NOT_VETO

He was an idiot. 

And a virgin.

They were not mutually exclusive but the implications of one definitely worsened the feeling of the other.

But how lucky he was, he thought, when he only had to suffer a few days of immense stress before getting an answer to his nagging question.

He hadn’t wanted to be rough or quick, he wanted to enjoy feeling you against him again. But wants were dashed against the craggy shores of need, broken up into pieces like the fabric of your shirt under his claws. An addiction, or at least that was the only word that made sense to him, had formed from just one embrace. 

And he had waited three days for another. While on high alert; watching and listening for you. Trying to decipher some sliver of how you felt about him still. Or now. Perhaps it had changed when he dropped you so unceremoniously. Maybe the glare was a step too far.

Seventy two hours or so of you avoiding being in his personal space. Old marks that plagued him, threatening to disappear and take away even the aftershocks of your grace.

What an idiot he was, he thought. He would dare say he had bit the hand that fed, and somehow was both the kicked dog and the leg that swung.

So he found himself following you and having lost the ability to maintain charm or dignity he decided to say what he needed by mimicking your earlier actions.

He grabbed your arm and held you back from entering the common area bathroom, but you didn’t toss him against any walls like he had. You looked at the place his skin held yours with confusion. Not disgust or anger, as he had so uncharacteristically feared, but something else was quickly overtaking the two as you lingered there.

The fact you were annoyed became apparent. And the longer he stood there staring at you expectedly only further drove you into aggravation with the deer demon.

Finally, after far too long, you spoke, “Yes?!”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. More apt than ever as he truly didn’t know how he got there or what he was doing.

There it was again. That pesky shutting down of his brain. As the lights went out in his head, you tugged yourself from his grasp. But when he stayed still standing there with his arm outreached, you closed the distance with angry steps and pushed at his chest.

“Hey! Alastor!”, a shove just strong enough to try to bring him back to hell. “What the fuck is up with you?”

And he did come back, crashing into himself with such force it snapped his last twig of fear.

His hand was tight around your forearm as he pulled your body into his chest. 

You were squeezed into him. A hesitation before you moved as you considered the options. You could recognize even in your agitation and confusion that Alastor was also tremendously unsure. You knew the facts, asexual, and you heard the rumors, a total virgin. 

As soon as your palms slid up his chest and found his shoulders, he lifted you once again by the thighs and pulled your legs around his waist. 

For Alastor your response was a shout. One hand was holding you close still at the back, one hand on your face, trying poorly to help him land his kisses on your lips. A pitiful success rate but as they say; shoot for the moon and land among the stars. He was happy to find your cheeks and your nose and your chin in his failures.

He hadn’t ever kissed your mouth before; Only realizing it as he first felt the warmth of your skin against his lips. Be it in his head or in the hall. It brought your first moan into him, a sound that knocked against every rib as it sank to his crotch.

He turned to push open the bathroom door with his back and pull you into a stall. 

The dark wood of the partitions bent just a little with the initial impact of your bodies, but ultimately managed to stay upright. Alastor bounced you once to better angle himself against you. He wasn’t even hard yet, which was odd, but the nerves of the confrontation had kept his mind elsewhere until now.

Only the second time his body was on yours and already you knew to stay still and let him find his pleasure.

It was inherently selfish, but you had a feeling he was working in a fog of inexperience. You were willing to be his practice partner, the idea alone made you clench with a need to let him try as much as he needed. You had knowledge he didn’t. You had experience he didn’t. You had power over the so-called cruelest and most powerful overlord in recent memory. 

As he crushed you into his chest, grip tightening every time yours did, you felt a jolt of glee.

It ran parallel to the shock of desire coursing down his body. His relief melted to give way to mind numbing satisfaction. 

Your body in his arms, chest against his chest, scent mingling with his own as it reached his nose. He huffed, sighing out the fears that you were irreparably cross with him. He’d maybe apologize someday, if you made him.

But once again no words were necessary nor offered as he worked his erection against your center. Sometimes his hips would jump and you’d feel the impossible rigidity of him press into your stomach. A dirty thought of how it would feel from the inside, stomach churned up with the rocking motion of his thrusts deep into you. 

You felt like you’d go crazy if he didn’t just fuck you. Like perhaps you’d sincerely lose your ability to function if you didn’t get at least one time to see and feel what he teased you with.

It wasn’t a tease though. Alastor’s lower back rolled with his hips without holding back, him changing his angling until he heard you gasp or your nails dug into his shirt.  There was no tease as this was the main course. There was nothing past this in his fantasies. He knew more existed but this seemed good and well enough. It quenched his thirst, drew his displaced pieces back together again. The notion you were dying in a desert of what he didn’t finish hadn’t come up at all.

Alastor was a virgin in the purest sense, not even another’s hand had been granted permission to touch his skin below his navel. Letting you feel him through his clothing, rutting into the softness of your ass and core, this was earthshaking vulnerability. 

His mind only felt and heard and saw what he was given now. But your mind wandered, eyes closing to help you better feel the fantasy. 

And that’s how it went, again and again and again. For weeks. The only difference from the first time was the introduction of his mouth on your mouth, on your neck, sucking on your collarbone loud bruises he secretly hoped someone asked you about.

Every time left you so riled up and needy that you immediately ran to your room to finish what he started. Easy, admittedly, as he had given you so much to work with.

It had become a little too much to bear. While Alastor was soothing his urges he only stoked more in you. 

But it came to a head for you. He looked up lazily as you and several others made your way out one night. When he asked if it was another field trip Angel laughed obnoxiously.

As he watched you leave the hotel, Angel promising to finally get you laid, he fought the urge to rip the arms off of his chair. And Angel. 

He was sure he could still stop you if he just stood up fast enough. His fingers twitched. Ready to jump up and seize you.

But what would he say? Please don’t. I’m terribly uncomfortable with the idea and I do not know why.

Stay and

What? 

He could sense you were already too far now. The opportunity to finally just confront the situation he’d been trying to power through was gone.

Alastor found himself aimlessly wandering the hotel halls. A claw shredding wallpaper mindlessly as he walked past and wondered had you met someone already?

Banister snapping in two as he noticed the time, are you with someone now? Were they holding you? Or worse, you holding them?

His mind was a pictureshow he couldn’t exit. Your mouth holding someone else’s name. Someone else feeling you squirm. Hands on your hips that weren’t his. Someone unaware they now shared something with The Radio Demon. Someone who may steal more from him than just a night of your company.

But then the mental horror picture show shifted to a mystery. Did someone enter your body? What noises did you make then? How much did you tremble under their touch?

Was there a barrier between you two?

Nearly midnight. It had absolutely happened, or else you’d already be home, right?

Never had he had so many questions and so little desire to truly have an answer.

He stood watch, waiting on the balcony above the hotel’s grand awning to see you return. The first sight of you made him retreat to his room to pace.

A caged animal. A restless beast.

A fool.

He couldn’t deny any longer that he was miserable. Accepting it made it easier though, because then he could decide what to do with his misery. 

It was too bitter to keep between his teeth. He wished his mind would go blank this time, but no. As he lied in bed on his back unsure hands pulled a pillow to his face. He held it tightly to his chest and mouth, wishing he could have you there in its place.

His mind dragged him down the street, a leashed dog overpowering its owner, as he helplessly considered in what position you had been in. 

He felt a twitch in his lap. If he went through with it, how would he arrange you? On your knees would save him embarrassment. But how then could you cling to his body? Naked body on his… uninterrupted skin sticking to his own. His thighs flexed, would you let him undress you?

The theater of his mind was on fire. The invasive third party burned away, leaving just the notion of your shaking body signaling a deep want for him.

How much softer was your skin than the fabric always layered between you both? The very thought made his hips lift off the bed. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try?

He considered it; no. How easily he would open himself to ridicule. Alastor was true and well a virgin. Never a hand other than his on his bare cock, never a shared bed over an evening, never anything more than drunken kisses and necking in a dance hall. 

Until you. 

How quickly he leapt from celibate and content to horny and desperate. 

But you would see it; his inexperience. He’d come undone too soon, disappointing you. You’d smile half heartedly at him and he’d consider another seven year absence just to escape the shame. He couldn’t let you pity him. He couldn’t let you stand over him in any sense. 

He could feel the distance between you, and soon enough he knew you were in your room a floor beneath him. Your absence on his body roiled from a warm second layer of clothing to one of damp, cold, clinging strips of fabric. His breath picked up. It was all wrong now. No it wasn’t your absence that was covering him anymore. It was the memory of what he previously had sloughing off.

He was shedding your touch and if he didn’t have a renewal of your affections he’d be left bare and raw. Shivering in the cold of your indifference. He felt so… replaceable. 

But what was worse, truly: your disappointment or your pity?

He heard the pipes shake in the walls. You were taking a shower. 

Oh right, the third option. Your loss of interest….just the thought made his stomach flip. 

A whine into the pillow.

Was anything truly lower than where he was now?

Alastor did what was easiest. Ignored how he felt and chose nothing at all. He’d wait to see you in the ominous daylight of hell and decide from there. A little hope barely the size of a speck of sand stood in his heart that he’d see you and be disgusted at the thought of you now. A fleeting memory, something about sand and oysters, before he buried the topic of you entirely for the night.

The idiot part of his personality was really shining lately.  

You bounced down the stairs the next day and smiled at everyone and looked so….refreshed.

Not an ounce of disgust materialized. A jealous desperation hit him so hard that Vaggie leaned over and whispered a worried “hey, are you okay?” to him. 

Absolutely not.

He didn’t reply, retreating into himself to try and claw out some rage or hate or anything sharp and familiar.

The day crept past him as he sat there, staring off into the distance, unmoving. Until something just snapped.

“May I touch you?”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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He was an idiot. 

And a virgin.

They were not mutually exclusive but the implications of one definitely worsened the feeling of the other.

But how lucky he was, he thought, when he only had to suffer a few days of immense stress before getting an answer to his nagging question.

He hadn’t wanted to be rough or quick, he wanted to enjoy feeling you against him again. But wants were dashed against the craggy shores of need, broken up into pieces like the fabric of your shirt under his claws. An addiction, or at least that was the only word that made sense to him, had formed from just one embrace. 

And he had waited three days for another. While on high alert; watching and listening for you. Trying to decipher some sliver of how you felt about him still. Or now. Perhaps it had changed when he dropped you so unceremoniously. Maybe the glare was a step too far.

Seventy two hours or so of you avoiding being in his personal space. Old marks that plagued him, threatening to disappear and take away even the aftershocks of your grace.

What an idiot he was, he thought. He would dare say he had bit the hand that fed, and somehow was both the kicked dog and the leg that swung.

So he found himself following you and having lost the ability to maintain charm or dignity he decided to say what he needed by mimicking your earlier actions.

He grabbed your arm and held you back from entering the common area bathroom, but you didn’t toss him against any walls like he had. You looked at the place his skin held yours with confusion. Not disgust or anger, as he had so uncharacteristically feared, but something else was quickly overtaking the two as you lingered there.

The fact you were annoyed became apparent. And the longer he stood there staring at you expectedly only further drove you into aggravation with the deer demon.

Finally, after far too long, you spoke, “Yes?!”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. More apt than ever as he truly didn’t know how he got there or what he was doing.

There it was again. That pesky shutting down of his brain. As the lights went out in his head, you tugged yourself from his grasp. But when he stayed still standing there with his arm outreached, you closed the distance with angry steps and pushed at his chest.

“Hey! Alastor!”, a shove just strong enough to try to bring him back to hell. “What the fuck is up with you?”

And he did come back, crashing into himself with such force it snapped his last twig of fear.

His hand was tight around your forearm as he pulled your body into his chest. 

You were squeezed into him. A hesitation before you moved as you considered the options. You could recognize even in your agitation and confusion that Alastor was also tremendously unsure. You knew the facts, asexual, and you heard the rumors, a total virgin. 

As soon as your palms slid up his chest and found his shoulders, he lifted you once again by the thighs and pulled your legs around his waist. 

For Alastor your response was a shout. One hand was holding you close still at the back, one hand on your face, trying poorly to help him land his kisses on your lips. A pitiful success rate but as they say; shoot for the moon and land among the stars. He was happy to find your cheeks and your nose and your chin in his failures.

He hadn’t ever kissed your mouth before; Only realizing it as he first felt the warmth of your skin against his lips. Be it in his head or in the hall. It brought your first moan into him, a sound that knocked against every rib as it sank to his crotch.

He turned to push open the bathroom door with his back and pull you into a stall. 

The dark wood of the partitions bent just a little with the initial impact of your bodies, but ultimately managed to stay upright. Alastor bounced you once to better angle himself against you. He wasn’t even hard yet, which was odd, but the nerves of the confrontation had kept his mind elsewhere until now.

Only the second time his body was on yours and already you knew to stay still and let him find his pleasure.

It was inherently selfish, but you had a feeling he was working in a fog of inexperience. You were willing to be his practice partner, the idea alone made you clench with a need to let him try as much as he needed. You had knowledge he didn’t. You had experience he didn’t. You had power over the so-called cruelest and most powerful overlord in recent memory. 

As he crushed you into his chest, grip tightening every time yours did, you felt a jolt of glee.

It ran parallel to the shock of desire coursing down his body. His relief melted to give way to mind numbing satisfaction. 

Your body in his arms, chest against his chest, scent mingling with his own as it reached his nose. He huffed, sighing out the fears that you were irreparably cross with him. He’d maybe apologize someday, if you made him.

But once again no words were necessary nor offered as he worked his erection against your center. Sometimes his hips would jump and you’d feel the impossible rigidity of him press into your stomach. A dirty thought of how it would feel from the inside, stomach churned up with the rocking motion of his thrusts deep into you. 

You felt like you’d go crazy if he didn’t just fuck you. Like perhaps you’d sincerely lose your ability to function if you didn’t get at least one time to see and feel what he teased you with.

It wasn’t a tease though. Alastor’s lower back rolled with his hips without holding back, him changing his angling until he heard you gasp or your nails dug into his shirt.  There was no tease as this was the main course. There was nothing past this in his fantasies. He knew more existed but this seemed good and well enough. It quenched his thirst, drew his displaced pieces back together again. The notion you were dying in a desert of what he didn’t finish hadn’t come up at all.

Alastor was a virgin in the purest sense, not even another’s hand had been granted permission to touch his skin below his navel. Letting you feel him through his clothing, rutting into the softness of your ass and core, this was earthshaking vulnerability. 

His mind only felt and heard and saw what he was given now. But your mind wandered, eyes closing to help you better feel the fantasy. 

And that’s how it went, again and again and again. For weeks. The only difference from the first time was the introduction of his mouth on your mouth, on your neck, sucking on your collarbone loud bruises he secretly hoped someone asked you about.

Every time left you so riled up and needy that you immediately ran to your room to finish what he started. Easy, admittedly, as he had given you so much to work with.

It had become a little too much to bear. While Alastor was soothing his urges he only stoked more in you. 

But it came to a head for you. He looked up lazily as you and several others made your way out one night. When he asked if it was another field trip Angel laughed obnoxiously.

As he watched you leave the hotel, Angel promising to finally get you laid, he fought the urge to rip the arms off of his chair. And Angel. 

He was sure he could still stop you if he just stood up fast enough. His fingers twitched. Ready to jump up and seize you.

But what would he say? Please don’t. I’m terribly uncomfortable with the idea and I do not know why.

Stay and

What? 

He could sense you were already too far now. The opportunity to finally just confront the situation he’d been trying to power through was gone.

Alastor found himself aimlessly wandering the hotel halls. A claw shredding wallpaper mindlessly as he walked past and wondered had you met someone already?

Banister snapping in two as he noticed the time, are you with someone now? Were they holding you? Or worse, you holding them?

His mind was a pictureshow he couldn’t exit. Your mouth holding someone else’s name. Someone else feeling you squirm. Hands on your hips that weren’t his. Someone unaware they now shared something with The Radio Demon. Someone who may steal more from him than just a night of your company.

But then the mental horror picture show shifted to a mystery. Did someone enter your body? What noises did you make then? How much did you tremble under their touch?

Was there a barrier between you two?

Nearly midnight. It had absolutely happened, or else you’d already be home, right?

Never had he had so many questions and so little desire to truly have an answer.

He stood watch, waiting on the balcony above the hotel’s grand awning to see you return. The first sight of you made him retreat to his room to pace.

A caged animal. A restless beast.

A fool.

He couldn’t deny any longer that he was miserable. Accepting it made it easier though, because then he could decide what to do with his misery. 

It was too bitter to keep between his teeth. He wished his mind would go blank this time, but no. As he lied in bed on his back unsure hands pulled a pillow to his face. He held it tightly to his chest and mouth, wishing he could have you there in its place.

His mind dragged him down the street, a leashed dog overpowering its owner, as he helplessly considered in what position you had been in. 

He felt a twitch in his lap. If he went through with it, how would he arrange you? On your knees would save him embarrassment. But how then could you cling to his body? Naked body on his… uninterrupted skin sticking to his own. His thighs flexed, would you let him undress you?

The theater of his mind was on fire. The invasive third party burned away, leaving just the notion of your shaking body signaling a deep want for him.

How much softer was your skin than the fabric always layered between you both? The very thought made his hips lift off the bed. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try?

He considered it; no. How easily he would open himself to ridicule. Alastor was true and well a virgin. Never a hand other than his on his bare cock, never a shared bed over an evening, never anything more than drunken kisses and necking in a dance hall. 

Until you. 

How quickly he leapt from celibate and content to horny and desperate. 

But you would see it; his inexperience. He’d come undone too soon, disappointing you. You’d smile half heartedly at him and he’d consider another seven year absence just to escape the shame. He couldn’t let you pity him. He couldn’t let you stand over him in any sense. 

He could feel the distance between you, and soon enough he knew you were in your room a floor beneath him. Your absence on his body roiled from a warm second layer of clothing to one of damp, cold, clinging strips of fabric. His breath picked up. It was all wrong now. No it wasn’t your absence that was covering him anymore. It was the memory of what he previously had sloughing off.

He was shedding your touch and if he didn’t have a renewal of your affections he’d be left bare and raw. Shivering in the cold of your indifference. He felt so… replaceable. 

But what was worse, truly: your disappointment or your pity?

He heard the pipes shake in the walls. You were taking a shower. 

Oh right, the third option. Your loss of interest….just the thought made his stomach flip. 

A whine into the pillow.

Was anything truly lower than where he was now?

Alastor did what was easiest. Ignored how he felt and chose nothing at all. He’d wait to see you in the ominous daylight of hell and decide from there. A little hope barely the size of a speck of sand stood in his heart that he’d see you and be disgusted at the thought of you now. A fleeting memory, something about sand and oysters, before he buried the topic of you entirely for the night.

The idiot part of his personality was really shining lately.  

You bounced down the stairs the next day and smiled at everyone and looked so….refreshed.

Not an ounce of disgust materialized. A jealous desperation hit him so hard that Vaggie leaned over and whispered a worried “hey, are you okay?” to him. 

Absolutely not.

He didn’t reply, retreating into himself to try and claw out some rage or hate or anything sharp and familiar.

The day crept past him as he sat there, staring off into the distance, unmoving. Until something just snapped.

“May I touch you?”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk  , @whateverlololo , @psipies

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Your eyes are closed as you relax in your hammock and feel the sunlight warm your soul. You're humming a song you heard from your last visit to Earth that's been unable to leave your head. The birds in the trees above you had begun to sing along.

A sudden strong gust of wind nearly knocks you off, but you're quick to grasp the sides of the hammock to help balance. You quietly laugh to yourself as you peek an eye open. One of your creations, a pteranodon, landed a few feet away from you at the lake's edge to eat some fish.

For this reason, you keep the lake closest to your palace filled with life. The amount of happiness you receive when you see your creations eating gives your soul well-needed peace. You love seeing your children happy!

Speaking of your children, you feel that familiar vibration in your soul telling you a human has mentioned your name. A side effect after Eve ate the apple from your tree was that it forever connected your soul to humankind—your spiritual children.

Four deceased humans that have become demons, a fallen angel, and the Princess and King of Hell themselves are discussing you. You feel honored that they are considering asking for your help. You mainly use your energy and time to maintain the mortal realm's chaos and observe alive human souls. You pay less attention once they pass into the afterlife since it is not your domain.

Another chuckle escapes your lips. You have been wondering when Lucifer would cash in the favor you owe him. You were beginning to believe he had forgotten. Although you would prefer to continue staying out of Hell's and Heaven's pissing contest, if Lucifer requests for you to aid him, you have no objections to that. You respect the eldest Morningstar greatly after all he has done for you and humanity.

A content sigh leaves your lips as you go back to humming. You'll indeed be summoned to Hell by Lucifer soon, so you'll use your remaining time in the mortal realm to relax.

One last time, Lucifer scrambles around the immense sigil engraved in the dirt of the Hazbin Hotel's abandoned garden. He's pretty sure he's drawn your sigil correctly; he's only ever seen it once when you emerged from the apple tree in Eden, so it's entirely from memory.

"Okay," Lucifer semi-confidently says, "Okay, I think I got it."

Alastor has a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he hums, "Hmm, try walking around it ten more times to make sure."

Lucifer huffs with a glare. "Why are you even here? There's no reason for you to be here right now!"

"Who am I not to greet our guest who will aid us in war?" Alastor says with a twirl of his cane, "As the manager of this Hotel, that is my duty!"

Vaggie quickly stands in front of everyone with her hands on her hips. "Alright, let's go over this again!"

Vaggie points to Angel, "No flirting with the Demiurge!"-then to Husk-"No sarcastic remarks that can piss them off!"-then to Niffty, "No knives or sharp things that would threaten them!"-Then to Alastor "And no making deals with the Demiurge! Got it?"

Varying agreements ring out, some more irritated than others, but it satisfies Vaggie nonetheless.

Charlie is excited and slightly nervous as she stands next to her father. Lucifer had said he'd need her assistance for the summoning ritual since it requires powerful Celestial magic. Not just anyone can summon the Demiurge.

Lucifer lets out a breath of anxiety and rubs his bare hands together. "Ready, Charlie? Do you remember what we rehearsed?" He asks with a nervous smile.

Charlie nods firmly. "Ready!"

Lucifer and Charlie then shift into their more demonic forms to channel more of their magic before twirling their arms in graceful mannerisms. Lucifer begins chanting in the ancient Celestial language, which causes the sigil in the dirt to glow golden.

Vaggie anxiously clutches herself as her gaze never leaves Charlie's form. She knows her lover is powerful and capable of protecting herself, but Vaggie can't help but worry about her. A gentle, clawed hand rests on her shoulder, causing her to shift her gaze to her left, seeing Alastor grinning down at her. He doesn't say a word, but his eyes share a confident reassurance that strangely makes her feel a bit better.

The ground beneath them all began to rumble as if an Earthquake was happening. Niffty laughs as she uncontrollably falls to the ground, but Angel quickly swoops in and holds her tightly.

Once Lucifer and Charlie finish the ritual, they take a few careful steps back to join the others.

The sigil's golden glow brightens, then dims to nothing just as quickly. The ground beneath them stills once again. Everyone doesn't move as they wait for what will happen next. . .

Before Lucifer could question if he performed the ritual incorrectly, a large blaze of golden flames twists above the sigil, causing a few surprised gasps. Within the fire, a silhouette could be seen taking form.

Strong gusts of wind swirling around nearly blow the habitants of the Hazbin Hotel off their feet. They're quick to grasp onto each other for stability, other than Alastor, who uses his tendrils of shadow to ground himself.

Once the wind finally puts the fire out, it gradually falls into a light breeze. At the center of the sigil is a deity that stands at 120 meters. A golden-scaled serpent with the head of a mighty golden-brown lion. Their eyes glow brightly and shine into Hell's eerie red sky, and their sharp teeth are a perfect white—the Demiurge's true form.

You stare down at the beings who summoned you. Your eyes land on Lucifer, who stares up at you with a nervous smile. He looks more tired than how you remember him. He slowly waves, and you roar to greet him a bit too loudly since some of the beings below clutch their ears.

You then close your eyes as you shift into your humanoid form so you can speak eye-to-eye with everyone—the sounds of bones breaking and reshaping echo around everyone grossly.

Once you take your desired form, you eagerly reopen your eyes with a giant smile. You're very excited! "Lucifer Morningstar, how have you been, my dear friend?"

Although Lucifer was surprised you called him a friend, it eased his anxiety about you being here. He clears his throat awkwardly before greeting you properly with your name. "I've been uh- I've certainly been better, but I'm still kicking. Heh."

"Happiness is not a destination; it is a neverending journey." You remark with a hum, "I hope after we deal with Heaven's aggression toward Hell that it will ease your worries and bring happiness to you all."

The fact you already know why you've been summoned surprises everyone. You were in another realm far away from them, weren't you? How could you possibly know why Lucifer summoned you? Now Lucifer's anxiety peaks again. You're far too knowledgeable, and it makes him feel you're at least 100 steps ahead of him. It could be good or bad, depending on the context of your aspirations.

You shift your attention to the Princess and send her a kind smile. "Princess Charlie, it is a pleasure to meet you finally! I've heard wonderful things about you along the grapevine, child." You reach a hand out to greet her, noticing the younger fallen angel beside her tense up.

Charlie nervously smiles back as she shakes your hand. "Oh? It's lovely to meet you as well! I've heard things- good things about you from my dad."

Your eyes crinkle in amusement. You then glance amongst the four human souls staring at you intensely; you can sense their bubbling emotions. "I thought I heard my title being said last evening."

The look of regret is visible as Angel pales. The way you phrased it doesn't sound very good, as if you knew every word discussed about you last night—or rather ever. And Angel said some crude remarks about you! Husk is a bit nervous, too, since he straight-up said you have mommy issues. Your mommy issues got you locked away for millions of years because you lashed out at Heaven! And Husk does not want to be on the receiving end of your chaos! Niffty wouldn't mind your chaos, though.

"So, that means you're aware I'd like to ask that favor of you finally?" Lucifer asks uncertainly, "I'll admit I was hesitant to call upon you since I don't know how you feel about Heaven these days."

You hum in acknowledgment. "A fair judgment, although I have no qualms about protecting Hell from Heaven. You all fought in self-defense against the exorcists." You smile at each soul, "I shall do everything in my power to aid you all, although I must warn you, Heaven will not be pleased that the Demiurge will be fighting against them once again."

With her golden heart, Charlie grabs your hands with a much calmer smile. "We won't force you to do anything you aren't comfortable with! We all will understand if fighting against Heaven isn't safe for you."

Your old heart beats with bittersweet happiness at Charlie's words. You've heard about her kind-hearted personality, but witnessing it firsthand puts it in perspective. You see so much of her father in her.

You squeeze her hands reassuringly. "I appreciate your kindness greatly, child."-you gently release her hands-"I'm afraid that once it is known that I am aiding Hell, Heaven will send their most powerful Celestial beings, ones that only Lucifer and I have fought against."

Alastor quietly hums at that. He's a lot bit egotistical, but even he must admit that sounds rather dramatic. Your eyes then meet his, making his ears twitch back slightly. You're difficult to read. Much like him, your smile hasn't faltered, though yours is more genuine than his stitched grin.

"Alastor the Radio Demon," your amused voice rings out, "Did you want to say something, my child?"

Slight unease is bubbling inside Alastor, causing his claws to tap the top of his microphone cane. He doesn't like feeling this way. Masking his nerves, he tilts his head and keeps his smile strong. "The Demiurge has heard of me? Why, I'm quite honored my broadcasts have reached your ears!"

Your eyes squint with a lighthearted gleam. "I remember your radio broadcasts from when you were alive, too, my child."

The unexpected words cause Alastor's eyes to blow wide. Alive? How much does the Demiurge know about him, exactly? He doesn't like being this much in the unknown or having this much lack of control. . .

Your attention shifts to the other three human souls. "And here we have Anthony or Angel Dust, as you prefer. Then, the former Gambling Demon Husk. And Niffty, the demon who slaughtered the first man, Adam." You smile warmly, "It is a pleasure to meet you all, my children."

Niffty giggles at the memory, not bothered by you or your information on her or her friends. "I did do that!"

On the other hand, Angel is frowning because he has a clue that you don't know him because of his career here in Hell. That you know his darkest secrets and hidden emotions from when he was alive. Now he's starting to get why Lucifer was hesitant to summon you. . .

Husk's brows are furrowed. Clearly, from just witnessing your natural form that could rival Godzilla, you're not the average soul. You already know them all, even hinting that you know of their lives as humans. Was this basic knowledge the Demiurge already had, or did you do research beforehand? Husk isn't sure, but he plans to monitor you closely.

Charlie nervously clasps her hands in front of her. She's a bit unnerved you already know everyone, but then again, for a deity like you, that knowledge is probably easily accessible.

Vaggie, not about to let your creepy knowledge of them slide, asks with a threatening undertone, "How exactly do you already know why Lucifer and Charlie summoned you? And care to explain why you know a little too much about everyone?"

Lucifer snaps his worried eyes to Maggie Vaggie. He had the same questions, but he wasn't about to go and ask them! What if you get irritated?! What if you leave?!

You smile warmly at the young fallen angel, hoping to calm her protective soul, "You must be Vaggie; it is a pleasure to meet you, child."

Her eyes squint with suspicion, and if Charlie weren't holding onto her waist so tightly, she'd have waltzed on over to you. You dodged her question!

Lucifer loudly claps his hands, bringing everyone's attention back to him. With a nervous chuckle, he says, "I know how much being summoned to another realm can zap your energy, so how about we take a moment to rest inside and get better acquainted? What'd you say?"

You nod in agreement. "I would greatly appreciate that, friend."

You look back to Vaggie, "Then I will answer your questions, child." That brings some relief to Vaggie. At least you're willing to give answers. . .

With the others following close behind, Lucifer leads you into the Hazbin Hotel, asking if you are hungry or thirsty and listing too many options. He doesn't know how posh you are and is trying his best to please you. He's so afraid of you lashing out.

You understand why Lucifer is nervous about your presence; you would also be if you were in his position. Lucifer was one of the many angels from Heaven sent to investigate your existence. He witnessed your absolute most destructive moment when you lashed out at Heaven with all you had. You don't look back on the memory of your younger self fondly, but you do not regret your choices. You witnessed Heaven slaughter your children, and you couldn't save them back then.

You want Lucifer to know he is your friend, and you will never hurt him or his family. He never hurt you or your children; you remember him protecting them.

With a whisper of a touch on his shoulder, Lucifer interrupts himself and instead looks to you. You don't say a word, but the empathetic glow in your eyes calms every worry Lucifer has about you.

Lucifer can see in your eyes that you are genuinely here to help them, to help him and his family.

With a more comfortable smile resting on his lips, Lucifer tells you, "I'll make us all pancakes!"

If Heaven plans to slaughter your children here in Hell, well, you'll just have to slaughter the angels first.

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Golden divider made by pixopix

🏖️ At some point in his career—after much ham-fisted pestering—Vincent conceded that the rigourously advertised nuclear family was important to his image. A handsome bachelor like himself getting up in years with no children made him look shifty—a noncommittal womanizer. The “wholesome family man” had never been Vincent’s brand, but “America’s sweetheart” was. Ideally, he would want three kids—two girls and one boy.

🏖️ Upon learning that he was going to be a father, the man wasted no time buying the aquatic-themed baby mobile he had been eyeing at the crafts store. The cute contraption consisted of a shark, coral, a mantaray, seaweed, and a starfish. The nursery in Vincent’s home slowly evolved to incorporate more nautical elements until the aesthetic took up most of the house.

🏖️ The television network owner would subscribe to the clear-cut gender roles of the time. Girls were to be brought up with ladylike sensibilities, preparing for their futures as happy homemakers. Boys were taught to proudly enter the workforce and be the sole breadwinners of their households. Regardless of gender, Vincent would strive to raise respectable, independent children who keep quiet around adults and do their chores without question.

🏖️ Corporal punishment was an inevitable fact of life for children born in the 1950s. Young girls and boys could expect to be beaten or whipped at school and in the home as a form of discipline. Vincent, much like most of his generation, wouldn’t stray from that societal norm. His grandfather did it to his father, his father did it to him, and he would do it to his children. Vincent would prefer to give his kids several stern warnings rather than raise his hand, however.

🏖️ Vincent is a very supportive father, partly out of vanity and partly out of sincerity. He wishes for his kids to be the best at whatever they choose, whether that be an aerospace engineer or Hollywood’s next big thing. It reflects well on them and, by extension, himself. Vincent would be a Tiger Mom, of sorts, always pushing his children to perform leagues above their years. He’d be right by their side every step of the way, for better or for worse.

🏖️ One of Vincent’s favorite family bonding activities is watching movies at the local drive-in theater. The newfangled setups were perfect for the cinephile, his partner, and his three children. He could introduce them to the wonderful world of cinema conveniently from the leather driver’s seat of his convertible (it helps that he doesn’t have to stress about probable temper tantrums or crying).

🏖️ He favors the appearance of a good father over the application. Vincent would be the kind of dad who every other mother would fawn over. He works the bake sale dutifully, shows up at every football game, and cheers after each piano recital. Beneath his fatherly façade, however, Vincent is quite emotionally distant. While he truly loves his family, he’s nowhere near the good-natured patriarch he portrays himself as. His overblown ego obstructs his vulnerability, leading to semi-strained relationships within the household.

🏖️ His children would probably grow up never hearing the words, “I’m sorry,” leave his lips. An unspoken Whittman house rule is that Vincent is always right (even when he’s not). It frustrates the three of them to no end, and it’s a guarantee that this is something they rant about into adulthood.

🏖️ Vincent will spend his Saturday mornings watching cartoons with his kids. The 1950s were a watershed decade for animation, so there was an assortment of shows available at the push of a button. This routine was optimal for the television network owner. It’s Vincent’s job to know what keeps people glued to their TV screens, but he also just enjoys the domestic simplicity of watching Felix the Cat with his babies.

🏖️ Despite being a workaholic, Vincent is a reliable family man. He jots down tidbits about his partner and his children in a little black notebook he keeps in his office. His wife detests a specific shade of yellow because it makes her look “jaundiced.” His firstborn prefers gloomy weather to sunny weather. His secondborn can’t stand it when people talk with their mouths full. His thirdborn requires you to speak a little louder because he has unilateral deafness. Additionally, Vincent’s notebook contains everyone’s birthdays, Christmas wishlists, and opinions on his network’s programming schedule.

🏖️ Vincent’s kids cherish the rare moments when he lets his guard down. Vincent assumed his children would be drawn to the tuxedoed businessman, but it’s his vulnerability that draws them in. To them, their dad is the one who playfully annoys their mom with endless shark facts before breakfast, not the talk show host who treats them like guests on his show. They adore their goofy father—the man who meanders through the house in shark slippers—far more than the polished television personality the world sees.

And now… he found himself cuffed to the bed, with handcuffs made of angelic steel. There wasn't a single 'sharp' edge on them, the cuffs themselves deliberately sanded and polished so they were smooth against the skin. While you did want to restrain the king, and angelic steel was the only option for that, you didn't want to risk giving him permanent damage if he ended up tugging too hard against the restraints.

Camilla had given you a look when you had handed her the design sketches, but hadn't said anything, and now, you got to get your money's worth.

Just looking at Lucifer on the bed, panting softly, eyes hazy with desire, and his tail which had manifested halfway through your torturous teasing, lazily thumping against the mattress, was worth every penny. The angelic runes you'd carved into the steel were glowing in the dimly lit room, a light golden shimmer against the mirror-polished silver steel.

"Hmm…" Humming softly, you rubbed the pad of your thumb in small circles underneath the head, your claw on your index finger still poking gently into the slit. Just a couple of millimeters. The poor king had been teased and touched and severely overstimulated over the course of an hour already, having been denied proper orgasms he might have had from the metal ring around the base of his cock, and you stopping just before he actually 'came'.

And Lucifer loved it.

Sweat was slowly trickling down his temples, his hair messy and matted from having thrown his head around while you had worked him over.

Another choked cry tore from his throat when you began stroking him with your free hand, fingers squeezing from base to tip, milking what little precum managed to get past the ring. You tilted your head at the small bead of pearlescent fluid gathering at the tip of your claw, which you removed before leaning down to flick it away with your tongue, earning yourself a high pitched yelp from Lucifer.

He was beyond delirious, the lightest touch feeling like electricity jolting through his very being.

"Honey, b-baby, pleasepleasepleaseplease- I-I need- please, your mouth, wanna- my queen, I'm begging-"

"Stop fighting the restraints and I might give you what you want." You replied, your mouth hovering a mere inch above the tip, each word sending a hot breath fanning down his cock.

"Hu-huh?" Craning his head back, Lucifer looked up at the cuffs, not even realizing he'd been tugging at them, the runes shining bright as the indicator to his struggle against them. A whine left him, and he did his best to take deep breaths, almost each one hitching as you continued to stroke him.

The runes dimmed as Lucifer stopped moving, though his hips kept bucking upwards, thrusting into your tight fist wrapped around the shaft. You should punish him for moving, but he'd behaved so well the first 40 minutes of your little session, so you chose to overlook it.

This time.

More pleas and whines left Lucifer's parted lips, his sharp teeth dragging over his lower lip when he stifled a particularly deep whimper. It was torture, sure, but the reward at the end would be worth the blissful suffering.

"Mmm, that's a good king. Being so obedient for his queen~" You cooed, caving to his pleas, and dipped your head, lips wrapping around the blunt head. Quiet slurping sounded out in the room as you began sucking on it, keeping an intense vacuum as you slowly worked the cock further and further into your mouth. Each bob of your head pulled desperate, shameless noises from Lucifer, his back arching off the bed with a loud gasp.

Finally, finally you kept the stimulation going long enough for him to finish, though his climax was painfully dry. An amused huff escaped through your nose at the incredibly pathetic whine Lucifer made when nothing left him during his climax. You hummed and took him further, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat before going down the tight space until your face was planted against the coarse hairs surrounding the base.

With patience, and surprising skill, you managed to get your teeth secured beneath the metal ring, fangs clinking lightly against it, and then pulled your head back, slowly. The slide of the ring was tight, almost too tight, along the shaft of Lucifer's cock, who let out a long, drawn out moan from the sensation.

Once the ring was off, you unceremoniously spat it out onto the mattress, though your fingers replaced it, keeping a tight hold around the base now. Humming innocently, you trailed light kisses up Lucifer's softly toned abdomen to his chest, stopping at his jaw, which you nibbled lightly at with your fangs.

"You're such a good boy, Luci. Doing so well, submitting to me. You know what good boys get?" You cooed sweetly, earning a delicious whine from the angel underneath you. Moving up a little further, so your face hovered above Lucifer's, you cupped his cheek with your free hand, which he leaned into instantly. He looked at you with watery eyes, tears of overwhelm and pleasure glistening in his lashes, and you couldn't help but lean down, giving him a soft kiss.

"Oh my sweet king, let's give you the reward you deserve, hm? You want that, my love?" Lucifer nodded with a whimper, reciprocating the kiss a little clumsily. You pulled back, getting a disappointed whine from him this time, but didn't complain further.

"Use your words, love."

"P-Please, I want, reward, please, honey-"

"Good boy."

Your hand on his cock began moving, pace fast and grip tight, the action drawing out the most beautiful noises from Lucifer, who's hips struggled to buck in time with your movements. It took less than 30 seconds for him to finish, with a cry of your name, his voice cracking as hot cum shot out out of his almost violently twitching cock. You milked him through it, whispering gentle praises and sweet nothings against his neck as you peppered it with tender kisses.

It was the most intense orgasm Lucifer had experienced in millennia, cumming so hard his vision whited out for a few seconds. After what was probably also the longest orgasm of his existence, he finally went slack, panting harshly to get oxygen to his brain so his vision wouldn't be as blurry.

"Thank you, thank you, my queen." He murmured the words repeatedly, voice slurred and raspy, completely 'fucked' out of his mind. Once you were sure Lucifer was completely done, you let go of him, removed the cuffs and left the bed, something Lucifer barely registered until you returned. With careful and gentle hands, you cleaned him up with a warm, damp cloth, making sure he wouldn't feel uncomfortable until he could magically poof the mess away.

When you were finished, you laid next to him and pulled him close, pillowing his head on your chest, and traced your claws up and down his spine in soothing motions.

"You're welcome, love. You did so well. So perfect." You muttered softly, pressing a tender kiss against the crown of his head. Lucifer's small size made him fit perfectly in your arms, even though it wasn't you who'd hold him often, the king did enjoy it immensely. He snuggled close and closed his eyes. Immortal being or not, he was exhausted, so he nestled closer with a deep, contented sigh.

This was definitely not something he'd be opposed to do again, but next time, it'd be you cuffed to the bed.

❀༉‧A.N: word vomit i did in a little over an hour, to help my prettiest girl @xxvendettaxx get inspiration, and now you guys get to, hopefully, enjoy the result as well 🩷

Time and time again Alastor had dragged his feet towards the bucket of water perched on the porch of the old, dilapidated shack he retreated to every other week, and he had dumped his hands in it and scrubbed viciously till the stinging ache of sore skin repelled the inadequacy, the disappointment of yet another fruitless ritual.

Still, the pain eventually subsided, the stretch of marshy land in between his misdeeds and the home where he masqueraded as a civilized man long enough to let thoughts slip unbidden.

— Give up.

— You’re a failure.

— You will exist in Hell a tortured soul.

And they swarmed Alastor’s mind on the entire trek back home like a horde of agitated bees, unable to be swatted away, leaving his hands protesting in agony as he curled them into fists for nothing.

The worst part was that he couldn’t carelessly fling aside the rifle slung over his back and collapse onto the couch in his clothes and everything. No, Alastor was a married man. A married man couldn’t rudely announce himself by kicking open the door and rattling the foundation of the house you, his lovely wife of 3 years, had made into a home.

Not only would disrespecting your humble home be a punishable offense, but Alastor also couldn’t allow you to see beyond his low spirits, to discover his misery. He couldn’t. Otherwise, he feared you would find out that his mumbled complaints about failing to treat you to the spoils of his labor in fresh, tender venison was simply a metaphor.

Because Alastor was a skilled hunter — with no gratitude to his late-father.

He could provide until the population of swamp-dwelling deer dwindled to near extinction, and he always took down a stag beforehand in the hopes of feeding you instead of another lucky alligator.

So, when he returned empty-handed, it was always intentional rather than accidental.

You didn’t know that, though. You didn’t know that there was more to Alastor Hartfelt, the toast of New Orleans, than meets the eye. You had no idea, not a sneaking suspicion, that the reason behind your husband’s inability to put food on the table had nothing to do with the quick wit and silver-tongue you had fallen in love with.

Nor was he ill-fated or hapless, a recent suggestion you had recently delivered in a joking manner, which Alastor had started to seriously consider.

— up until one of the countless rituals he had performed in half a decade finally bore fruit.

“Yes — yes! — ah-ha-ha — I did it!”

— then he was vibrating on his place on the ground, joyful, triumphant, and terribly relieved.

The corners of Alastor’s lips curved upwards, canines glinting in the low, amber light of the burning candles decorating the room.

The ritual, it worked. It finally worked. A demon had answered him, caressed his chin with a cold, wispy finger, and accepted his offer — his soul in exchange for power. Security. Alastor wasn’t a failure, nor would he exist in Hell a tortured soul, the most genuine sound that had issued from his lips since he married you bursting from his lungs.

A melodious bout of laughter pierced the air, slicing through the distinctive, metallic scent deeply ingrained in the grooves of the wooden shack that had long sought to brand him a failure.

The victoriousness of binding his soul to a demonness, of securing a powerful position in the hierarchy of an afterlife he knew little about, drowned out the sickening stench of years worth of feeling inadequate and disappointed. The fog of misery finally receded on a warm Sunday night, and oh, was he eager to celebrate this great feat.

“Merde, I need to snuff out the candles, I need to wash my hands,” Alastor hastily collected himself on trembling knees, rich brown pools darting wildly across the room. “I… I need to go home!”

His body twitched and jolted from the adrenaline, but also, something familiar coiled deep in his gut. His muscles in his abdomen tensed, and his slacks grew tight and constricting, his breath stuttering. It was visceral, it was intense in every aspect — a deep-seated desire to push himself deep inside of you till you were bursting at the seams.

One by one, as small flames met a pinching demise, Alastor found himself muttering under his breath like a crazed lunatic.

The feeling in his gut that was reawakened, that was stoked to life with the unanticipated success of tonight’s ritual was so profound, so overwhelming that his mind couldn’t stop drifting off to you, his wife. His poor, needy wife, who religiously went to bed with her thighs clenched together, aching and yearning because he couldn’t always satisfy you.

How would you react when he touched you for the first time in months?

Would you twitch and jolt at every little purposeful prodding like the blushing bride you were when you consummated your marriage?

Would you come undone prematurely if he endeavored to use his mouth on the most sensitive part of you?

How would you make him feel when he pushed himself into your still fluttering walls?

Fuck. He was faltering, he was forgetting himself over the thought of you writhing and squirming underneath him like the night you became man and wife. If the calloused pads of his fingers hadn’t suddenly started to sting, reminding him that he was holding them in between a licking flame, his thoughts would have consumed him entirely.

“The stag — the stag goes home tonight,” Alastor pinched the flame with a small hiss, ignoring the painful straining in his slacks. “Oh no, I can’t leave without it. It’s part of my alibi.”

He had to remind himself to not forget the lifeless animal slumped on the front porch as he snuffed out the last candle, whirling around on an unstable heel, pupils dilating in the darkness. Alastor had to remind himself to not forget anything at all, fearing he would jump your bones with the stench of death clinging to him and desecrate your skin.

“Merde. Keep it together, Alastor. Quit acting like a bitch in heat,” He snarled in disgust at his gross inability to keep himself in check. “You can’t afford to slip up, not right now.”

If he didn’t have a nasty habit of kicking aside all the severed limbs he had used as offerings, Alastor would have tripped over them in his haste towards the door, fingertips latching onto the doorknob. But even if he had somehow managed to trip over his own two feet, it probably wouldn’t have spoiled his mood. He was ecstatic and all sorts of giddy.

The wooden foundation of the only true witness to the harrowing crimes of the Bayou Butcher, of the onslaught of ‘senseless violence’ the faceless and nameless killer had so heartlessly committed, shook as the door slammed shut behind Alastor’s stumbling form, obscuring the grisly scene he had meticulously crafted over the years.

“Oh, mon amour,” Alastor made a beeline for the stag. “Soon you’ll see that your husband isn’t a lousy hunter. His efforts have always borne fruit, but now? You shall indulge in them.”

There’s a cover draped over it, but as he went to lift the fabric, he caught the sight of something resting against the wall beside the door from his periphery — his rifle — yet another thing Alastor almost forgot about in his haste to rush back home to you with a testament of his success slung over his shoulder, hand snatching the leather strap.

“What is the matter with me?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, frustrated, tugging the rifle over his arm. “I may have secured my rightful place in Hell, but I am in no rush to meet death. No, I’ve a lovely wife in this God-forsaken world.”

He couldn’t afford to be anymore sloppy or careless than he had already been by opting to celebrate his success before cleaning out the shack and leaving no evidence of his crimes; but he was striding through marshy inlets in no time, paying little mind to the way his muscles protested with the weight of the stag bearing down on his wiry shoulders.

Moonlight spilled through the canopy of lacey, needle-like leaves hanging from the flared branches of bald cypresses.

The sound of bullfrogs croaking and crickets chirping tangled with the soft, continuous squelch of moist ground being treaded on.

Alastor walked through the thick fog of the Louisiana humidity, caramel skin flushed and glistening, hair and clothes sticking to his sweat-stricken body.

He was terribly hot, nostrils flaring and chest heaving with heavy breaths, but the joy, the triumph encouraged him to persevere.

Hell, he didn’t even notice when the stars began to grow scattered and sparse and the grass started to crunch beneath his soles instead of squish.

Everything was a blur after Alastor finally broke through the untamed foliage behind your home, shoulders aching and knees buckling. He couldn’t recall putting away his rifle, butchering the stag and putting the meat away in a neat pile in the fridge, and going through the hassle of fixing himself a warm bath to scrub his skin clean for you.

It was all so hazy, each and every little thing he did before he walked into your bedroom, wet curls clinging to his forehead.

— either that or his brain thought whatever he did wasn’t worth remembering once the sight of you, his beautiful wife, overwhelmed his vision.

“Merde, you have no idea how much I need you,” Alastor softly murmured, clad in just his pajama pants, the scent of bar soap clinging to his skin.

You were curled on your side of the bed with the sheets kicked to your feet, clad in an old nightgown that was neither sexy nor revealing.

Still, Alastor stalked towards you, body thrumming with a wanton, animalistic need, rich brown pools trained on your slumbering form.

You looked so calm, so tranquil, softly snoring away with your cheek smooshed against the pillow. It would be a crime to stir you awake, no less in the middle of the night. You worked 5 days a week just like he did, the desire to be a measly housewife unappealing to you. You deserved to be able to rest without any interruptions.

But you also looked so vulnerable.

Alastor’s fingers twitched restlessly at his sides as he stood in front of your sleeping form, painfully hard, chest heaving with barely-contained lust.

Your guard was down, completely.

It was plain to see even through the peaceful darkness of your bedroom how pregnable you were.

Defenseless, completely at his mercy.

Alastor could no longer hold himself back. He was overcome by the urge to pounce on you when you looked like a lone doe grazing in obliviousness.

He had to have a taste of you. Now.

You startled awake with a sharp gasp, the feeling of something heavy weighing down on you kick-starting your heart into a panicked frenzy. You instinctively turned on your back and acted, legs kicking, hands falling flat on a smooth, solid plane that felt warm and damp. However, as soon as you went to push, a mouth captured yours.

“Mon amour, it’s me, Alastor.”

Lips crashed against yours in a messy, feverish kiss, forcing you to sink back into the mattress.

“Al, darling?” You would have stammered out.

But even if your mouth hadn’t been taken hostage, you probably would have failed to muster a coherent syllable with the hands sliding under the hem of your nightgown. Your legs stopped kicking, your own hands found the sides of a slender neck, and your belly pulled inwards, especially as familiar fingers grasped the supple flesh of your breasts.

Still, you were given an opportunity to speak as your lips were suddenly freed, a string of saliva forming a bridge between your mouths.

“I did it — I finally did it!” Alastor exclaimed before proceeding to latch onto your collarbone, sucking a nasty bruise on your flesh.

You blinked in the darkness, tired, confused.

“You… you did it? What did you do?” You asked through a sleepy gasp, reeling from the force of the kiss, still not entirely awake.

He thumbed at your soft peaks, and he pressed his hips down into your thigh, rubbing the tent in his pajama pants against your exposed flesh in an attempt to find momentarily relief.

“I did it. I’m not a failure. I’m not a lousy hunter.”

You stared up into the ceiling and let out a choked moan, feeling just how painfully hard your husband was through the thin barrier, brows knitting together in pleasure and disbelief.

“Nor am I ill-fated or hapless,” Alastor managed out as he lapped at your flesh. “My efforts have finally borne fruit — do you know what that means?”

He moved his hands away from your breasts.

“Oh! Your hunt, you mean? It was successful?” Realization struck you, tired eyes lighting up. “Well, h-how wonderful to hear!”

But instead of answering right away, his palms smoothed over the concave of your belly, which was already flexing in sweet anticipation.

And, before you knew it, your panties were yanked off of you in one swift motion. Your legs instinctively went to clamp shut with the air caressing your bare cunt, but Alastor proceeded to pull away from your neck and shuffle down the bed, slender arms wrapping around your thighs as he nestled himself in between your trembling limbs.

“I finally get to satiate your appetite, mon amour,” Alastor chuckled darkly, making your heart lurch in your chest, scandalized and aroused. “Enfin.”

Nimble fingers found wet curls, threading into them, a furious heat sprawling up your neck.

“A-Alastor, darling, what are you doing?”

You tried to push him away, but he dived down into your folds and pressed a wet, filthy kiss to your clit.

“Je vous offre les fruits de mon travail,” Alastor let out a full-throated groan. “Même si vous ne le comprenez pas entièrement.”

Even through the peaceful darkness of your bedroom, it was plain to see as rich brown pools flitted up to drink in your reaction to his debauched behavior that you couldn’t quite comprehend the scale of his joy — or you didn’t seem to believe that his success warranted such a feverish response, no less at this ungodly hour.

“Oh, fuck! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I loathe when you do that,” You tossed your head back into the pillow, eyes shutting. “You know I don’t speak a lick of French, you… you awful man.”

Alastor buried his face further into your needy cunt, sucking in your swollen bud between his greedy lips, paying little mind to your mindless babbling as he allowed himself to drown in the desire that had ensnared him so viciously, face growing slick with his own saliva and the viscous arousal that issued from your pulsating entrance.

His excitement knew no bounds, not in this state of triumph, of euphoria.

“Awh, I can’t — I can’t take it — Al, pl-please.”

Alastor maintained a vice-like grip on your legs and stopped you from wriggling away as he shamelessly suckled on your clit.

You were so divine on his tongue.

“Oh my lord, Alastorrr.”

Had you always tasted this good?

“Al-Alastor, please!”

More, he needed more.

You closed your legs around your husband’s head, limiting his breathing, suffocating him, seemingly hoping he’d let up on you this way.

But the act only spurred him on, his mouth vibrating against your cunt in sick gratification.

With your free hand, you clamped your palm over your own mouth, suddenly hyperaware of something Alastor had failed to consider in his lust-addled haze — that you always left the window cracked open a slit when the humidity of June became unbearable, curtains swaying with each gentle draft of wind that seeped into the bedroom.

Your neighbors had a tendency of doing the same — because who liked to sleep in the uncomfortable stickiness of a pool of their own sweat?

Nobody, of course.

And nobody wanted to hear your cries of ecstasy echo into the night, either… unless you happened to reside among perverts.

But you didn’t know how far gone Alastor was as he pressed the calloused pads of his fingers into your thighs, prying your legs apart to allow him space to breathe — or at least that’s what you seemed to think until he relinquished you from his lips, only to introduce his tongue to your clit and flutter the tip against the swollen bundle of nerves.

Then you couldn’t stifle the wanton cry that burst forth from your lungs as he pushed you over the precipice of ecstasy, the coil in your belly snapping.

“Oh my — oh my God,” You whined, fingers tugging at the curls that had slowly dried in your unrelenting grasp. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Rich brown pools trailed up your body, taking in the way your thighs shook, your hips twitched, and your belly twisted and turned as the waves of your orgasm crashed over you violently.

“Oh… oh fuck, Al,” You let curses slip unbidden as his tongue continued to lap at your throbbing bud. “Y-You need to sto—op — I can’t!”

You tore your legs from his grip and pushed your heels into his shoulders, forcing Alastor away, overstimulated.

If his cock wasn’t straining painfully against the mattress, begging to be pushed into the space he had carved for himself long ago in your fluttering walls, you had no idea, but he would have held you down and ravished your swollen cunt till you were convulsing with hot tears endlessly cascading down your flushed face.

The helpless cries and mewls you let out when he continued to flutter his tongue on your aching clit was like music to his ears.

He’d even venture to say that they sounded more delicious than the pathetic cries of his victims.

But again, Alastor needed you.

He desperately needed to push each and every inch of his cock into your throbbing cunt.

He desperately needed to fill you up till you were bursting at the seams with his seed, head turning to press a quick kiss to one of your ankles.

Alastor pulled his elbows in and shuffled off the foot of the bed, standing on trembling knees, only to lean in and seize your ankles. You, of course, let out a squeak. Your husband was manhandling you — and roughly, too — but you were soft and pliant in his grip as he relinquished your ankles to pull your nightgown over your head.

“Goodness, Al!” You sputtered, watching him carelessly fling the fabric aside instead of folding it, unable to recognize your husband.

He flashed you his canines in a wicked grin before quickly proceeding to grab your hips and effortlessly flip you around, positioning you exactly how he wanted to take you — with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed, your spine arched in a sinuous curve, and your ass held high in the air. He wanted to take you like an animal

“Can’t you give me some time to recover?” You helplessly mewled, planting your palms on the bed, pushing to support yourself.

You turned to glance at him from your shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Alastor tugging his pants down, the fabric pooling at his ankles.

“I’m afraid I cannot.”

His cock sprung out and smacked against the flexing plane of his abdomen, weeping tip staring back at you, making you shift with arousal.

“That stag you took down must be an unruly bastard,” You forced yourself to look away, face flaring up. “I mean, I just ca—NN’T — Alastor!”

He smacked his palm over your aching cunt with a wet slap that resonated embarrassingly loud in the quietude of your room — glancing from your shoulder at him once more, lips twisting in a frown and eyes narrowing in a glare. But before you could tell your husband off for smacking you down there, he withdrew his hand.

And he replaced it with his cockhead, pushing into your fluttering entrance without bothering to lubricate himself first.

It wasn’t necessary, though.

You were so slick from his previous efforts that Alastor was able to slide his length into your cunt without any effort, your head dropping and your lips parting with a shaky gasp.

You felt oh-so utterly divine.

So warm, so accomodating, his hands scrambling to grip the flesh of your waist, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving bruising indents.

You were still pulsating and throbbing from your orgasm, velvety walls teasing his aching length with fleeting embraces as his cockhead pushed to rest against your womb — the same womb he had failed to fill with a testament of your love from how little he had ravished you since you tied the knot, disappointment filling his chest.

But then you shuffled restlessly on your feet and let out a breathless gasp as Alastor bottomed out, bony hips meeting the supple flesh of your ass.

“Oh… oh God.”

And again, Alastor felt like he did back in the old, dilapidated shack, when the first of the countless rituals he had performed finally worked.

The newfound urge that bloomed in his heaving chest as rich brown pools darted down south, where he was connected to you as husband and wife, was intense in every sense of the word. However, it was also more than just an unfettered need for you. It was absolutely feral and instinctual, as if it was hardwired in his brain.

“I’m going to fucking breed you.”

The transatlantic accent you were acquainted with slipped, and in came the southern lilt Alastor thought he’d lost after he decided he wanted to work in radio, subtle but obvious enough anyway. Still, he was certain the way your walls squeezed him had more to do with his crude declaration rather than the slight difference in enunciation.

It made sense.

It wasn’t something he would have ever voiced out loud — that he was going to breed you, as if you were nothing but a pair of deer merely coming together for mating season.

You couldn’t quite believe his words, your skin growing uncomfortably hot at the notion.

There was no doubt in Alastor’s lust-addled mind that you were wondering where your husband was.

You didn’t know, and he was certain you wouldn’t ask, anyway, overwhelmed with shock.

Still, he sensed that you knew that the profound urge to fill your empty womb broke every invisible restraint in his wiry body, devolving him into something purely animalistic.

It made a lot of sense.

And, in no time, the home Alastor had carried you into bridal-style was filled with a cacophony of sounds — the mattress creaking, the bed frame smacking against the wall, his hips relentlessly colliding with the swell of your ass, your cunt rudely squelching with each and every hurried drag of his length against your slick walls.

It was loud and nothing short of telling what the two of you were up to.

He couldn’t even hear the furious rapping echoing in the hallway separating your bedroom and the living room, something that wasn’t there before.

“Oh, you’re squeezing me so perfectly,” Alastor leaned into your back, sharp nose caressing the side of your face. “So warm, so wet… why, you were made just for me, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

He could only hear you crying out the most sinful noises as he gasped and groaned into your ear.

“Yes — yes! Just for you,” You cried out in sheer delight, his hands wandering away from your waist, caressing your fluttering belly before finding your neglected breasts. “Only you, A-Al! Only you.”

He could only hear the incessant, wet clap of his balls meeting the swollen clit he had lavished with his tongue just earlier.

“Good… but nobody else k-knows,” Alastor laved his tongue across the shell of your ear, palms simultaneously squeezing your breasts. “They’re going to know, though — fuck! — and soon.”

He could only hear the way you unraveled into a wanton whore beneath his looming frame.

“Fuck, ye—es, please,” You begged with a pathetic mewl as his cockhead constantly nudged your womb, a familiar pressure building up in you. “Breed me, fill me up! I’m all yours, Al. Pl-Please!”

He didn’t care that cranky Miss Susan, who lived across the street, was probably the one threatening to break down your door with her cane.

The only thing that mattered was that he was close to coaxing you both over the edge.

As he relinquished one of your breasts to find your clit once more, two fingers pressing against the sensitive button, Alastor didn’t care that he’d have to swallow his pride and deal with the embarrassment of apologizing to that ornery old bitch — as he loved to call her in private — for daring to be loud in his own home.

No, in fact, he would relish in swinging open the door in nothing but the sheets wrapped around his waist so the stench of sin assaulted her senses.

The woman needed to shut her window, shove plugs in her ears, slap on a pair of earmuffs, and learn to mind her business if not endure.

He was treating you to the fruits of his labor, and she had the audacity to interrupt this rare moment of passion between the two of you.

Thankfully, before Alastor’s mind could drift off and he inadvertently turned himself off, you were quick to bring him back to you as you suddenly decided to move your hips to meet his thrusts, which he hadn’t realized were starting to lose momentum and grow sloppy and discordant with the tight pressure coiling in his gut.

“Ignore her,” You barely managed between a moan. “We’re going to — mhh, fuck! — we’re going to have to deal with her anyway, right?”

Alastor let out a dry chuckle against your ear, stiffening length sliding inside of your tightening walls, rolling your clit around in quick circles.

“How’d you guess it was her, sweetheart?”

You craned your neck to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, the smile that stretched across your flushed face riddled with pure, unadulterated lust.

“T-The stupid cane, Al,” You huffed out, making him grin. “The knocks… they don’t sound much like knocks when she uses that dreadful thing.”

You were right, the furious rapping that continued to echo in the house in tandem with all the debauchery of your late-night rendezvous didn’t sound much like ordinary knocks. They sounded like banging. But Alastor chose to heed your words and peel himself from your back, standing up on all 6-feet, hips pistoning in slow, deep thrusts.

Thrusts that were purposely deafening and made the supple flesh of your ass ripple something delicious, his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

The hand that was once on your breast returned to grip your waist, sinking into the soft flesh there as the calloused pads of his fingers zigzagged across your clit instead of circling it, making your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you.

You were right, the damage had been done, and the only thing that mattered was that you both were teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

With each long drag of Alastor’s cock against your velvety walls, the harsh knocks grew unintelligible and faded into the background. And it became just a tiny disturbance, one that was as ignorable as the cricket that once hopped into your house and found refuge in a tiny, unknown crevice in the walls, chirping away at night till it eventually died.

And, before he knew it, Alastor was doubling down over your back and spilling himself inside of you at the feeling of your walls spasming around him.

“Merde,” Alastor gasped into the crook of your neck in raw bliss, hands sprawled reverently over your lower belly.

His cock pulsated and throbbed deep inside of your cunt as thick, heavy ropes of his pleasure painted your womb.

“Oh God,” You heaved.

And you, his poor wife?

“Mon amour?” Alastor whispered.

Your elbows gave up on you, the top half of your body collapsing onto the mattress, completely and utterly spent.

“Nothing… I’m just…spent, that’s all,” You slowly started, but then he decided to pull out of you, making you wince. “Oh, that feels strange.”

Alastor wasn’t faring any better than you. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him as he stepped back to observe the mess he had made out of you, a hand smoothing away the stray curls plastered to his forehead as he watched his seed spill from your throbbing entrance — that looked rather uncomfortable.

Still, he found himself reaching out and dragging his hand through your slit, shoving whatever threatened to trickle down your inner thighs back into your entrance, two fingers plunging into your sensitive walls with an embarrassing squelch. You immediately stiffened and clamped down around him, head swiveling around to glare at him.

“Hey!” You sputtered out.

The thought of going at it again, of taking you, entered his mind unbidden.

But then he heard a loud shout from outside — Susan. Fucking Susan. She was no longer banging her cane against the door, but shouting now.

“Christ, she’s still here?” Alastor growled, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing in sheer irritation. “I thought the sound of us going at it like a bunch of rabbits would have scared her off.”

“This is going to be so embarrassing,” You whined, clearly thinking he’d force you to answer the door. “How am I supposed to face her?”

“I designed this situation, so I shall take care of it,” Alastor grumbled, pulling his fingers out of you.

But not before giving your cunt a good patting.

“And you,” He shot you a wicked grin. “You make sure this,” He patted you again, “takes.”

“Alastor, you dog. I…” You paused as he wiped his fingers on the sheets, “Well, I hardly even recognize you. Where has my real husband gone off to?”

“Just treating you to the fruits of my labor,” Alastor hummed, searching for his pants. “That stag was indeed an unruly bastard — years I had spent hunting him, and now? Oh, he’s allll mine.”

The mattress softly creaked as you turned around and shut your legs, staring at him wordlessly.

Beyond the flustered expression on your face, however, he saw the understanding, your lips curling upwards in a proud smile.

“Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

As he pulled his pants up and took several long strides towards the front door, fingertips latching onto the doorknob, the fog of ecstasy dispersed from his brain and allowed him to see clearly since he left the shack. But even as the sight of his old, cranky neighbor standing hunched on his porch filled his vision, Alastor still found himself grinning.

The ritual had worked.

“Ah, Miss Susan!” Alastor greeted the woman glaring up at him with faux shock. “My, my, isn’t it rather late to be paying your neighbors a visit? What time is it, 3… 4 A.M.?”

“Oh, you know why I’m here, you filthy degenerate!” Susan hissed at him.

The corners of his eyes creased, and laughter bubbled up in his throat — he was the degenerate? He was simply having sex in his own home, while she had been the one to linger long enough to listen to the entire affair like some voyeur.

“I’m afraid I do not,” Alastor clasped his hands together, “But do feel free to enlighten me!”

“Enlighten you?” Susan gasped, shaking her cane at him, aggravated. “Oh, well, I’ll have you know this neighborhood was rather lovely until Richard passed away and you two moved in —”

The ritual had finally worked.