrows into a dissatisfied downward arch and making the very edges of his omnipresent smile twitch as he let his carmine gaze register the annoyingly familiar glossy pages and stylized diagrams.

“I see…” he drawled, tongue clicking irritably as he reached across her leg to pluck the offending literature up. He bookmarked the page she had opened with his thumb, letting the book close over his digit and allowing his scrutinous carmine gaze to sweep across the illustrated cover. His upper lip curled a little at the title, at the big, bubbly font spelling out a title as insulting as it was tacky; ‘Sex For Dummies’.”

His scowl lifted to find his wife’s eyes already watching him with a bitten lip and a stifled laugh at his visible perturbation.

“I thought I asked you to throw that away,” he groused, bottom lip jutting in an uncharacteristically thrown-off pout.

“Don’t be rude, Al,” she chastised playfully. “It was very kind of Angel to give us something so educational for Valentine's.”

He kept the more than welcome wandering of his eyes fixed to the tightly drawn flex of her thighs as she let her leg fall from its perch. Static warbled through the air, and she laughed a boisterously girlish giggle at the petulant flattening of his ears. “He was being a nuisance.”

She plucked the book from his clenched fists, flitting between pages until she reopened the chapter she had been studying so astutely before his impromptu arrival. She held it at arm's length, circling her sulking husband as she rotated and angled the book, head tilted thoughtfully as her eyes narrowed in on the diagrams and their respective titles. “Well, I find it enlightening.”

“It’s insulting,” he grumbled, arms folding over his sternum as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

A poof of scarlet magic apparated the smirking figure of his wife by his side, one knee dipping into the bedsheets behind his back as she threw her other leg across his lap. She curled one hand around the curve of his shoulder, letting her chin fall to her knuckles as she countered quickly with a singsong correction; “Educational.”

Alastor let his eyes flick to the ceiling with a good-natured grumble, concluding the upward throw of his gaze by leveling his wife with a flattened expression of dissatisfaction.

“Darling, we’ve been together for a century,” he reminded, head lulling against his shoulder until he could press his forehead to hers. She hummed in an agreeing response, lips pouting in a wordless invitation for him to mimic the motion to press a short, chaste kiss to her mouth. He tilted his head just enough to punctuate the kiss with a territorial bunt to her forehead. “What could you possibly learn-”

“That attitude is exactly why you’re down in pride,” she cut him off with a cheeky grin, pushing his face away from her own with a pointed finger to his clothed chest. And with a quick maneuver and shift of her legs, he felt her settle behind him. Her thighs bracketed his hips, hooves hovering just inches from the floor by his ankles as she looped her arms around his head, bringing the open book up and over his antlers and into his field of vision. “Look. Behold, and educate yourself.”

He hummed, lidded gaze finally giving the proffered pages a proper look. And he felt his brow lift in an amused arch as he attempted to decipher the messy little annotations she’d added in addendum to the book’s own graphic descriptions.“What’s with the scribbles?”

“Process of elimination,” she declared , thumbing at the edge of the page and letting it flip to the next one, displaying an entirely new catalogue of positions, both reviewed and desired. “We’ve only done, like, half of these.”

“And the scoring system?”

“Don’t worry, Al,” she cooed, punctuating her reassurance with a kiss to his temple. “You’re tens all across the board.”

The gentle smile tempting the corner of her mouth quirked a little higher when she felt his chest puff slightly, shoulders straightening subtly under her undisputed praise of his sexual prowess.

“There’s just some that are a little… un-ideal.”

The Overlord watched as she adjusted her hold on the edges of the book, thumb tapping indicatively at a cluster of messy scrawl annotating one of the diagrams.

-Feels Great!- 8/10

But

-No Hand Holding, and no Kissing, so 2/10 :(

Alastor felt something fond and soft pluck at the delicate strings of his heart as his eyes swept over the various depictions of sexual positions he’d never even imagined. From the ones with squiggly question marks and affirmative thumbs up dotted around them, suggesting an unquenched interest and desire to test them. To the ones with happy little doodled love hearts, all surrounding her carefully scripted reviews and number ratings, and the sketched-on deer ears and tails and antlers differentiating the otherwise genderless humanoid diagrams from one another.

His smile softened a little.

“You’ve done your homework, I see.”

“It’s important research.” She nodded curtly, earnest and wide-eyed as she scooted just a little closer to him, chin resting on the shoulder of his shirt as she dragged her finger across the page until it landed and stayed on one untouched illustration. “How ‘bout that one?”

“What about it?”

He took the book from her hold, settling the hard cover on his thighs and following the wordless instruction of his beloved when her newly unoccupied arms coiled tight around his waist and pulled him back into her body.

“You wanna try it?”

“That’s…” His voice trailed off as his eyes squinted down at the depiction of lust-driven depravity, bemusement tilting his ever-present simper. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, Allie,” she assured him with a sarcastic drawl, eyes rolling at his confused hesitation with a playful lilt of her mouth.

“I can’t even tell where I end and you begin.”

She let out a hearty laugh at that, teeth scraping at the side of his throat in a poor attempt to stifle the jingling sound of her amusement. Her hand slid down his thigh, palm smoothing over the fabric of his slacks until her fingertips brushed the edge of the book. Her nails followed the black outline of the dominant figure, voice low as she murmured into his skin; “You’re the red one.”

Alastor’s lip twisted with uncertainty, watching the drag of her finger before he focused on the blue figure instead. “I’m not sure that your leg is supposed to bend that way.”

“I can do it.”

“Darling,” he began, placing the book next to him and twisting by the waist just enough that he could meet her lidded gaze with a flattened glower of his own. “The idea of you snapping at the hips is a catastrophic turn off for me, I’m afraid.”

He felt his ear twitching to catch the soft laugh she let out at his perturbed tone, subconsciously leaning into her when she guffawed at his grimacing admission.

“Least I know you ain’t a total sadist,” she grinned. But her amusement was quickly tempered by the roused darkening of her eyes as she pressed a little closer, hands skimming over his clothes ribs until she could slip her fingers under the neckline of his shirt. “But you know how flexible I can be.”

“I know how inflexible you can be too,” he quipped, letting his carmine gaze rove across her smug expression. And he couldn’t help but ponder at just how attractive he found her when she was donned in little more than an oversized t-shirt and arrogance. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Not until we’ve tried ‘em all,” the doe asserted with a broadened grin and an enthusiastic nod of approval, tail wagging impishly.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully.

“I suppose I could be convinced to try some of these,” he mused aloud, tilting his head to let her nudge her nose beneath the angular cut of his jaw, leaning into her hand when her palm cupped his cheek. “Even if they are a little-”

A quick press of her lips to the corner of his mouth interrupted his puritanical remarks. And he turned his head suddenly to stare at her open-mouthed and wide eyed, watching as a sheepish smirk crept onto her masked expression.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she muttered into his cheek, dragging her mouth along his jaw. “Keep goin’.”

“They’re-”

Another kiss, another interrupting press of adoration to his mouth.

“Sorry,” she giggled. And her grin only widened when he slumped at another failed attempt to complete a sentence.

“What are you doing?” He questioned gently.

“Convincing you,” she answered smoothly, voice low, and just as she let her mouth hover over his. Her hands dragged along the column of his neck, smoothing down the front of his shirt as she slipped into his lap, into a familiar position, chest to chest and eye to eye. “Is it workin-?”

And for the first time since the buck’s welcomed arrival, Alastor managed to disrupt her teasing flirtations, planting his hand firmly on the bend of her waist and using the familiar handhold to flip her onto her back. She let out a surprised gasp at the sudden change of position, twinkling eyes as wide as her delighted grin when he crawled up her body.

He halted his ascent of her body only when he could hover his face above hers, letting his hips settle against hers with a lusty rut of his pelvis.

“I quite like this one.”

“Allie,” she huffed through an airy laugh, hands cupping his cheeks between her palms, fingertips ghosting along the crinkled corners of his eyes as she dipped her head to peer up at him through her lashes. She pulled his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose before nudging at the bridge of his nose with her own. “This is missionary.”

Alastor hummed, mirroring her nosing before allowing his cheek to bunt against the dip of her temple, murmuring petulantly into her hairline; “Did the book tell you that?”

His hands instinctively found their usual anchor points on the curve of her hips, thumbs hooking under the waistline of her shorts. He could feel his tail swish twice against his back when she looped her arms around his neck and lifted her hips from the mattress, granting him permission to rid her of her bottoms in one swift downward drag of fabric.

“It’s so basic, the book doesn’t even mention it,” she grouched with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, feigning indifference towards the excitable hands slipping under her t-shirt, claws combing through the voluminous plume of fluff sitting pretty atop her sternum. Acting as though a rush of lustrous heat hadn’t flooded between her legs when her husband tilted his head to nip at the corner of her jaw, wide carmine eyes glinting dangerously up at her.

“It’s a classic for a reason,” he shrugged, planting one of his knees in the mattress between her legs, using his careful hold on her hips to drag her down until her dampened core rested against the lean muscle of his thigh. The edge of his ever-present smirk lifted when he shifted his leg just slightly. Just enough to tempt a fortuitous mewl from her lips, eyes twinkling with fond mirth as he teased her through a knowing murmur; “And it seems to do the trick.”

“Shut up,” she griped, head falling back against the duvet when she felt her husband’s much larger hands wander under the laced hem of her panties, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves sitting at the apex of her womanhood. “You can’t just pick me up with one hand and expect me not to be turned- oh!”

He cut her off by sinking two fingers into the familiarity of her heat, warm wetness allowing for his digits to glide across the velvety walls of her pussy, up to the knuckle with one fell, practiced motion, thumb pressing down on her clitoris as he fixed his gaze onto the twitching change of her expression. He arched a brow at her, smirking tight-lipped and self-satisfied that he’d effectively interrupted her teasing.

“I get to watch every expression.” He let his fingers pump once, twice, working into a gentle blur as he cooed down at her arching form, teasing her subsequent airy call of his name, leaning into her roaming hands when they skirted under the waist of his pants to glide up the plain of his back. Her fingertips danced back down the line of his spine, raking through the fine furs there as her hooves found purchase on the uneven terrain of their shared mattress on either side of Alastor’s waist. “Every gasp, every moan.”

He felt her knees press tight to his hips, fingers slipping under the hem of his slacks and circling the waistline until her hands met to undo the buttons stitched to the front of his pants. She muttered a needy ‘please’ into his waiting lips, and he responded only by swallowing her pleas with a sharp press of his mouth to hers.

He relinquished his bruising hold on her hip only so that a quick snap of his fingers could vanquish the remainder of their clothes. And he relished in the momentary surprise that filtered across her masked visage before her lids dipped over blown, amorous pupils, her exposed eye shamelessly flitting down across his newly bare person, lingering on the darkened patch of fur trailing towards his groin.

And, when he reacquainted his hand with the warmth of her skin, palm cupping her cheek and tilting her expression so that he could draw her gaze back to his, he felt something trip and tumble low in his chest cavity when her features softened as her eyes met his.

But the maintenance of their eye contact was shattered when he let the tip of his cock part her soaked folds, sinking into her warmth with careful, languid thrusts, and Alastor watched with his breath caught in the back of his throat as her eyes rolled back and her lids fluttered. He felt her hands slide across his ribcage, scraping through the short furs adorning his shoulder blades as her legs wrapped around his narrow waist, the edges of her hooves pressing close to the subtle swell of his ass and pulling his hips flush to her own.

Her head fell back against the plush material of her pillowcase when he finally bottomed out inside of her, and Alastor felt his mouth water at the newly exposed jut of her throat. One of her hands threaded through the undercut at the back of his head, and Alastor did absolutely nothing to resist as she urged his head down to the crook of her neck, nosing at the shadow of her jaw before he finally let the serrated points of his teeth sink deep in the column of her throat.

His pelvis moved against hers, rolling in pleasure-addled motions, breath fanning hot across the crook of her neck as she tilted her head to let him bury his face in the side of her throat. Larger hands gripped at her hips, claws scraping little red lines into her flesh as he pushed and pulled, in and out in rhythmic brush of hips.

His eyes rained lazily over her blissed-out expression, something hot and fluttery bubbling in his belly when her lidded eyes twitched to find his. He nudged his face closer to hers, letting his mouth hover over her parted lips. “This way, I get to kiss you.”

His wife hummed contently at that, a small smile tugging at her lips before her brows pinched when he thrust sharply into her. He captured her little keen of hitched pleasure by pressing his mouth to hers, lips moulding against one another in a dance of learned familiarity that only two demons that had been together for over a century of life and death could partake in.

He rutted against her with a reckless abandon, hips meeting hips over and over, rocking her against the mattress and peppering open-mouthed kisses to her gasping mouth, across her cheekbones, and between her brows. And between every breathy croon of his name, she dragged her lips across his jaw, along the column of his throat, letting her canines sink deep into the broad slope of his shoulder when she felt her core tighten around his thrusting length.

He chanted her name under his breath, static breaking and popping between syllables as his ears twitched to catch the pitching groans she was letting out with every roll of his hips.

And when she finally came, when her body reached the peak of its pleasured precipice, the muscles of her womanhood clenched like a vice around Alastor’s member. Trembling legs pulled him flush against her, stuttering chest to stuttering chest, peaking cry muffled into the curve of his shoulder.

It was that stifled sound that pushed him over the edge, hips stuttering against hers in a finalizing, climaxing thrust.

Alastor collapsed bonelessly against her, chest heaving in sync with her own labored breathing.

An emanating hum ruminated in the back of Alastor’s throat as he pulled his gaze away from hers slowly to stare down at her with fond adoration.

“You do make a good argument,” she mused breathily, shoulders lifting in a happily defeated shrug.

“So…” His claws traced careful shapes through the plume of fluff adorning her stammering chest, his other arm bending to allow him to rest an elbow by her head, chin perched on his palm as he grinned impishly down at her, all arrogant and self-aggrandizing. “No notes, love?”

She only rolled her eyes, a dopey grin lifting the kiss-swollen edge of her lips as she affixed her dazed expression to the ceiling with a slight shake of her head.

“…No notes,” she assured between gasps for breath, blowing a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her eyes before she let her hazy eyes drift towards her husband’s smug visage. She felt her own lips twitch upward at his preemptively arrogant countenance, letting her hand slide over his where his fingers combed through her chest fluff, interlocking her fingers with his longer ones, and arching a teasing brow up at him. “But the book stays.”

taglist: @aceastronomy

masterlist.

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, always

thanks for reading

nsfw alphabet master-list for alastor, the radio demon , this can also be found on my ao3

if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the upcoming fics featured in this series, simply comment on this post or one of the other parts of this series

pairing: alastor x wife!reader/oc

divider credit: @steviebbboi

a: aftercare | rest your heart

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, aftercare, oral fem!receiving, overstimulation, soft!dom!Alastor/brat! sub!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: he almost found it impressive, how she scrounged together the energy to argue with him even after an evening of mino scrambling bliss.

It was simply too bad that he was the immovable object her unstoppable force, and there was nothing she could do or say that would dissuade him from taking care of her in the afterglow...

wc: 2.1k

b: body part | mark your territory

content: fem doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, claiming marks and accessories, biting, soft dom alastor/brat!sub! reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: alastor would quite happily stand in the shadowed sidelines to watch his wife shine, just so long as her other vying fans know that she is already spoken for...

wc: 3.5k

c: cum | eat your words

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, soft dom!alastor/brat!sub! reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: Almost two hours and four orgasms in, Alastor promises to let her rest if she follows one simple request: to say his name as he ends her rousing climb to the peak of euphoria and pushes her over the climactic precipice.

It's just a pity that he can't seem to keep his mouth off of hers...

wc: 2.2k

d: dirty secret | swallow your pride

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, brat! sub!alastor/soft!dom!reader, anal sex/fingering (m!receiving), pegging, light bondage, teasing and banter, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy smut

summary: Alastor would eternally deny it.

That he, the Radio Demon, Hell's apex predator and most powerful overlord, found himself succumbing to the whims of his wife more times than he had the humility to admit to.

And, perhaps even more scandalously, that he found himself enjoying it each and every time.

TDLR: Alastor gets pegged by his wife, and is a total brat about it

wc: 4.2k

e: experience | feed your ego

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, body worship, blow jobs, praise kink, biting, scent marking, oral male! receiving, soft!dom!alastor/brat! sub!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice

summary: Alastor, ego-driven as he could be, would prefer it if sinners outside of his marriage knew nothing about his proclivity in the bedroom.

His wife respects that, most of the time. But she also feels as though sometimes even he needs to be reminded of it.

wc: 3.2k

f: favorite position | take your pick

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, missionary, biting, scent marking, banter, sott!dom!Alastor/brat! sub! reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy smut

summary: Alastor is deeply offended by Angel's attempt at a 'gift' to him and his wife for Valentine's Day. Unfortunately for him and his ego, she seems to find 'Sex For Dummies' to be an enlightening read.

He sets out to prove that the book is as redundant as it is insulting, that doing things the old fashioned way is the most effective way of making his beloved come undone.

wc: 3.2k

g: goofy | coming soon…

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h: hair | coming soon…

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i: intimacy | coming soon…

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j: jerk off | coming soon…

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k: kink | coming soon…

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l: location | coming soon…

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m: motivation | coming soon…

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n: no | coming soon…

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o: oral | coming soon…

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p: pace | coming soon…

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q: quickie | coming soon…

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r: risk | coming soon…

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s: stamina | coming soon…

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t: toys | coming soon…

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u: unfair | coming soon…

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v: volume | coming soon…

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w: wild card | coming soon…

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x: x-ray | coming soon…

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y: yearning | coming soon…

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z: zzz | coming soon…

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note: if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the upcoming fics featured in this series, simply comment on this post or one of the other parts of this series

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, always

thanks for reading

Swallow Your Pride

this is part four of my nsfw alphabet challenge, and can also be found on ao3

pairing: alastor x wife! reader

divider credit: @steviebbboi

content: fem!doe!reader, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, brat!sub!alastor/soft!dom!reader, anal sex/fingering (m!receiving), pegging, light bondage, teasing and banter, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy smut

summary: Alastor would eternally deny it.

That he, the Radio Demon, Hell’s apex predator and most powerful overlord, found himself succumbing to the whims of his wife more times than he had the humility to admit to. 

And, perhaps even more scandalously, that he found himself enjoying it each and every time.

TDLR: Alastor gets pegged by his wife, and is a total brat about it

wc: 4.2k

He would deny it for however long eternity stretched on for.

That the idea of his wife dominating him in a way that had been most taboo and almost certainly a near impossibility during the time they’d spent together in the land of the living was one of the most enticing things she’d ever pondered aloud to him in over a century of matrimony.

And, as derisive as he could be, as bratty, as she had put it to him countless times before, he found himself succumbing to the whims of her hands and mouth more times than he had the humility to admit to.

And tonight wasn’t any different from those previous evenings of lying beneath her practiced body.

“I never make you wait this long,” he denigrated from his perch on the plush edge of their shared mattress, stripped bare in a matching state of undress to the doe demoness standing with her back to him by her dressing table.

And, even with the upper half of her face cut off in the mirror standing tall on her dresser, her head tilted in a familiar way that told him she’d rolled her eyes at his playful mocking.

“Yeah, well,” she said, hands cinching the black straps circling her upper thighs and waist until the harness fit snugly to her pelvis, her eyes inspecting the fitting through her reflection. She ducked her head slightly to meet his lidded gaze in the mirror, shamelessly letting her gaze drag along his bare body. Wordlessly admiring, she felt the edge of her mouth tilt upward when he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You’ve got everythin’ you need to fuck me pre-attached.”

“I’m also much more romantic with my language,” he teased, leaning back on his elbows with a coquettish smirk as she moved to approach him slowly. His carmine gaze flitted down towards her hips, to the inches of sturdy red silicone protruding from the harness attached to her figure. His mouth dried at the sight, swallowing thickly and forcing the words out with a carefully mocking tone. “You’re so crass, dear.”

She huffed under her breath, the corner of her mouth quirking at his edict, at his poor attempts to shroud his breathlessness with characteristic pomposity. And he watched as she shuddered under the icy touch of his shadows, lightless tendrils caressing her waist before they prodded and pushed her suddenly into his proximity.

He caught her with open arms, letting her stumble in between his legs as her hands settled over the broad slope of his shoulders.

“Behave,” she warned, giving his upper arm a cautionary squeeze as she glared down at him halfheartedly.

“You’re an Overlord,” he reminded with a shrug, head cocking to the side as the edges of his ever-present simper sharpened. “You should know how to put disruptive sinners in their place by now.”

“Oh, you want me to manhandle you?” She quipped softly, voice low and salacious in a way that made his heart stammer and stutter under his sternum. And she could feel the internal reaction under her fingertips when she encircled his wrists and tugged his hands away from her waist. She crawled into his naked lap, using the hold she had on his forearms to guide him onto his back, hands pinned above his head.

“If it gets you moving, then absolutely,” he professed with an exaggerated nod of his head, tilting his head, chin resting against his sternum so that he could peer up at her through his lashes. “Handle away, slowpoke.”

“God, you’re such a brat,” she griped, head tilting back with an amused roll of her eyes. She leveled him with a flattened expression, lips quirked in a subdued smile as her hands spooled around twirls of scarlet magic. Her hands snagged on the glittering threads and modified the manifestation of power into looping restraints that slithered around her husband’s pinned wrists. “You know that?

“So I’ve been told,” he mused absentmindedly, testing the restraints with a quick attempt to part his wrists. Seemingly satisfied by the fortifications of her newly apparated cuffs, he glanced back up at her. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I’ll untie you,” she threatened with a humored wobble of her lips.

“Oh, I’m positively petrified,” he crooned sardonically.

She hummed, tossing another thread of magic at his wrists. She watched with rapt attention as his arms were pulled over his head, fixated on his shifting expression. Watching as his eyes flickered wide for just a second of being caught off guard by the sudden jerk of his limbs before he masked his staggered expression with the lowering of his eyelids and the purposeful upward twitch of his omnipresent simper.

Legs straddling his stomach, the flowery scent of her chest fluff reached his nose when she leaned over him and reached up to slip her finger under the bands, testing the elasticity of his restraints. “Too tight?”

“Of course not,” he refuted earnestly, almost offended that she thought that any form of bondage could truly contain him. He resisted the urge to follow her when she retreated from him, one gliding along the exposed silky fur canvassing his ribcage, the other planting itself firmly in his hip. “I’m not a fragile thing, darling. You can-! Hey!”

His aggrieved exclamation came when she flipped him over suddenly, chest pressed to the bedding, eyes wide, and breath catching at the unusual display of strength from his doe.

“What?” She crooned, the voluminous plume of silky fluff sitting pretty on her bare chest rising and falling with every even breath as she shifted backwards on the mattress. Her smaller hands found his hips and guided them up and off of the bedding, leaving his arms and upper body pressed flush to the duvet with his pelvis held high. “You wanted to be manhandled.”

“I wanted you to hurry up, and yet here you are,” he derided, eyes fluttering to the ceiling as he snarked over his shoulder. “Wasting my time- Nnnf!”

His bratty insolence was cut off by a sharp gasp and heady groan, tail flagging against the arching curve of his spine as his hooves struggled to find purchase against the uneven terrain of their bedsheets. His fingers curled into tightened fists, claws drawing crescent indents into his palms as his teeth sank into the flesh of his bottom lip.

And after a moment of shifting in his knees and trying desperately to adjust to the new sensation of his wife’s little finger sinking deep into the heat of his quivering hole, he chanced a glare over his shoulder at her incredulous expression.

“Am I goin’ too fast now?” She asked coyly, head tilting as she, ever so slowly, began to pump her pinky inside of him, the thick coat of precautionary lubricant she’d applied letting her digit sink into him with little to no resistance. Her free hand traced her knuckles along the backs of his thighs before her palm settled over the subtle swell of his ass, thumb rubbing interrupting lines through the fine furs there as she fed a version of his own words back to him. “I just didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

He stifled a grunt when she slipped a second finger into him. Her ring finger, he noticed, haloed by a band of intricately melded gold and tiny rubies that matched the less detailed one adorning his own. And, instead of voicing the heated satiation the purposeful thrusts of her fingers ignited within him, he chose to bite at her over his shoulder, radio filtered tone only slightly muffled by the awkward press of his mouth to his upper arm; “You know, most men wouldn’t put up with that attitude of yours.”

She hummed behind him, undeterred by his pointed derision.

“Most men don’t love it the way you do,” she chided, exemplifying her point by wrapping her free hand around his half-hardened member and proffering slow pumps of her wrist, thumb running over his weeping slit.

And, when a low keen bubbled in his throat as she curled her fingers inside of him and she brushed against the small bundle of nerves that made him see stars, his hips instinctively rocked back against her hand.

Then, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, he froze, eyes widening a fraction before he pulled away just slightly. Just enough to allow him plausible deniability.

But she thwarted his attempts by wrapping her other hand around the base of his tail, reveling in the squeak he let out in response and holding him in place, body jerking under her at the sudden grab for one of his most sensitive appendages. And, simultaneous to her nabbing of the plume of fluff sitting perked and pretty at the base of his spine, she began to scissor her fingers inside of him, slowly working the ring of muscle open as the edge of her thumb raked through the short furs of his tail.

Keeping his hips as still as her newly halted digits, she relinquished her hold on his tail so that her hand was free to take her weight when she leaned over his arched body, pressing the fluff of her chest to his back and murmuring gently into his twitching ears. “You okay to keep going?”

She could feel his ears moving against the side of her face when he nodded slowly, and she responded by letting her chin rest upon the tightly drawn bow of his shoulders. She whispered his name, a sense of affectionate warning in her tone that he needed to verbalize his response if he truly wanted for her to continue. “Al…”

“Yes, I-” he breathed, eyes twitching in search of her face, voice airy and lungs stuttering. “You can continue.”

She pressed her forehead to the angular cut of his jaw, lips caressing his pulse as she urged him softly; “And if you wanna stop?”

She started to pull away before he responded, sitting back to watch as his eyes fluttered around the amorous haze haloing dilated pupils. Sitting back on her knees, hips pressed flush to the backs of his thighs, silicone cock settling between his legs as she awaited his response.

And after a few prolonged seconds of contemplative silence, he proffered a safeword with an impudent smirk; “…Television.”

She hummed quietly, lips quirking fondly at the word, at his endless petulance and abhorrence for modernity.

Eyes slipping closed, she leaned down to press her lips to the fluff of his tail, murmuring into the gradient of darkened reds and white as her fingers retreated from the warmth of his body; “Good boy.”

She felt a shudder run through him, watched as his tail fluffed up and swished back and forth against the small of his back with an ebullient largo at the complimentary sobriquet.

“And,” she began, hand mimicking the ministrations she’d inflicted upon his own manhood just moments before, coating the silicone protrusion strapped to her pelvis in a thick layer of lubricant. Her dry hand situated itself on his hip, fingers curling around his narrow waist as she wiped her other on a towel she’d thrown haphazardly at the bed before they’d even taken off a layer of clothing.

Her thighs pressed close to the backs of his. She lined the tip of the phallic mold of silicone to his hole, still glistening with residual lube from her hand’s earlier ministrations, pausing at his entrance to give him a moment to inhale a breath of preparation for the imminent intimacy. “Most men wouldn’t let me do this to them.”

Her thumb ran genial circles against his hip bone, holding his pelvis in place as she sank into his warmth. She pressed in slowly, stilling mid-thrust with each devastating inch to proffer him a moment to adjust.

She could hear him trying to regulate his breathing, trying to even out every huff for air while his fingers curled into deft fists and unfurled to scrape against the headboard in an instinctive pattern of subtle motions. Motions that served to ground him and offer something for him to shift his concentration onto.

He grunted, forcing a retort out through his gritted teeth, too stubborn to allow his breathlessness to impede his ability to quip back at her.

“Yes, well, we are in Pride, dear.” His voice pitched into a keen, serrated teeth chomping down on his bottom lip to stifle the involuntary sound when he felt her bottom out inside of him. “I somehow doubt the cretins down here take kindly to letting a woman dominate them.”

“What?” Her hips pressed flush against his ass. And she bent at the waist to lean down over his back, chest fluff flattening against the plain of his back. Her hands slid from his waist to his chest, roaming fingers sinking into his own less voluminous plume of fur, nails scratching adoring marks over his sternum as her lips found the space around his twitching ears. “You tryin’ to imply that your sin isn’t Pride?”

He glanced over the curve of his shoulder, carmine gaze finding her own as a coy smile warbled over his upturned lips. He opened his mouth to retort, but the attempt was left a partial and truncated one when she began to shift on her knees, hips departing from where their emanating warmth intermingled with his before she thrust back in with one quick motion.

“I find Wrath to be more-mmh!” She watched as his eyes fluttered, relishing the sharp gasp that broke past his lips and interrupted his pert counter. And, as he recovered from the sudden and rough push of her hips, eyes widened with surprise and chest shuddering, he threw a perfunctory glare back at her. “Apt.”

“Well,” she hummed into the side of his throat, grin broadening against him, one hand reacquainting itself with his throbbing length, only half hard and twitching slightly under her touch. “It’s certainly not lust.”

He hummed quietly in response, eyes falling closed as she began to ever so slowly roll her hips against him. And with every low rumbling moan that remained trapped in his throat, she nipped at his jawline, catching his flesh between her teeth and marking him with small, dotted blossoms of color.

“You make me question that sometimes,” he murmured finally, into the pillow he’d stubbornly pressed his face into in an attempt to stifle every needy noise that managed to breach his lips, avoiding her softening eyes and keeping his own fixed on the knot of magic adjoining his wrists.

“Oh,” she breathed behind him, almost absentmindedly shifting the angle of her hips as she lifted her weight from his back just slightly.

“Oh,” Alastor moaned, back arching against her in a way that told her she’d accidentally brushed against the bundle of nerves lying in wait deep inside of him.

“Right there?” She asked him airily, but punctuated the question with a similar rut of her hips, finding the spot once again and sending a burst of white-hot stars across his vision. She felt his cock stiffen in her hold, fingers tightening their careful grip and pumping a steady rhythm over the velvety flesh there.

The only response he proffered to her efforts was a shameful burial of his face into his pillow, cheeks burning as even the plush cushioning failed to conceal his amorous sounds.

She felt her brows twitch slightly at the sight, at the inhibited sounds that were caught and trapped by the cottony fabric of their pillow. Her unoccupied hand moved to brush the sweat-soaked strands of hair framing his smiling countenance, fingertips dancing along his flushed cheekbones, thumb chasing the blossoming heat and caressing his face.

His teeth sank into the cushiony fabric of the pillow, sounds muffled and pitched. His eyes rolled back at every rut of her hips against his ass, at every stroke of the tip of her faux cock against his prostate.

She felt her breath catch in her throat, eyes flitting over every subtle twitch of his expression. Over each flutter of his eyelashes, over each time the corners of his mouth twitched around the omnipresent grin biting deep into the pillow. His brows pinched with the concerted effort to appear composed. And when his eyes twitched to glance up at her, he stilled, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

As if his undoing and ruination wasn’t her intention.

“You’re so pretty, Allie.”

He unlatched his teeth from the threads just to argue; “I am not- nnrgh!”

“You are,” she argued, pressing her lips firmly to his dampened temple. And, keeping her lips locked onto his skin as she began to thrust with a renewed vigor, the next muffled noise of unintended sensuality prompted her to murmur into his brow; “You know, for a guy who doesn’t seem to know how to shut up, you’re being awful quiet right now.”

“You’re always telling me to shut up,” he said quickly before he reattached his teeth to the pillow’s edge.

“I don’t mean it, love,” she promised, nose brushing against his jaw with every jerk of her hips, each pushing his upper body deeper into the mattress. “I like your voice. Especially when it sounds like this.”

His eyes flitted up to her, breath hitching with a short and stifled cry as she swept the edge of her thumb over the head of his dick, catching a bead of pre-cum on the digit and swiping it along his length.

He was slowly approaching his lustrous end. She could feel it in the way he throbbed hotly against her palm, pulse jumping. The way that every thrust was momentarily slowed by his clenching hole. In the bead of a tear that glittered along the edge of his waterline, and she had to assume that it was Alastor’s pure obstinacy that held it there.

“Please?” She tilted her head away from his, hand massaging over the curve of shoulder and down the quivering muscles in his arm until she could pry at the pillowcase. He eyed her for a minute, and she could practically see the debate play out within the fiery glow of his sclera. His jaw worked slowly, teeth grinding over the fabric for a few prolonged seconds before he relented with an involuntary whine as she adjusted her hips.

Her lips found the edge of his mouth, pushing herself deeper inside of him with the effort, the movement dragging forth an unimpeded mewl of pleasure. “Thank you, baby.”

She stole the opportunity of his unoccupied mouth and used it to ensure that she elicited every alluring enunciation she could. And though her legs burned with the effort, though her own chest heaved and stuttered against his back, she remained steadfast in her pursuit of his climactic end.

With a low grunt, she snapped her hips against his ass, the muffled sound of thighs slapping thighs harmoniously chorusing with the thoughtless moans and bleats parting her husband’s lips.

He tried, he really did. To verbalize his desire, his gratitude, to babble senselessly at her while she pushed him over the precipice of pleasure.

But for the first time in a long time, his tongue weighed heavy in his mouth. His chosen weapon of charismatic defiance failed him as he opened his mouth to respond to her quiet whispers of his name. Of her lowered declarations of love, her praise and affection, telling him how well he was doing. How close he was.

The only sounds that bubbled from his throat were witless groans and mindless bleats, eyes rolling back when the head of her silicone cock pressed against the bundle of nerves buried deep inside of him with one resolute and finalizing grind.

Her hands held his hips aloft as he spilled onto the bedding below his arched body with a high-pitched keen that he would eternally deny being capable of producing. Her thumbs ran careful circles along the line of his waist as she pulled her pelvis away from the subtle swell of his ass slowly, her upper body folding over his back so that she could dot chaste kisses along the exposed column of his spine.

And, with more care than Alastor would ever have the humility to ask for, she used her grip on his hips to guide him onto his side, avoiding the sticky white mess with purposeful circumspection. He could feel his thighs quivering against the cold air, the absence of her warmth left between his legs, muscles twitching under her fingertips as she dragged the ruination of the blanket out from under him. He shivered under her roaming fingertips as she dragged her nails through the fine furs lining his arm, hand gliding along the limb until her palm settled against his cheek.

His eyes blinked blearily up at her, lips parting wetly in short huffs of the hot air between them, instinctively nudging his cheek into the palm of her hand as she curled her fingers through the sweat-soaked strands of hair framing the side of his face.

The edge of her thumb followed the bloom of heat that echoed across his cheekbones, a self-satisfied smirk tempting the corners of her lips as she settled down beside him, head perched on her fist as her lidded gaze roved over his shuddering body. She hummed into the quiet, smug and wily; “Tired already?”

Alastor’s gaze snapped up to her, lower face buried in the crook of his elbow once more as he growled low in the back of his throat, tilting his head just enough that his mouth was unimpeded by the barrier of his arm. “Darling, I just-”

She interrupted him with a quick peck to his lips. And whatever retort his bliss-addled mind could have concocted was warbled and shattered by her lips molding against his own in a familiar caress.

He was distantly aware of the cooling press of smooth silicone to the plain of his stomach when she shifted along the mattress to press her bare body to his own, one long leg hooking around his hip before she gently maneuvered him onto his back, the slow brush of lips remaining steadfast and constant even in the change of position.

He made a small, embarrassing noise when she pulled away, thighs bracketing his hips as she knelt back on her haunches. He could feel himself trying to chase her retreating mouth, eyes closed as his arms pulled against his restraints, ill-contained mewls for her touch harmonizing with her satisfied hum of approval. She dragged her nails through the slight plume of fluff adorning his chest, hands slotting over his rib cage as a teasing grin pulled at the seam of her mouth.

“If this was the other way around,” she began, a taunting lilt to her tone as she cocked her head to the side. “I’d already be ready for-”

“I’m not tired.”

He stifled a wince at how enthusiastic he sounded. How needy, even. How quick he was to reject her teasing if it meant she’d take him again.

The fluff of his ear pressed flat to his scalp as flustered heat bloomed across his visage. They stood upright once more only so that he could make out the sweet sound of his wife’s giggles unimpeded by his own animalistic physiology.

“Good,” she said after a moment, nodding curtly as she let the sticky gloss of her lips brush the very corner of his ever-present simper.

Alastor felt his breath catch in his throat when she nudged her cheek against his own, caressing the angular cut of his cheekbone with the soft skin of hers. Indulging in an instinct he’d been imbued with since their reunification in Hell, since he’d realized that the animalistic traits he’d inherited during his fall to the depths of the afterlife weren’t just physical.

She finalized the ministrations with a short nip to his jawline, canines dragging over his pulse point as she situated her arms to pillar her upper body above his. She caged him in, with her hands sinking into the mattress on either side of his head, her knees pressing close to his hips as she grinned down at him.

A quick jerk of her head unlatched his vine cuffs from the headboard, though the restraints remained looped around his wrists, and she used the knot that held his hands captive and useless to pull his arms up and over her head. They settled along the gentle slope of her shoulders, fingers finding the nape of her neck and weaving through the sweat-soaked hair there.

Her hands reacquainted themselves with his hips, slipping down over the lean muscle of his thighs as she rocked her hips against his, letting the very tip of the silicone cock standing ready in wait at the apex of her thighs slide between his legs and against his still twitching hole.

She felt the fond smile pulling at her mouth broaden when the familiar sound of her husband’s tail swaying happily against the mattress between his legs, subtle and quiet, reached the fluff of her own ears.

“Me either.”

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thanks for reading

ongoing long fic, that can also be found on my ao3

pairing: alastor x wife!reader/oc

divider credit: @steviebbboi

content: fem!doe!overlord!reader/oc, lovers to enemies to lovers, period typical misogyny and racism, past physical and emotional abuse (not at the hands of alastor), alastor is a jerk, the vees are their own warning, themes featured in hazbin hotel, suggestive language, angst, fluff, banter

summary: “What just happened?”

“Oh, uh, you wanted me gone,” she said tauntingly slowly, relishing in the annoyed flattening of Alastor’s ears when she shot a pair of raised middle fingers in his direction. “So fuck you, I’m staying.”

“No. No, no. No.” With every pointless refusal, he took another step towards her. “Absolutely not-”

“Madison!” Moving as if she was afraid that anything less than the instant presentation of the aforementioned key would result in Madison’s sudden departure, Charlie slid to a precarious stop before her. “Your key.”

“Thank you, honey.”

Alastor’s afflicted carmine eyes flitted between the doe demon, Hell’s princess, and the key being passed from one hand to another, smile pulling tighter as she sent him a smug look over the blonde’s shoulder.

“You cannot stay here. This is my-“ His assertion was interrupted by the shorter demoness encroaching on his space.

With a flourish, she tapped the bow of her key against the tip of his nose, her arm lurching out and up when he made a swipe for it, her own grin widening madly as she cooed; “What’s yours is mine, hubby.”

wc: 36k…

season one | the opening act

1 | what’s yours is mine 2 | gag order 3 | rude awakening 4 | all inclusive drinks for breakfast 5 | the enemies of my husband are my friends 6 | stayed gone 7 | good ol’ fashioned