Please Dear God Someone Find This Fic (except I Only Remember Niche Little Details About It)

[𝟐] 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 | angel 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 × female human 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: marriage of convenience; forced proximity; angst; domestic; crackfic; possessive Adam; he falls first and harder; misogyny; Adam being Adam; explicit language; religious imagery & symbolism; sexual tension; eventual smut; happy ending; not canon compliant.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,3k.

// holy necrogamy

𝐌uted purples and satiny gold dominate your current surroundings, giving them the dreamy, ethereal appearance of an evening sky. You blend right in as your face's colouration slowly reaches a similar hue to the wallpapered walls, a few shades darker than the plum carpeting you are clawing at. If you thought that it was difficult to breathe in Hell, then you are literally suffocating up here in Heaven. 

"I’m dying and you are just standing there." You wheeze out, rolling your eyes upward to stare through your eyelashes at your fiancé, who is leaning against a wall a few feet away. You can feel your chest expanding and contracting, creating the illusion of breathing, but no air ever fills your lungs, leaving you gasping like a fish out of water — which, in a way, you are. "Soon.. you will have no bride to marry."

"I told you that you won’t suffocate. It just feels like you are." Repeating himself pulls a disgruntled sigh out of Adam, but the thing is, you heard him the first time. It's just that his words don't bring any comfort.

"I hope.. I die.. go.. to Hell.. for mingling.. with.. the occult.. and.. reunite with.. the man.. that I.. actually.. love.." With your words coming in short gasps, you finally manage to voice out your sentence before lowering your forehead until it brushes against the coarse fibres covering the floor. You hope he will realise that you are not worth the trouble and send you back to Earth. You could start over, summon Lucifer through a chalky pentagram on the floor and talk it out with the devil in the comfort of your own living room this time. Just like normal people do.

However, your persistence only fascinates the man more.

"Don't be dramatic." Adam scoffs, reacting as if you are foolish for feeling and acting this way, but when you don't acknowledge him and refuse to get up from the ground, he has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. You feel his arm wrap itself around your middle, tugging you up and holding you close to him so you won't slump like a rag doll next to his feet. "If you had listened to me with those God-given organs on each side of your head and entered that room," he takes a step towards the door of said room and your legs swing like the controlled motions of a pendulum on a grandfather clock. "You could breathe just fine, but I doubt that would improve your cognitive abilities. God clearly prioritised beauty over brains with you."

The door slides open as though your arrival is highly anticipated to which Adam responds by stepping towards the darkness without a second thought. He knew where he was going while you, on the other hand, did not.

You writhe in protest and apprehension at having to face the unknown first, but ultimately your pitiful attempt at stopping him is useless.

Once the two of you are inside, the cloaking darkness swallows up everything around you, preventing you from getting familiar with your new surroundings and alienating you even more. At least he didn't lie about the air being more breathable.

Adam lowers you down onto your feet and with his touch no longer there, you feel like a tiny boat at night — lost in the middle of an unpredictable sea that hides its dangers in the dark while a big and scary monster lurks right behind you.

But perhaps sometimes it is better to not see.

A creature sits in front of you behind a dark wood table, illuminated only by an iridescent halo above his head. He appears to be human, with a handsome and familiar face, but you know he is not — this is Heaven after all. The unnaturally long upper part of the being's body peaks from behind the aforementioned furniture, so straight that it looks eerily unsettling. When he stands up, he appears to be even taller than the hulking presence behind you and when he gracefully glides through the room, his disciplined movements remind you of a statue that is being pushed on a drum dolly. 

Alarmed, you gasp, unintentionally bumping into Adam as you take an involuntary step back, but the creature doesn't seem to notice you.

However, he acknowledges the angel behind you.

"Adam, the first human." The being speaks with a flat yet modulated voice, although you are more taken aback by the information it presents than how it is delivered. "You were the last soul I expected to have in my presence."

"Well, Danny, for a marriage-related matter, it was only wise of me to visit the angel of marriage first! Isn't that right, babe?" Adam pinches your cheek and you silently glare in that direction, praying that you could burn his leathery claw off. When your prayers fall on deaf ears and you shift your focus to who you now know is Archangel Daniel, you find his empty, unblinking eyes already staring down at you, further solidifying his likeness as a statue in your mind. For an angel of love and marriage, he looks very cold and clinical.

Your breathing quickens as you hold eye contact with the archangel while he stares straight into your soul, then switches his focus above your head. His face doesn’t betray any of his emotions or thoughts, but you are certain that he is at least curious about the fact that you happen to look very alive.

"Do others know you want to marry a mortal?"

And that's when your face lights up with hope. An archangel — a messenger of God himself — has to put a stop to this and save you. Adam might be an angel, but ultimately, he is a human soul. Archangel Daniel is a divine entity who should protect not only the sanctity of marriage but also the people involved. You are not a willing participant; he should be able to tell that just by simply looking at your terrified face — so sickly pale that you might be on the verge of passing out or dying altogether.

"They don’t, but will. Promise."

Just like that, the archangel shatters your hopes for rescue by unostentatiously nodding at Adam. He doesn't even spare you another glance, as if the previous ones were already too much, before turning away to prepare for the marriage ceremony. If you could even call it that.

You attempt to swallow down the lump in your throat, but your mouth is dry. Why did this holy being, who was supposedly created with the sole purpose of protecting humans from evil, assisting the perpetrator? Why did you get more compassion from sinners in Hell than from angels in Heaven? Hell wasn't as scary as it looked, but Heaven is terrifying. Here, you have no one in your corner.

"Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get you dressed." Adam's loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts, cutting your pity party short.

You are dressed, even if the dress you put on this morning is now dotted with burn holes. The charred article of clothing is still yours. You made it! You chose the colour of the fabric that matched your eyes and suited your skin tone the best. You cut the skirt to the perfect length and sewed the pieces together until the pads of your fingertips were numb and bloody. It was made specifically for your first official date with Marcel and you wore it today, hoping that he would wake up from his coma and see you in it. You plan to wear this dress when you get Marcel back to the living world — you will mend the holes and wear it many more times.

But before you can speak your mind, in a literal snap of a finger, you are wrapped in what you can only describe as an embodiment of pristine purity — a toga-style dress as awe-inspiring as the first snow. Long pieces of silk wrap around your body like vines, hiding your skin in a false illusion of modesty. The tight fit makes your bust and curves more pronounced, and— did he make your underwear disappear?!

Embarrassment-red paints your cheeks, while the golden curve of his mouth spells out mischief. You cross your legs together, covering yourself protectively with your hands, but it does nothing to sway his unapologetic focus away from your body. Substituting hands for eyes, he traces every curve with keenness, but before you can make a remark, Archangel Daniel returns, signalling the start of the ceremony.

You tune out most of what is being said, trying to distance yourself from the situation as a whole — it wasn’t like you were needed as an active participant either way. No vows are exchanged, and no I do's are said — only a recitation of an ancient speech spoken by the archangel. A ritual that binds your souls into one.

You snap back to reality when you feel a soft touch grab your left hand. 

"What are you doing?" You jump a bit, pulling your hand away in the process. Adam's touch is unwelcome at the moment. You wish to spend these last moments alone with yourself.

"Where else do you want me to put your ring?"

Inside your ass, preferably. "Where I’m from, women wear it on the right."

As if having a mind of its own, your right hand throbs painfully, reminding you of its unfavourable condition, but you quickly silence it by pressing the burning palm into the lower part of the wedding dress.

"What’s so special about that hand?"

"The same question goes both ways."

"Ever heard of the 'vein of love'?"

You audibly scoff at that. What is the point of the gesture when there is no love involved? He doesn't need to make this poor excuse for a matrimonial union more of a spectacle than it already is.

"That a vein from the ring finger runs directly to the heart? Science proved that that’s nonsense—"

"Give me your fucking hand."

And you do, simply because your right hand is in no condition to wear anything.

You feel the cold metal slide down your skin, and even though the band fits perfectly and quickly warms up with the help of your body heat, the delicate piece of jewellery feels heavy on your ring finger. You can't make yourself look down.

"In the eyes of God, you are now husband and wife."

Everything is going too fast, you scream inside your head while sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent yourself from saying that out loud. But when you think the worst part is over, you feel Adam's cold fingers lift your quivering chin up, and his thumb pulls the delicate flesh away from the sharp incisors.

It’s fine, just close your eyes and imagine Marcel.

Adam takes a step closer and your eyes intently follow his every move, looking away only when you feel something tug on your wedding dress. Your now husband's long fingers are playing with a longer piece of fabric, caressing the silk with care while looking like a predator toying with his meal.

He raises his hand with the piece still in his grasp and your intense gaze moves with it. You stay silent until he brings it in front of your face and is about to tie it around your eyes.

"Hey, whoa, what do you think you are doing?" You put your hand in between your face and the would-be blindfold, your wedding ring catching the light from Adam's halo and glimmering like a star in his face.

"Do you need step-by-step narration of my every move? I’m tying your eyes."

"No, you are not."

"Don’t be difficult."

Your eyebrows arch in bewildered astonishment. "I think I’ve been pretty compliant so far. And who even kisses with their eyes open?"

"I don’t trust you to keep them shut."

"And you married me? Make up your mind." You scoff while Adam sways your hand away and goes in to tie the piece. Somehow, the deep blackness disrupting your vision only makes you lippier. "Thanks, now I can imagine that I’m kissing Marcel— OW!" Adam tightens the blindfold with a bit more force before you can even finish your sentence, painfully tugging on your hair after a few errant strands got caught in the knot.

"Did you say something?"

You scrunch your nose and frown, but remain quiet.

The toga dress and blindfold combination probably make you look like the statue of Lady Justice — the only thing missing are the freaking scales. Pitty, those would be immensely useful for thwacking the angel in the head.

Silence befalls you when Adam steps back, and you are left to anxiously await his next move.

But nothing happens.

Your ears become hungry to hear something, anything. There is a soft, muffled sound akin to the rustling of clothing, as though Adam is walking away from you and your fingers twitch to extend your hand to grab him before he is gone. At the last minute, you stop yourself. Did you read the room wrong? Was Adam about to sacrifice you to some hungry, biblical entity instead of solidifying your union with a kiss?

Somewhere in front of you, you hear it — a faint click, followed by a heavy clank near your feet. You twist and lower your head in the direction of the sound as if you could see anything, until you feel what has now become a familiar touch — frigid and leathery. Gently, Adam takes hold of your chin and tilts your head upwards. A gust of breath fans your lips as they part with a faint gasp. Is he—

Warm, plump lips cautiously brush against your own, causing your heart to plummet into your stomach and your voice box to produce a low moan, which gets eagerly swallowed up by the other soul. Both of your lips move in tandem; the action itself is sensual, not sexual, but it goes on for way too long to be considered a conventional wedding kiss.

Your partner's hand sits nicely on your waist, fingers holding onto you as if you would disappear otherwise. This couldn't be Adam kissing you. It's unfathomable that the smug bastard you had the misfortune of getting to know in such a short time could show such care for another soul. And if you remember correctly, his demonic face didn’t have any lips to begin with.

Being deprived of one of your senses with the help of a blindfold, you resort to using what you do have. Your hand lifts to caress his cheek and brush against the soft skin, familiarising itself with something foreign to you. You try to sculpt the man’s face in your mind, wondering what colour his eyes are, the hue of his skin, and the placement of his beauty marks — that is, if he has any. Your thumb glides across the supple flesh as if through wet clay — as if he is malleable.

Your inquisitive touch elicits a grunt from the man and by the sound alone, you can instantly tell that it's indeed Adam who is kissing you. A very human Adam.

But as Adam's fingers travel downwards towards your supple hips, he quickly pulls away as if you bit him. Your lips detach with a wet pop and while you gasp for air, Adam opens his eyes to look at his hand, which is now saturated with blood.

Satin threads of your wedding dress voraciously drink the blood out of your palm, mimicking veins by quickly spreading the crimson fluid throughout the right side of the garment. This wasn’t angelic ichor. This was metallic, vital, impure blood. The kind that a sinner bleeds after being touched by the exorcist's blade — a reminder of your mortality and of the original sin of which you were not cured because you were still alive.

Adam was already causing trouble for the elders of Heaven. That was nothing new. But now, as he looks at his blood-covered hands, Adam realises how dangerously he is toeing the line by inviting something so impure into such a holy space. And worst of all, you didn't even want to be here. 

He looks at you — a white sacrificial lamb, tied with satin and ready for sacrifice. But instead of being gifted to God as a sign of love and devotion, you sacrificed yourself for a sinner in Hell, and Adam, even as he grappled with himself in his moment of clarity, still craved such love for himself. He is fucking Adam! He was entitled to love and when he wasn’t given that, he had the right to take it. He is the first fucking man!

But this meant that Adam was no better than Lucifer — no, he was even worse — he blackmailed you to be with him.

"Um.. Adam?"

Your voice is small, but it brings Adam's attention back to you all the same. Lips, red and glossy, are parted just a tiny bit as you take hungry breaths to sate your human lungs. What was he doing?

Adam quickly scrambles to put his mask back on before clearing his throat. "Why didn’t you say anything about your hand?"

You perk up at the sound of his voice and finally tug the blindfold away from your eyes, only to see yourself reflected in the dark, glossy finish of what you now know is a mask. For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget how you got into this situation and for what or whom. All you could think about was how maybe, just maybe, being Adam’s wife wouldn’t be so bad until you figured everything out. 

"There wasn’t a good time to bring it up."

He chuckles sardonically, "You had time to argue about which hand the ring should go on. The wound is literally dripping. The side of the dress is covered in blood."

A wedding is supposed to be a joyous event in a woman’s life, but the blood only serves to remind everyone that this union was anything but. It was kind of poetic, in a way.

"Sorry."

"No, it’s— I will take care of it when we get home."

His words don't bring you comfort. This wasn’t your home. Your home was on Earth, but for now, you could be content with at least staying in your current location. You wanted to stay here in the dimness, where it was bearable to endure your new life and where your new husband didn’t seem so bad. You liked to think this was a dream, you didn’t want the reality to set in fully. And maybe that's why you wanted to kiss Adam again — to lose yourself in the feeling for a few more seconds so that you wouldn't think of everything else. 

"How will I be able to live here?"

"Don’t worry your little head about that, hot stuff. You've been doing that more than enough. Let me deal with the boring bureaucracy while you play a good little wife for me at home. How does that sound, hm?”

Like a life sentence.

Adam doesn't wait for an answer. He snaps his fingers, producing golden sparks that turn into a big whirl of light in the same colour.

"After you."

Begrudgingly, you walk towards it. It takes you a few steps to reach the portal, but when you step through it, you get instantly teleported to Adam's intended destination — a spacious and tidy apartment. Too tidy. No one lives here type of tidy.

Yet, somehow, it still feels queerly homely. Maybe it's thanks to the pastel evening skies — spiling through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the open-floor apartment like watercolour on paper. Or perhaps it has something to do with Adam's scent permeating the whole space.

The portal closes behind you and only after taking a deep breath do you build enough courage to finally turn around and face Adam. The setting you are now in is more intimate and it's just the two of you here. 

When you turn around, his glowing eyes are already on you. Adam's gaze momentarily flickers towards your lips and you can feel your face grow hot.

But before either of you can move, a knock echoes throughout the room.

"Fuck, what is it now?" Adam whines but goes to see who it is anyway. "What, Lute?"

By moving your head a bit to the side, you can see more clearly who's at the door. Feet spread apart and arms behind her back, Lute, as Adam addressed the female angel, stands proud even if her uniform is marred with red blood, matching you in a way. You recognise her as one of the many similar-looking angels that were in Hell at the time of your descent. The last time you saw her, she had a mask on.

"Sir, the Seraphim wishes to see you. Immediately." Her voice is unwavering and without her mask on, the white-skinned angel's face seems to be stuck in a perpetual frown. You catch her eye from way across and it's obvious she's not a fan of you. You don't blame her.

"Fuck. Yeah, okay." Adam turns to you. "So, I gotta go for a bit. You know, duty calls. Your husband is a busy guy, but, um, don’t be afraid to explore. See you in a bit, hourglass."

The door shuts behind him, leaving you all alone with someone you didn't want to be isolated with — yourself.

Now, in the dead silence, your inner thoughts are the loudest — eating you alive alongside the corrosive feeling of guilt. Every single one of your choices, made throughout this one miserable day, is being scrutinised and the verdict is unanimous. It was all your fault and you had no one to blame but yourself.

You were so selfish with your actions that you didn’t stop to think of your loved ones, managing even to put an already dead Marcel in danger. You don’t even have any way to know if your sacrifice paid off. What if Adam is finishing the job right now? You would be none the wiser. And Seth, he was probably blaming himself for not trying harder to persuade you to let him take you home.

You slide down to the ground — virgin white pooling around you like bloody sea foam — and give yourself a hug. God knows how much you need one right now. You never felt as alone as you did at the moment.

Calling your mom would be nice. She always knew how to help. But you will probably soon meet her here because she wouldn’t survive your disappearance, your cruel mind supplies.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and run your fingers through your hair, imagining that it's your mother's soft touch instead. You can almost imagine yourself back at your childhood home, playing in the big garden barefoot and without a care. When you were little, you were always very inquisitive, wanting to know how everything came to be. And while your grandmother would shut you up by simply saying that God created everything, your mother spun all sorts of otherworldly tales that made your big eyes sparkle with wonder.

"Why is it called that, mommy? The trembling aspen? " You asked one day.

In hindsight, the answer is simple: because of its leaves, which tremble in the lightest breeze. However, you remember your mother smiling at you and whispering the tale as if it were the biggest secret.

"There once lived an old farmer whose three daughters went to bathe in the sea one day. When the youngest returned to the shore to get dressed, she found a serpent in her clothes. Speaking in a man's voice, the serpent demanded that she promise to become his wife in exchange for her clothes being returned. Faced with an immediate need to get dressed and not thinking about possible future consequences, the girl agreed ."

Now that you recall the whole story from the very beginning, it sounds a bit too familiar. Funny how Adam, a man who was once tricked by a serpent himself, acted the same as the reptile in the story your mother has told you. If only he knew that he wasn't superior to the creature he harbours the deepest hatred for.

"A few days later, a brood of serpents showed up at the girl's house to claim the promised bride. The girl's family tried to trick them, but they were unsuccessful. The serpents took her to the seashore, where the serpent king she promised to marry was now a handsome young man who took her to his palace under the sea."

You pause the memory to reminisce about your own wedding and how, like the serpent king, Adam wasn’t some sort of creature but a human soul underneath a mask. How warm his skin was compared to Heaven’s thinner atmosphere and his abrasive tongue, or how his stubble tickled your chin.

"Years passed and the couple had three sons and a daughter. One day, the girl became homesick and asked her husband to let her and the kids visit her childhood home. At first, the serpent was against it, but in the end, let them go. The girl's family was overjoyed to see her and didn't want her to leave, so her brothers decided to kill the serpent. They demanded that the children reveal how to lure their father out of the sea and while the sons refused to betray their father, the youngest daughter became frightened and revealed the secret. The brothers rushed to the seashore, called for the serpent and once he revealed himself, slaughtered him. In her grief, the girl transformed her brave sons into strong trees — oak, ash and birch — while she turned her cowardly daughter into a trembling aspen, cursed to shiver day and night from the slightest breeze. And then she turned herself into a spruce."

You lay your head on the floor, chilling your burning cheek against the cold ground as you gaze ahead, mulling over the story. It would be nice if you could turn yourself into a spruce, then maybe Adam could make new floorboards out of you if he liked to walk out on you that much.

Why you even cared, you couldn’t say. You guess it was loneliness speaking, and although this whole arrangement wasn’t born out of love, you deep down hoped that you could somehow make the best of your predicament.

But then he left you all alone, which quickly shattered your naive hopefulness. 

You have no idea how long you stayed in that position before finally finding the energy to peel yourself away from the floor and sit up straight. The next step is to stand up, but before tackling that daunting task, you really need to do something about your god-forsaken hand.

Doubtful that an immortal being would have a first-aid kit lying around in his home, you rip a lengthy piece of cloth from your dress and wrap it tightly around your palm. When that's taken care of, you rise to your feet and venture further into the house.

If Adam really is the first man, you understand the choice to have an open floor plan for the apartment. Seamlessly merging the living room and kitchen areas makes it more spacious and easier to breathe in. Spending the majority of one's life in the vastness that is the Garden of Eden and then having to make do with living surrounded by walls must be a difficult thing to adapt to.

The kitchen looks more like a showroom — all that’s missing are price tags and descriptions. The cabinets are empty, as is the fridge, and the small dining table has a thin coat of dust on it.

On the other hand, the living room area at least stays true to its name. It looks lived-in — the coach has a few throw pillows and a blanket on it, and there is clutter on the coffee table, as well as a few pieces of trash. Then something draws your attention.

You pass by a bunch of potted plants that you can't imagine him taking care of, and you stop in front of a television stand, its bottom shelf filled with vertically stored jewel cases. Where the spines are usually in a variety of different colours, these ones are all clear, and after further snooping, as you drag one out of its place, you understand why — they are all made by Adam and not purchased. Amidst the real, living-world bands that you recognise, there are also CDs with his own music.

Popping a random CD into a player that sits only a shelf above the cases, you press play and listen. Even though this one in particular had no vocals, you couldn't deny that Adam knew his way around the guitar. He does have long fingers that are able to reach certain cords.

You shake your head, trying to snap out of it, and when you quickly stand up after turning off the player, you spot something that would be a huge help in forgetting — a fully stocked wine display lodged into the wall near the TV.

Your bare feet scurry across the floor faster than your brain can think. However, you hesitate before actually reaching for a bottle. Adam did say it was your home, too, but somehow it feels like stealing. Then again, you are celebrating your wedding, so why not?

Without a struggle, the smooth redwood rack departs with the bottle of your choosing. It feels heavy in your hands as you turn it to look at the label. Brushing away any dust, you break off the seal and twist the cork to work it from the neck of the wine bottle until it comes out with a deafening pop.

"That’s not enough to scare me. If you only knew what kind of day I had today.” Your lament is directed at the bottle as you take a swig of what’s inside. The wine burns your throat, leaving an acidic aftertaste behind. You lick the tartness from your lips and go for another gulp. And then another one.

And one more.

Clutching the half-drunk bottle to your chest, you grab another one from the rack and resume your trip around the place. The wine kicks in relatively soon on an empty stomach, making you bump into the furniture in a matter of minutes.

Even if there is more than plenty of room for your own stuff in the apartment, all of your personal items, trinkets with tied-in memories, and hobby supplies are not here with you but somewhere far away. You have nothing to put there to make you feel like you are at home. You are an outsider, and as you recall the way Lute was glaring, you are not the only one who feels that way.

After you open the second bottle, you are no longer interested in getting familiar with the place. You exit the open area and move towards the dark corridor, where you stumble through the first door on the right into a bedroom.

You take the last sip and place the empty bottle near the door before walking towards the bed. The clock on the bedside table reads half past eleven, and the sky outside has only now started to darken. Everything is now spinning, but at least your head feels as light as a feather. You can’t be bothered to think about anything. 

Good.

You lie on the soft comforter and roll further onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows. The clean and fresh smell envelops you, and you let out a yawn. 

You will do your best to make the most of this situation, starting tomorrow.

You husk simpers gotta be the most DIRTY NASTY FREAKS on the whole planet. Y’all motherfuckers be getting my coochie sore.

My right hand can only move so fast y’all 😭

This old ass man got y’all ERECT

Darling, I'm an Overlord

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader. Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, Dry humping, licking, biting, sucking, foreplay, MINORS DNI

“I could make an offering,” you say, pressing a kiss to where his jaw ends. It’s a simple act to roll your hips down. “…But I think I would prefer to get on my knees and show you how I worship.” Alastor grips your waist, rolling your hips even deeper. “Just a king?” “How about an emperor?” A twitch tells you everything there is to know—it’s still not enough. “More.” “How greedy,” you tell him and tap a stray finger on his belt buckle. “Hmmm, then—How about I worship you like an Overlord?” Alastor laughs, shaking his head but his hips rut upwards to meet you halfway. It’s the smallest of movements, but if forces you to press a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. TLDR: Alastor's worried you'll be late for dinner, but he promised to be patient, and such control deserves an award

This was stuck in my mind and no, I will not continue it but any other author is free to go and complete it. Honestly, not my best work but I think some of you might enjoy it. Tbh, I felt awkward writing it, but that's a whole different can of worm. This is quite short and I wish I could add more, but not really lol. MINORS DNI—NSFW

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

There’s a specific shade of red that Alastor enjoys on your lips. It’s quite the inconvenience to ask a shop to custom make the color every single time the lipstick runs out, but your husband is a man of fine detail. Even the smallest of changes will be noted.

As all things do, this specific pigment will eventually disappear for good. Still, you swipe the color across your lips, painting it red.

Afterall, a special night requires a special look.

“Dearest, we’re going to be late,” Alastor calls out with a smile that shows the yellow of his teeth. There’s a small twitch on his cheek and his fingers impatiently tap on the tip of his microphone, even as he sports an even tone. “The reservation won’t hold for very long.”

You lock his gaze from the reflection of the mirror. “Late?”

“Yes,late.” Alastor brings a hand out, leaning on the bed. There’s a carefully crafted expression of boredom on his face. “We’re going to be late.”

Darling, you’re the Radio Demon–one of the most powerful Overlords in this realm.” You blot your lips on some tissue. “They wouldn’t give away our table, and there’s always the option to kill anyone who complains.”

A muscle on Alastor’s cheek twitches. “Oh my…It seems I’ve been far too complacent if someone would dare to voice their objections to me.”

Lines trail the skirt of your dress, smoothing the wrinkles before presenting it to Alastor. “Tell me what you think, honey,” you say, smiling as you twirl. “Come on–How does it look on me?

“Good,” Alastor says, humming. “Shall we take our leave? I already have your coat.”

You frown, pointing your nose into the air. “Good?” you parrot back. “That’s not good enough. I was aiming for ravishing. I guess I should change.”

“Take your time, my love.” Alastor pinches the bridges of his nose but smiles nonetheless. “Afterall, I specifically said I wouldn’t complain.”

With a laugh, you stride towards him and present your bare back. “A little help?”

“That’s much better,” Alastor says as a claw gently trails up the skin of your back. The tip sends shivers down your spine and straight into your core until he digs the claw on the base of your shoulder. A drop of blood oozes out, trailing down your back. “Now, it’s absolutely ravishing.”

“I meant the zipper,” you say. “If it stains, Niffty will hang your head.”

“My apologies.”

Oh…his tongue is moist. It trails across your skin, painting slow trails across your shoulder to lap the blood. The zipper of your dress zips up before you could fully lose yourself.

You turn to face Alastor, stepping between his legs to place your hands on his knees. It only takes a single but gentle push to widen the space, and your hands keep pushing wider until you’re leaning down to meet his gaze.

“You’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding your irritation,” you say, and kiss the edge of his lips, lingering for more than a moment. “Such control deserves a reward.”

Alastor takes his thumb, swiping away the streak of red. It only smudges it across his lips. “We have a reservation,” he says but slots you further between his legs with a firm grasp on your hips. “What was the point of making one if we aren’t going to be on time?”

The tip of your tongue swipes across his lips, lapping away the lipstick stain.

Alastor’s eye twitches, and uses a finger to push you back. Instead you open your mouth to suck his finger, swirling your tongue around the skin. It trails from the base of where his palm meets his finger then until his knuckle. The wetness of your tongue licks until it reaches the tip of his pointed claw.

The edges of your teeth nibble on his skin before taking in another finger. Alastor blinks at you as you suck his digits deeper in your mouth, swirling your tongue around to reach the tip then down the knuckle until his claw hits the back of your throat.

You move your tongue upwards from the base, trailing it to lap around the tip of his claw before releasing his fingers with a small pop.

A line of saliva bridges your tongue to his finger.

The palms of your hands trail up his knees, pressing down the plum of his legs. “We’ve been over this, darling,” you tell him, inching closer to press a kiss on the edges of his lips. “Overlord. Radio Demon. Death.”

Alastor catches your wrists, playing with the tips of your fingers before intertwining them. “Just an Overlord?”

“Powerful Overlord.” The next kiss goes on his jaw.

“Then how would you give me my reward?” Alastor pulls back, pressing his own kiss on the ring around your finger. “Tell me every detail.”

“I could treat you like a king,” you say, brushing your lips down his jaw. Alastor leans to the side, exposing his neck for another one of your kisses. “

Your hands trail across his dress pants once more, stopping when your knees land on the carpet.

The side of your cheek nuzzles against his leg, and you smile up at him, locking his gaze to your eyes. You press your lips along the inside of his thigh, glazing kiss after kiss after kiss. Still, you keep your eyes staring firm into him, even as Alastor’s leg jumps from the sudden bite of your teeth.

The curve of your nose outlines his leg, and a muscle in his thigh tightens. It loosens and relax when you brush the pads of your thumb up and down.

Alastor crawls back to climb down the bed. A steady hand guides the plush of your thigh, beckoning you to crawl after him. It squeezes when his back hits the headboard. Alastor’s thumb swipes over the inside of your leg and he digs a claw into the skin. This prompts you to throw your legs over him, straddling his hip while leaving room for an erection to grow.

“Tell me how you would treat me like a king.”

“I could make an offering,” you tell him, rolling your hips to stimulate his softened member. The crotch of your lace underwear grinds on him. “...But I think I would prefer to get on my knees, and show you how I worship a king.”

Alastor grips your waist to pull your lower into him, steading you as you rub against him. “Just a king?”

“How about an emperor?”

A twitch pokes your crotch and it tells you everything there is to know–it’s still not enough. Alastor needs … “More.”

“How greedy,” you tell him, trailing your hands down his chest until it reaches his belt buckle. Your fingers tap on the metal over and over and over again. “Hmmm, then–How about I worship you like an Overlord?”

Alastor laughs into the air, breathy as he exhales. Sure, it’s a ridiculous notion…but his hips rut upwards to meet you halfway. The way his clothed tip grins on the crotch of your panties pulls a small gasp tumbling out your lips. It’s the smallest of movements but it forces you to press a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

Alastor grunts as he snaps his hips up. The claws on his hand dig into your hip when you grind down on him.

More….It’s not enough. You need mo--

Alastor’s bow tie is crooked. That just won’t do.

You pull on the edges of the fabric, unfastening the knot until it pools between your psalm. The pace of your grinding slows as the pads of your finger trail down his arms. It wraps around his wrist, and you bring them to your lips, pressing a kiss on the inside before pulling them together above his head.

Another twitch of his clothed cock. It hits deeper into your core this time, prompting you to lean forward with a breath exhale. Never have you been more glad to be wearing such thing panties. The force of your shifting weight grinds your crotch harder into him. The back of Alastor’s head hits the headboard with a slight jump.

There’s an innocent smile on your lips as you take his bowtie and bind his wrist to the bedframe with a knot. “This looks much better, indeed.”

Alastor pulls on the knot and it unfasted around his wrist. “Are you doing this correctly?”

You keep grinding deeper into his cock until small moans release into the air. The pace of your humping quickens as you re-tie the loose knot around his wrist. 

“Don’t you know, darling? Overlords brim with power,” you tell him, trailing a sharp nail between the buttons of his dress-shirt until it snaps open. “I have to protect this feeble body of mine from such strength.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek with a hum. “How smart.”

“Shall we make a deal, my dearest, darling, Overlord husband?” you say, nibbling the edges of your teeth on his shoulder. 

Alastor snaps his hips up to rut the tip even deeper, forcing you to moan into his skin. Soft breaths brush across. His hands dig deeper into your hips, pulling even deeper as he grinds his cock into your underwear.

“Slow… Fast. It doesn't matter,” you say, and the words come breathier than planned. “I will keep going until the knot holds secure. The moment it slips off, so do I…And I will leave, no matter how close … no matter how desperate.”

Each word brushes your lips on the sensitive spot between the junction of his neck and shoulder. Fabric prevents you from burying yourself deeply around his cock and moving until his hips bruise

Alastor leans backward to chase a greedy kiss, but you lean away with a smile. “..Dearest.”

“But we’re going to be late,” you tell him. “Afterall, reservations were mad--”

Shadow tentacles slither around your body, trailing across your waist and up your breasts. Darkness crawls between them, massaging the soft tissue. It trails higher and higher until it reaches your neck.

 “Oh darling…don’t you know?” Alastor says, and the tentacles pull your head lower until you feel the clothed tip pressing on your lips.

There isn’t much else to do but press your lips, giving his cock the smallest of kisses.

“I’m an Overlord.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Tell me what you guys think! I'm not really used to writing such suggestive pieces lol Sooo some feedback would be nice.

Are all men so bitchy or is it just the people I’m affiliated with-

I fucking hate FedEx dude I HATE yall

He looks so deranged I love it 🥰

What's in the trunk, Al?

I wanna thank the stars that aligned to make Valentino you’re all getting your pussy ATE

Loved him since day ONE ☝️

WHEN I NEEDED YOU MOST YOU RETURNED 💜💜💜

A Doe in Fall (Part 15)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smut💦 Part 15 - Silence smut💦📍

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Where we left off: While you set out to find the perfect accessories for your love confession, Brady stopped by Alastor’s home. Alastor lost his temper and scared Brady off the property after giving a tour of the greenhouse. Brady knows just who Alastor is now.

Helpful definitions this part

Box - Bar ✦ Cheese it - Run away ✦ To be pinched - to be arrested ✦ Hooch - Alcohol ✦ Nightcap - A drink before bed, often times alcohol and often times an excuse to be alone together privately

Part 15 Silence

Alastor decides secrets shouldn’t exist between you after his last fuck up and gets straight to the news, which puts a slight kink in your plans for the evening. Namely, professing your love for your suave killer boyfriend. Luckily he has some ideas! Well, one.

「Warnings/Promises: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader, mention of sexual assault in the context of stating things not happening,  sexy sex time, confessions, coppers, Mimzy’s unlabeled alcohol, the water table, love, partial writing credit to Kellin Quinn, the meaning of flowers, Mimz is short for Mimzy, if you see MINDY or MINZY no you didn’t」

MDNI 💖 🥃 💐

“He knows.” Alastor’s eyes were closed and his palms facing towards heaven, hopefully in prayer to spare his life as he felt sure you’d strangle him.

“Excuse me?” There was a ringing in your ears, vision darkening a little at the edges. You knew exactly who he meant and what they knew, but you needed a second longer to live in your life before.

Alastor had hummed the entire way home from your errands, fingers dancing along the steering wheel. You managed to hide the contents of your bag behind your back as he held the front door open for you, sliding it under the kitchen table when Alastor asked you to take a seat because he had news.

“She knows.” Brady hissed it into the receiver of the first pay phone he found upon leaving Alastor’s home.. His car was parked at a hasty angle just across from a small restaurant. “He killed Tommy.”

He heard Freeman exhale before shuffling off somewhere, “Who?”

“Alastor!” He said it louder than he had meant too, but the confused question his partner sighed slowly in reply seemed to be nothing short of wasting time.

“Alastor.” You breathed it out, you felt your fingertips go cold. Blood flowed to your core, protecting vital organs from the danger your brain knew was nearby. 

“Don’t fret, my love. He will never find a body, never a drop of blood in my home or car.” A clap of his hands, a sparkle in his eyes, “Let's go dancing!”

You shot up, the ludicrous suggestion physically pulling you out of the chair. The wooden legs squeaked as they rubbed against the flooring. This was it, your heart was going to beat so fast and so hard it just gave up the effort. A gulp of air before you felt the room spin again.

Every muscle in your body went slack just as quickly as they’d roared with fearful vigor barely a second before, causing you to lean onto the table with both hands for support. “This is no time for dancing, Alastor!” A wave of nausea made your head hang heavy between your shoulders. Heaviness was a good word for your entire existence at the moment.. 

He fought back a self confident chuckle, knowing the look you’d give him would be sharp enough to cut. “This has been my singular focus for years. I’ve made no mistakes. He has two options left to him. Go crazy hunting down something that doesn’t exist ooor,” he sang the word, “he tells his superiors he thinks a popular radio host and public figure is a mass killer, in which case—,” a wicked grin curled up his face.

“They’ll put you on desk duty, if not send you away on medical leave. You sound… unhinged, Kenny.” Across the lake, in a diner too lit for his migraine, Brady stared at the table between him and Freeman.  “You gotta let it go. You went on his property and insulted his mother and think his reaction is proof he’s a murderer? No, no sir. You need to go home and take a shower. Maybe ask for a couple days and go visit the in-laws. Get out of the city for a bit. Come back fresh faced and bushy tailed, yeah?”

Brady growled, hands running down his face in barely contained frustration, “He threatened my life and then said that he killed Tommy, Ed.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“I asked if it was a threat, he denied it, and I said he killed Tommy, and he said on second thought, yes.”

“He was more likely agreeing that it was a threat. Which is his right, you were trespassing, Ken! With a gun on your hip, bud.”

Brady’s stare was absent of any indication he was there.

“Just— go home, buddy.”

“Let’s go out!” Alastor’s hands slipped around your waist and held you assuredly against him. You were a scared sailor tied to the mast in a storm. You’d survive together or go down as one piece as long as his hands were wrapped around you. The bonds of love keeping you safe.

Love, your eyes looked down to the table beside you, the bag of surprises underneath.

“I thought we were playing it quiet.” Your own voice was miles away. Like a death, you needed time to grasp how changed your world was now. A scrap of your mind tried to remember the story of pandora. 

“That was before. Now there’s no reason to hide! I want to twirl you around a room and steal everyone’s attention. I want people flocking to your theater to see Alastor’s girl in her element.”.

A sentiment so sweet it sliced through your panic with a stark efficiency. The deep seated desire to be more than just wanted, but to be flaunted, eclipsed your very real fear of Brady’s next moves.

“You want people to know you’re with a dancer?” 

Brady who? More important things had come up now. 

Alastor’s smile dropped, thumb wiping a lonely tear from your cheek before you could realize it was there. Backing up from his firm hold, your hands shot to your face. Confused, wiping away the tears forming, you let out a self conscious chuckle. Rarely did you cry let alone around others, yet since Alastor’s arrival it seemed you didn't recognize yourself anymore. 

“You’re a marvelous performer. Why would I not want that?” His smile was mega-watt in the darkening kitchen. “Another bragging point for myself, really.”

Your chin quivered, a thawed anger boiling in your chest. How many times had other women told you how worthless you were for your profession? How many men promised to keep you their dirty little secret, well kept and taken care of? Brady knowing meant… freedom. You could say Alastor’s name as much as you wanted, to whomever you wanted. You could make a scene together. 

“Fuck it, let’s go out.”

“But I’m right.” Brady’s eyes finally met Freeman’s. 

Freeman laughed, a little too loudly, and offered to the waitress and other customers apologetic little bows of his head in their directions. “Fine, maybe. But who fucking cares? Did he kill a kid? Is he raping people? Bustin’ up mom and pop shops for money?” He wasn’t at the station, he wasn't on duty; he could be honest. What harm was there in that?

In the depths of his obsession, Brady took the rhetorical question as a genuine one. “Not that we know of! Where there’s smoke there's fire!”

“For fucks sake. Kenny. Enough. The only thing catching fire here is your reputation. There’s no evidence this man’s done a damn thing, even less than none that he’s murdered multiple people. You’re unwell, pal. You need to back up before you—,” his hand came to rest on his partners across the bright white table. “You’re gonna ruin your life like this.”

“What were your wise words again? Right,” Brady set his money down and slid from the booth, “Who fucking cares.”

“Kenny!” Decorum damned, Freeman shot up and followed Brady, “Don’t be like that. Please.” Heads turned as their peaceful afternoon meals were interrupted by the raised voices. 

“Excuse me! Are you going to finish paying?” A line cook hollered, “Or do we need to call the cops?”

Freeman turned back to see Brady walking off into the rising darkness of the night, a bright ember orange sun setting on his shoulders. A sure sign of fall dying to winter’s early evenings. “No, it’s alright. Sorry.” He closed the door and returned to his booth, wondering what exactly he was witnessing. The fall of a good man? The end of a career? Or something worse? 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It felt like your first date all over again. That same nervous energy hummed between your skin and your bones. The bag had been abandoned beneath the kitchen table for a hasty change of outfits, Alastor practically skipping to the car. 

As you had been buttoning your dress you did have a wild, ‘what the fuck are we doing?’ pass over your head.

It felt like a celebration of …. Being found out?

All the relief of finally admitting a lie without any of the fall out. 

And as the car jostled over the bridge into downtown New Orleans Alastor was grinning brightly. It absolutely was a celebration. He’d finally made a move toward Brady, he’d left his place in the shadows and it was liberating. No more hiding. The scariest part of his hobby had been confronted and nothing would come of it. 

Nothing could come of it. Brady had made too many missteps. It was all over the body language of his partner as he shifted in Alastor’s office chair. You’d been released with a promise of an apology, a clear indicator no one was sympathetic to Brady’s witch-hunt. Alastor was reckless, and impulsive, and sometimes dismissed consequences, but he wasn't stupid. He hadn’t done or said anything conclusively to Brady. The detective had unlocked the door all on his own and Alastor merely held it open as the man stumbled into an unbelievable situation. 

When he explained the interaction to you in more detail (though you were admittedly distracted by him undressing) you felt a small easing of worry roll over you again. He hadn’t found any proof to bring back to the station. It was all conjecture. It was words, and without someone to corroborate, they were as good as a fairy tale. The only person who could back up what had happened was you and you’d take Alastor’s secret to your grave. A little smirk crept up your cheek and you pursed your lips to pull it back. You could imagine his face, Detective Brady’s, asking you to confirm what he knew was true. And how it’d fall when you denied him.

A chill, the wind from the river was cold and unimpeded by the safety of the trees. But soon you were sheltered by buildings and basking in the glow of the lights. 

Your relationship had quickly gone from carefree and curious to a bond held together by a dangerous secret. There was a still a secret to be kept but Alastor’s lungs seemed to take in more air now that the little worm that was the detective was ejected. He hummed freely, fingers again dancing across the broad steering wheel as if across a piano’s keys. The deliciousness of the moment was still stirring in his guts and tingling down his spine. The flash of fear. The panic. His favorite part, arguably. Normally it’s so short lived. 

But even now, he knew Brady had that fear in his heart. And it made Alastor ecstatic. 

Reentering the far-too-fancy restaurant was mortifying, but the host looked at you with a pleasant surprise that let you know you did much better this time around. No smeared makeup, no mussed hair. You got to follow him through the dining room and into the secret door that led down the stairs to Mimzy’s speakeasy. 

Funny, the wealthy had well lit hotel bars with no false front and you all had secret basement floors. 

Which made you pause, ignoring Mimzy’s greeting entirely. A basement in Louisiana? That didn’t make a lick of sense. The river was just a block over, how was this entire place not flooded. You couldn’t linger on it too long though, Alastor pulling you forward by the hand and presenting you to Mimzy.

“Mimzy, the often spoken of but never seen!” His hand gestured to you like a magician to a rabbit. 

“We met already when she came to gather you off the floor.” She didn’t offer her hand, instead keeping one on her hip and one on a drink. Alastor grumbled, he hadn’t wanted to remember that night. 

“Pleased tah meet ya!” 

You noted how her accent only got thicker when she tried to enunciate. 

“Pleasures all mine.” Your own hands fidgeted with your dress. “It’s nice to see Alastor actually has friends.” Alastor protested, you’d met his friends before. But when you asked him to recall anything of depth about them he rolled his eyes. Mimzy laughed too loudly at the comment.

“I’m not sure he’s got many of those. He’s a little hard to love. I think he’d let me drown if his shoes would get ruined.”

“I didn’t invite her here to create a clique of bullies. We came here to drink and dance. In that order, preferably.” Alastor slid onto a stool, “And leather will absolutely get ruined if submerged Mimzy, have some sense.”

Slipping into the seat beside him, you let the two bicker as you focused on the oddness of sitting there with him. Going out was rare, a night in was easier for you both for obvious reasons. The last time you did so you were at his side for less than an hour before he was whisked away to his mistress (murder).

“Three shots sweetheart. We’re celebrating! I took your advice.” Alastor patted the bar when he said it and you tuned back in. What advice?

“And a water.” You added at the risk of sounding like a square.

“Of course you did!” A withering snicker that melted into an embarrassed giggle from Mimzy, “what did I advise, exactly?”

“The ex.” His hand reached over to gripped yours on the bar, “Put the fear of God into him.”

Eyes on your hands, you wondered what exactly he’d said about your ‘ex’ to Mimzy. But you had to trust him. A little nod of your head before you met Mimzy’s smiling eyes. She whirled around and set up the glasses.

As she poured she overflowed the tiny flutes and spilled with every move. Once they were all too full, she let the nondescript bottle come down with a thud. 

Mimzy tapped one shot glass on the bar and raised it, “To God!” She beamed.

“To Fear.” A smirk so wicked you thought you saw his shadow dance across the far wall. He raised it higher than hers.

You quickly raised your glass too, toasting to the real reason for your prolonged freedom, “To Alastor.” His sharp eyes came to wide eye you and softened, smile shortening before pushing his glass forward. A clink and you downed it in time.

“What,” Alastor sputtered, tossing his head back to keep from wretching, “the fuck is that?!”

“How the shit would I know. He rolls it down here and I drink it.” Mimzy shuddered but didn’t seem too affected.

You had both hands gripping your glass of water, gulping it down to wash away the distinct taste of ethanol.  “I don’t think that’s safe for human consumption.”

“This is the stuff that makes people go blind.”  Alastor inspected the shot glass closely. She just shrugged. “Whiskey next. Actual whiskey. As in, it was made to be whiskey and people waited for it to become whiskey.” She rolled her eyes again and leaned down beneath the bar. 

A drop fell on your cheek and reminded you of your question from before, “Hey Mimzy, are we… under the water table? How'd you get a permit for a basement.” Your head turned up to the ceiling, painted black to hide the pipes and beams exposed there. You couldn’t be sure what was above you now, the kitchen? A dining room?

“Permit, ha!” She croaked, “This isn’t on the fucking paperwork. This room doesn’t exist to the city of New Orleans.” She pointed along the far right wall, “We’re built on a hill, this is tech-na-cully the ground floor! Clever, huh?” Mimzy batted her lashes and waited for the praise. Her sweet tone dropped to her natural tenor, “Tell me I’m clever.” She hissed. 

“As ever! Since we’re asking questions, I’ve always wondered why it's called CD?” Alastor’s hand left yours to bring the newly poured whiskey to his nose.  His eyebrows rose in a surprised approval.

Mimzy’s eyes flashed over with anger before she hurriedly looked around for something to fuss the emotion out with. She settled on a dish rag she twisted and wrung tightly, “You nit, it’s a G and a D. It’s called the Golden Dish.” You heard some threads snap. “You’ve been coming here for ages and thought it was a C and D??”

Alastor shrugged, unbothered by the raging bar owner as he took a second large sip.  She whipped the rag at the counter with a snap, “I’m the golden dish!! I’m fancy and beautiful!!” A wet pop of the small towel with every word.

An enlightened, “aah” from Alastor before he turned his head to you, “Ready for that dance?” He told the whiskey he’d be back and spun around to pull you to the center of the small bar.

The music had to stay low to avoid alerting the patrons upstairs with their virgin drinks, but a lively tune had Alastor guiding you through a foxtrot,  Alabama Slide. The piano was all they could allow but it was good enough for the various couples taking to the open space. 

Your right hand in his left, his hand on your back and yours on his shoulder, you moved. Alastor walked forward and you walked back, a turn and you switched your direction. The embrace was arguably everyone’s favorite part of the foxtrot. You had to be close, and you had a good excuse for it. As you turned the edge of your dress slid across your shins just below your knees, free and loose. The bare shoulders were a little cold for the changing weather but it made you feel unrestrained. Your coat was nearby if you felt a draft in the buried first floor Mimzy called a bar. 

Maybe it really would be okay. You’d trusted him so thoroughly so far and Alastor never failed to put you first. If he wasn’t worried, and he truly wasn’t, then maybe you could settle into a comfortable (if still trepidatious) relaxation. When you looked up at Alastor, body pressed into body, you felt small. But again, not in the diminutive sense like some men happily made women. Small in the sense that he could hold you so securely with such ease. 

Your focus shifted to where your hands touched him. Skin on skin in one hand, your fingers just below his collar on his upper back on the other hand. The fabric was cool to the touch. But as your fingers lingered the heat of his body began to bloom through the weave. A blossoming of your own, cheeks tingling pinker. Touch for touch’s sake. No dance to give an illusion of need. You could do more with each other, and that lack of barrier between you two made even a hand in public seem like polite restraint. You knew his appetites now well enough to know what he needed; the excited intimacy of witnessing his worst compulsions and the ease with which touch could replace difficult to articulate words for him. His need to please, to be needed without seeming needy, also spurred him on. But less and less did you see that motivation pushing hungry touches past heavy petting. 

A little jolt of excitement shook up his arm, imperceivable to your hand. 

The difference a bathroom door makes to how much touch felt like scandal was astonishing. The things he felt compelled to do to you in dance halls was thrilling, and yet now, he felt bare under the dim glow of the illicit bar. You felt different than before. He was suddenly embarrassed to remember he dragged you into a bathroom once, but then he remembered how you inspired his hunger and his skin warmed from his neck down. He could taste you in a crowded place with only a piece of wood between you both and a crowd, but dancing so closely with the eyes of arguably his closest friend on him was making him uncharacteristically bashful. 

He opened his mouth to speak but played it off, instead licking his lips and turning you both again as the modest crowd spun around. 

Since he cried so openly into your lap, this was your first time in public with him. Was that why you felt different? He tried to find a word for it but failed. He’d touched you many times, his smirk couldn’t stop itself but he managed to keep it pulled to the left, but now it felt like the first time.

A first date. A first dance. He worried about how heavy his hand was on your back, how sweaty his palm was pressed against yours. There was a worry he could feel at the bottom of his spine, a little itchy thread of wool wrapped around his lower vertebrae. Would you become bored now?

The excitement would be gone with Brady, he feared. Things could be normal, and then you’d see once the blood was washed away and the trunk was empty he was just a man. What good was a man to you? 

He shifted and let you be the one to walk forward while he walked backwards blindly. He needed to step with confidence in your direction to keep the dance graceful and effortless. 

When he looked down at you, you were watching closely behind him. You were focused. And then your eyes flitted back to his and your brow unfurrowed and he watched the shoddy overhead lights sparkle in your stare. The moon could only wish to ever reflect light with such a brilliant clarity. 

He didn’t notice the music had stopped, the piano player flipping pages to find the next tune. You had to tap the shoulder to get his attention back to the room. 

Alastor wondered if songs had always been so short. He gestured to the bar again, where his drink was still waiting. He needed a little more lubrication, just enough to drown the butterflies.

You asked Mimzy if she had rum, and she confirmed she had brown liquor. That wasn’t what you asked, but you just nodded. As you scanned the room, you noticed some people entering from a double door past the dance floor and the piano. A mixed race couple lowered their head as they came down the wide stairs that were maybe half as tall as the ones you came down before. Their hands tightly laced, they joined a group already settled at a table. 

“… it’s nice you let everyone in here, Mimzy.” You said it softly, not necessarily to her just a sentiment you felt the need to express. 

Her eyes shot up and followed the direction you were looking, “Their money's green ain’t it?” She half assed a glass cleaning before pouring the ‘rum’, “Only color I care about.”

You hummed before tilting your head to the double doors, “What's back there?”

“That leads to the backdoor. When I can’t bring people in through the front doors or they’re too drunk,” she paused to glare at Alastor, “to walk through the dining hall.”

Alastor’s posture was perfect as he sipped the drink. He’d only been pushed out through the secret door once before which seemed a reasonable number given Mimzy’s heavy handed pours.

His mind wandered to Brady again, with much annoyance. The way he had smiled when he first appeared on his property. It was a smile that darkened the edges of Alastor’s vision, until all he could see was shining teeth. 

“Have you ever met someone whose smile just feels sinister. Nothing behind it, just teeth.” He mused.

“That’s how most people smile.”

“Mimz, that’s not what I mean—-“, Alastor’s hand came to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Ugh I hate you flowery men with your secret meanings. My beau just says what he means and we’re peachy!”

“Simple.” Alastor exhaled through his nose.

“Exactly!” Mimzy didn't notice the insult. 

It was admittedly what he liked about her. He could unwind and relax without worrying too much, as she never dug deeper than the topsoil. 

“Let me speak more plainly, when a wolf bears its teeth do you call it a smile?” Alastor asked the ether. 

Mimzy was stumped, a little huh escaping her perfectly colored lips. That was less plain to her. Alastor gave her a pat on the hand and offered you another dance. 

A cycle of hooch and dance, until you were happy to sway with the room against Alastor’s chest. The butterflies were still, and he could let his head rest atop of yours. How many more nights could he have like that?

You let your vision wander around the room. The bar was quite nice for a speakeasy. The floor was a pretty vinyl. The tables were few but looked like nice sturdy dark wood. 

The walls had posters of singers and ads for cigarettes very lowly lit by small flower shaped sconces. 

A loud bang above your heads stopped you, nearly everyone looking up at the ceiling. Someone had to hit the piano man on the back to silence him.

Another bang and a series of scuffles before a loud knock came to the hidden door most of you had taken down to the bar. 

“Cheese it or get pinched!” Mimzy crawled over the bar and led the charge for the double doors. You and Alastor had barely turned your bodies before the door above the stairs flew open and the light flooded down to the small room. 

You felt hands on your back pushing you through the doors before Mimzy was grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to the right. Your coat was in your hands as someone passed them around in the dark and you put it on out of instinct. Well, you were somewhat sure it was your coat. 

Looking over your shoulder you saw the doors shut as the men began tying the handles together with their ties. It was dark now with the doors shut, you couldn’t see where your man was in the mix. You were being swept up in the half a dozen or so women rushing to something on the wall. 

“Alastor!” You turned back but Mimzy grabbed your wrist and tugged. “We can’t leave him!” Her hand gripped your shoulder and head and pushed you down to make you crouch. A faint light came in before leaving again. Then again. There was some kind of door a few feet up the wall. 

“Leaving the men behind is our right!” She said.

“The only perk.” A stranger giggled. Their mood was mischievous despite the sounds of cops hitting against the double doors.

“Not the only perk.” Someone laughed before a hand in the dark found your shoulder and pushed you down a little further. “Out the little hole ya go.”

You stumbled, shoe catching up the square cut out lip. Another woman helped you keep upright until you were free. You watched the others all emerge from the same place you had — what looked like the exit of a trash shoot. But it was lower than usual, and cleaner. And also obviously not a trash chute once you’d seen it from the inside. Looking around, you realized you were in an alley that ran along the right side of the restaurant. You could hear the water and the bugs that always lingered there coming from behind you. There was a slope to the ground beneath your feet that rose up to meet the road you met Alastor on before.

“Scatter, you idiot!”

“How do we find the men later?”

“They find us, at home or back here next week.”

You ran toward the back side of the building, where the hill sloped down. The bar is going to flood with the first hurricane, you thought as you felt the slick pavement beneath your shoes. The river was so close.

Finding you wasn’t really going to work unless you met at the car. You just pressed your back flush to the wall of the neighboring building and waited. You couldn’t stand the idea of just hoping he made it out. Sure enough, some men flew past and you managed to snag the arm of yours. It was easy to see which one was Alastor in the rush, his height paired with his complexion made him stand out.

He turned back with his free arm cocked but realized it was you. “I almost decked you!” A kiss instead of a fist, his smile not leaving even through the peck. “Come on, to the river.”

Another tugging of the arm as you were taken to the edge of the hill and began sliding down as you tried to get down it. Your heel was flatter than you would normally wear and slid down the hill easily instead of getting caught in the ground.

“Why?!”

“No ligh-,” the word ended in a small yelp as the slick grass and fallen leaves won out, his shoe losing its grip and him slipping down the hillside on his ass. You were shortly behind. The moisture immediately soaked through and you felt your ass and thighs become cool with the wetness.

With an oof you came to a stop against his back. “Shhh,” he pulled you down by the ankles until you were neatly pressed into his side and your dress lifted a little too high up your thighs. 

Your fingers pulled up the end of his coat, showing him a tear. A rock must have snagged it as he slid down the bank, you whispered. You presented it like you’d found a dead bird on the porch.

His hand’s weight came to settle on yours and pushed both them and the offending rip back down. He didn’t care. Evident in the sincere and calm smile he gave you. A giddiness in his eyes the only tell that his heart was pounding. Alastor let his back rest against the sharp slope of the hill to escape the full reach of the warm street lamp’s glow and you followed. 

In that silence between you was something else you didn’t recognize until it fully materialized; safety. It’d visited you in fleeting moments through life, but in that moment it’d come to settle like a rock. Unlike the one who tore his precious coat, any sharpness was hand chiseled by Alastor, surely.

Alastor flourished in the tension before a kiss. An anticipation mirrored in the moments before the killing blow. The will he or won’t he in the other person's eyes. Daisies had fields and water lillies had still waters and Alastor had prescience. You often robbed him of his arena with your unpredictable nature, but that was, as people said, the zest of life. 

Except right now. Now you let him have his slow lean towards you. 

As he got closer the question moved from will he to where will he? 

Just beside your ear, close enough that his breath made you shiver. Alastor deeply enjoyed the ways he could make people’s bodies respond to him. 

But then a light shone down onto the crowns of your heads and interrupted the fun. Alastor squinting to try and see past it. 

“You again? Geez…you’re becoming a nuisance. Get a room, sir.” The cop shouted down the incline. “And have a little more self respect, miss.”

You moved to sit up and shout back at the man about respect but Alastor’s hand came to set on your arm.

“Thank you officer!” He nodded away the cop’s look of disapproval and waited for him to go back to looking for the box’s patrons. 

“Do you think it’s him who sent the raids?” You asked when the cop was out of sight, “My former fella.”

Alastor shook his head no, “Mimzy’s had three bars raided. This was definitely just a consequence of her loose lips.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you made it home and did away with your coats, Alastor poured you both a nightcap. You were leaning against the back patio railing when set down the glasses and pulled you into a hug.

“I should apologize for always magically summoning the police.” He beamed, all charm. “How should I show you? A good cuddle?” His nose knocked softly against yours as he teased another kiss. You could tell by his smile you’d be swept away if you let him continue. 

“No, nope. I’m not letting you distract me any longer.” You pushed him away with both hands and made a beeline inside for the kitchen. He leaned back to watch you through the screen door. 

You stretched up and over the counters, pulling out a small vase he forgot he had, and grabbed the paper bag from beneath the table. He could only see your back as you fiddled with it on the table before marching to the sitting room. Taking a few steps forward, he could see you through the window now as you unsleeved a record and inspected both sides before setting it down and lifting the arm to place the needle.

A trumpet played and buzzed through the speaker. As a song he didn’t know began to play he turned back to see you at the screen door with your little vase of flowers. 

Alastor was taken aback. A new sight. A new thing to dream about. You in the glow of the dim kitchen light, it bouncing off the back of your silhouette as you looked at him like a shark was in your tub; unnecessarily scared.

Music drifted through the open window to his right. Extending his arm, he beckoned you to him. 

Lead feet made you nearly trip with your first step. 

Your hands were trembling as they gripped the glass and brought the flowers up. 

“What's all this?” a little nervous laugh as he looked down at the bouquet you fussed over at the shop just some hours before. How many hours exactly was lost to the bootleg hooch. “Red Tulips. Wild roses. Daisies.” you pointed them out just how the shop attendant had for you, “And cornflower.”

Alaster smiled over them and then back to you. 

“For you.” You lifted them just a tad higher.

“Oh!” He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his pants before gingerly taking them from you. “That happy I didn’t kill him?” Alastor joked, knowing you had to have gotten them before you learned of the newest developments.

Your throat was closing. Well, it felt like it was. 

Looking up, there he was. As brilliant as in the sun, dim light casting sharp shadows across his face as he brought the bouquet up to his nose. The light passed over his glasses as he did so, and when his eyes flitted back up they looked over the rims and down to you. Your heart skipped a beat as a new rhythm took it by surprise. 

“And the– I heard it. This song. And I thought you'd like it. So.” You fidgeted, tapping the back of one shoe with the toebox of the other, “I got it for you. As a gift. It’s pretty new, by Ozzie Nelson, whoever that is.” He laughed at your flippant description. 

His head turned slightly to the sound before setting the flowers on the porch banister. The speaker popped a little with the tune. 

Stars shining bright above you. 

He put his hands out to ask you to dance, and you eagerly took up the offer. It bought you a little time. While you danced, you could think. 

Nightbreezes seem to whisper I love you.

Fuck. 

Say nighty night and kiss me.

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.

While I'm alone and as blue as can be.

Alastor wasn’t listening as intently as you were. His palms could feel you beneath your dress, feel the shape of your hips as you lazily swayed together to the song. 

When had he last received a gift, he wondered as you chewed on your bottom lip. He couldn’t remember. His swaying slowed as he reached back into his memories. No, he really couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a present. Had anyone ever given him flowers?

No. 

He was brought back to the moment when you leaned forward, pressing your cheek against his collar bone. He shook away the thought and resumed the slow move from left to right. Your feet did little steps in the same direction. It was dancing enough for you both. The porch wasn’t exactly conducive to a lively foxtrot and your tipsy body wasn’t up for the turns. 

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear. Still craving your kiss. 

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

What time was it, you wondered. Was it almost time for the sun to rise? No, it couldn’t be. Would it be more romantic to wait for that? That was what people liked in these moments, special light.

You were overthinking it, looking for an excuse to delay it. 

Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. 

“And what's the occasion? I’m the one who owes you flowers.” 

His chest rumbled and you inhaled the scent of him. What if you said it and you never got to get this close again?

What was the better world to live in…The one where he was yours, or the one where he knew he was loved?

Dream a little dream of me. 

It was too much to bear. The feeling was crowding your chest and stealing your air. Obviously the better world was the latter, and now you were holding up its descent. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer or the words themselves would slice through your throat. The song ended and the speakers popped as the record finished its rotation. 

Like a wolf showing its neck you filled the silence with vulnerability, “You know I love you, right?” You couldn’t muster the courage to look at him. The entire world was spinning but the swaying stopped.  “It bears repeating, so, listen up. I’ll always meet you where you are. Don’t go feeling around in the dark for me. I’ll find you, I’ll wait around the nearest corner or in the car or wherever. Because I love you. Terribly. Against my will.” You swallowed hard but your mouth was dry, “Now and forever.”  What a terribly uncomfortable thing to say, what a horridly sensitive wound to inflict on yourself. A fresh expanse of exposed nerves and muscles. 

A practiced author would call it a whirlwind romance, but that didn’t capture the violence that tangled you two together. A maelstrom love.

He didn’t say it back. He didn’t say anything at all. His eyes were heavy as he brought your knuckles to his mouth and kissed each one. That didn’t sting or alarm you. You hadn’t said it to hear it back. This wasn’t a token slid to him for anything in return this time.  You said it to make sure he knew. If anything, you hadn’t really expected the sentiment to be returned. Because it hadn’t ever been about you, love apparently never was. 

Alastor was too scared to speak, too overwhelmed to reply. You’d said it first, atleast, you’d said it thinking you had. A weakness came over his muscles and for a flash he thought he'd go weak in the knees. But what you said stirred a fire in his chest and he didn’t know what to do with it. Too many words crowded in his guts and choked at the stop gap that was his own throat. Words were, as they rarely were for him, useless. So his hands slipped down your body, then back up, and he found your cheeks despite his eyes still hiding in the shadow of his lashes. He leaned down to meet your lips and pressed into them. Chaste, as if neither of you had ever kissed anyone before. He hoped at that moment he’d never have to kiss anyone again. 

No, he decided at that moment he never would. A relief. A heavy load he could set down. You felt the little self assured smile against your mouth. 

He needed to move, fresh electrical impulses twitching down his spine and igniting that little wool string of fear.  So he took a few steps backward, bringing you with him, and let his hands cage you into more desperate kisses as his back pressed into the wall. The passion was mounting with every return, his tongue willing your mouth open so he could retreat into the honesty of your body. Pulling away, you took his face in your hands too. 

“Do you want to keep going?” You asked, feeling his hips move to grind up into you. He nodded, his smile small and tight. His lips were barely visible. “You know you don’t have to, right? You don’t owe me anything. My love isn’t….there are no strings attached.” He nodded again. His eyes were shining, the light of the kitchen giving them a comforting and golden band. Were they wet or just bright? “Do you want to …talk?” 

His smile widened, and he shook his head no. 

“Then we won’t talk.”

The expression on his face was enough for you. His eyes soft and half lidded, pupils blown. You never knew what he saw when he looked at you like that, but you knew you wanted to be whoever it was. The corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly with his smile, which was pure and sweet. He was happy, and that was all you’d wanted. All of it in your hands. No fireworks, barely a moon above you both.  

You’d really not wanted to mingle the words with the actions. But Alastor’s assurance reminded you that you weren’t alone in the situation. Maybe for him they were already entangled together. Maybe he wanted them to be. You stopped acting as a monolith long ago, whether you had felt comfortable admitting that until that moment or not.

He dropped slowly down to his knees, you following with your mouth on his. With a crawl, he leaned forward and you leaned back until you were lying down. 

It wasn’t quite as deep as that for him, instead acting on instinct with the magnets in his fingertips unable to break the pull and separate from your skin any longer. He was going to find out now, for the first time, if he could feel love. Could he translate it from his mouth through your skin, words unspoken still? The gasp you made when he licked up your neck made him confident he was saying something. He didn’t want to get off in that moment, nothing about you was screaming sex, but there was no earthly method he could express the way your confession made him feel. He needed you close. He needed you closer than anyone had ever been, and your words had already pulled him skin deep. Perhaps now, in this moment, if he had sex with you he’d find an unseen depth of comfort in your embrace than he’d felt before. A new level of connection for him to feel held by. 

People had said they loved him before, but it was just words. It was the next thing to say before I do and it's a boy! They had loved well pressed clothes and a shiny smile, quick fingers over keys and a pretty voice. Such love was nothing short of tissue paper wrapped around a gift he didn't want; a promise of a boring and hidden life. 

He wondered why you always told him to not seek you out. He had no plans on leaving, and if he ever lost you in the crowd like he had tonight, he’d still wander around for you. It was a silly request. You might as well ask him to not kiss your forehead before sitting on the sofa beside you or to not smile when you smiled. 

So clever but so naive. 

Please.

His nose nuzzled behind your ear, a voiceless whisper. His hands were scratching down your thighs and over your stockings, surely snagging the delicate weave. 

Closer.

Hastily you rolled them down and did the same with your panties, Alastor seemingly too focused on gathering as much of your body into his arms as he could physically manage. You gasped when two firm hands slipped under you and pulled your ass off the porch to press up into his core. 

Alastor drew his knees forward to kneel, dragging you up into his lap by the hips. Back bending, you looked up wordlessly as he unbuttoned his shirt. 

“It’s cold.” You whispered, no hint of wanting him to stop but genuinely concerned for his comfort.

I’ll make it warm reverbrated across time, a little changed but the promise still intact that Alastor would heat up the cold with embraces, sexual and otherwise.

“Oh!” You squeaked, realizing this was your cue to start undressing too. You ignored the burning in your thighs at the position and reached for your own buttons, a long line down the back meant for women with husbands as it was impossible to do up alone.

As he leaned over you and hot palms slid up your arched back, his face came close to yours. No scared deer in the headlights. He looked much more self assured than something built to flee.

Ah.

Right.

An image of clashing antlers and the ringing crack they produced blocked out your second squeak as you were pulled up to be chest to chest. Arms snaking around his neck you held on tightly as he worked on the buttons for you.

His chin rested on the taut muscle that connected neck and shoulder, breaths even and hot slipping down between the skin of your back and dress as the clothing loosened under his grip. 

A flutter of nerves filled you both. The space between romance and sex was always a no man’s land for you two. You preferred to rush through to the act, and Alastor struggled with transitioning loving touches to wanton ones.

But you didn’t feel that awkward gap now. Alastor seemed very confident in his movements, marching across that space to take you from love to lover. 

He couldn’t see your smile as he undid the dress. This was a good answer, you thought. This didn’t feel like him pushing to give you what he expected, like he had always done with the others. It felt, very honestly, like someone wanting to do the dreaded thing you always avoided; make love. You couldn’t say you had ever thought what made fucking and love making different, you just knew you hadn’t cared for mixing sex with emotion. But this was all emotion now. An act of surrender for you, an act of commitment from him. A deep slow breath to steady yourself. You’d give him whatever he wanted and needed. And if that was more than you’d managed before, you’d find a way to be more than you had been. You could still be yourself. Just…a little extra. For him. When he pleaded so sincerely.

You rose on your knees to lift your center from his lap, allowing him the space to undo his belt and free himself from his pants. His hands moved under the curtain of your dress and you kept your eyes on the wall behind him. Looking him in the eyes would happen, you knew that, but you weren’t ready to get stuck in his stare just yet. 

Clinging on to his shoulders you worked together to lower yourself back down, a slow seating down onto his member. You swallowed a gasp and let your body weight fully settle. An ache radiated from deep within you as he bottomed out and then pressed further with your relaxed form giving way. His hands slipped up your back and held onto your shoulders, face pressed into your neck and tickling you with every breath. 

Your body pressed tightly against his, you found the space to lift up and drop. Reluctantly, Alastor loosened his grip to allow you more freedom of movement. Just enough you could get more height and not an inch more.

The burn in your thighs and the sting of your knees digging into the old wood patio quickly fought for your focus. But then your riding produced rewards, Alastor’s breath coming out ragged and weak. His own little gasps each time you took him back in fully escaped to your pleasure. You were warm and clinging, inside and out, and Alastor found the base of his skull beginning to feel fuzzy. All that lightning was now in his lap and leaving his mind to go slack as if in a tepid bath. He liked this part, where things could go quiet internally except for the most basic of senses: touch. You were all around him, and that was satisfying him so completely he worried he’d run out of things to seek out in life. A small worry that came and went as quickly as your hips began to move. Fast and even.

He could say with confidence you hugged him in a loving embrace and it let his body relax into the moment. The gasps and dryness of his lips went unnoticed by him. But not you, if you closed your eyes all you could hear was his breathing. Instinctively your arms tightened until you were holding his head to you. Sex with Alastor never felt like being fucked. Like being used as some sleeve for a man. You always felt like you were receiving much more from him, never like you were giving. Except now, with how his lips left lazy open mouth kisses on your collar bone, it felt like you were providing him with something.

Alastor pulled away and you slowed before stopping in response. The part you knew would come, because you knew Alastor. Both hands took your face for a proper kiss. His lips stuck a little to yours, but he licked them and tried again. Such a slow kiss for the occasion, passion could be languid when you had the time for it. And you had nothing but time now. That was what you promised him when you confessed, to be there through time now and ever.

He pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. This was intimacy, this was what existed between you both as something was communicated from his eyes to yours. The instinct to look away was clawing at you but you fought it. His eyes were so beautiful, even in the dark. That was how you first saw them, in the dark of an alleyway. 

Without warning he broke the longing look and kissed you again.

Forever, you’d said. And Alastor held those words as tightly as he held you now. Forever was all that he needed. 

His tongue roamed around your mouth hungrily. 

Closer.

Your own hands held tightly to his head as he leaned forward. Gently, his kiss slowing as he focused on setting you down on the porch, you were returned to your back. It took strength to do it so smoothly, that hidden muscle that betrayed his slender frame. 

Letting him take the lead was easy, in that moment every move  dripped with an arousing confidence. The sweet gasps melted into tiny grunts that made you clench around him, the kiss breaking with his thrusts.

His belt was cold, hitting against the top of your ass with every slap of his hips. You used the heel of your shoe to try and push his pants down further but didn’t get far. You whispered a ‘fuck it’ and let your legs hug onto him.

A rain of ‘please’ fell from your mouth, begging him to maintain that strong even pace but also praying he’d finish inside this time. You wanted that liquid heat pooling in your guts. 

Alastor wanted to kiss you more, but he knew better than to interrupt his rhythm. He wanted to feel you spasming around his cock, feel your body tighten and go stock still under him. 

Maybe he imagined it, maybe it was your slight  embarrassed blushing, but you did feel different. He could have sworn you felt warm, softer. He felt he was getting lost in your touch like someone losing their way in the safety of a well maintained park. No danger, but no idea where he was or what he was really doing there. But it was lovely. That midsummer day glow and warmth you could only enjoy in the shade of tall trees.

There he was again, mind wandering with flashes of beautiful places and sensations as his muscles began to tire.

You bit your lip and tensed your core to help along the rising pressure. Fingers raked down his scalp and neck as you crossed the peak and came on his slowing cock.

A second was given to you to come down before he began his own finish. 

It didn’t take long for his hips to go weak and for him to lose his rhythm. Apart from you, the sensation of a wet and writhing organ against his slit was vaguely alien and gross. But your twitching insides was a trophy he was always eager to earn. He had to lean back which meant your chest making contact with the cold air that filled the void. His handkerchief was quickly pulled from his chest pocket and brought to his cock as he managed to hold off cumming until he was safely free of you.  It worked poorly, semen leaking through the threads and sticking to his hand. He hissed but wiped his hand clean the best he could on the handkerchief’s edges.

Alastor leaned over and kissed your cheek, and then your nose, and then because he felt the compulsion, your already kiss swollen lips. When he moved his head to carry on down your collar bone you unclenched your eyes.  You could see the flowers above your head on the banister. 

You remembered reading The Language of Flowers poster to the florist as you chose your bouquet. When she pointed out each one to you, you repeated the meanings in your head. 

“Red tulips,”

 I declare my love. 

“Wild Roses,”

I love you truly. 

“Daisies,” 

Pain and Pleasure. 

“And, lastly,” the shopkeeper sounded sentimental as she gestured to the blue petals, “Cornflower.”

Be gentle with me.

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

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I impulsively bought some things because I’ve been good and I deserve it 😩

I could tag some mfs but imma keep it very cute very demure 😭

You husk simpers gotta be the most DIRTY NASTY FREAKS on the whole planet. Y’all motherfuckers be getting my coochie sore.

My right hand can only move so fast y’all 😭

This old ass man got y’all ERECT