This Place Reeks Of Death.

This place reeks of death.

Friendly reminder that I’m a feral creature

crush (mahito x reader, 1.5k)

cw: self-ship coded, reader is implied to be chubby, mahito is himself warning!!!. non-consensual voyeurism. reader is afab, wears a dress and makeup and lingerie, is in a relationship with nanami. not sfw

“What does it mean,” the curse asks Geto, his mismatched eyes far more serious than the man has ever seen them, “to want to touch somebody? Not just to change them; not just to feel the shape of their soul underneath the skin. But . . . just because you want to know what they feel like?”

Geto doesn’t respond for a moment. Mahito’s curiosity is certainly boundless; but there is usually a faint crook to the corner of his mouth, a laugh in his voice. He usually finds all of this - the little foibles of what it is to be human - amusing more than anything else. Geto - at least, the man wearing Geto’s face - thinks back on his own long life, and feels a smile tugging at his own not-really-his mouth. 

“Mahito,” he says. “I think you have a crush.”

“A crush.” Mahito repeats the word; savours the syllable against his tongue and lips and teeth. It feels good there; at once vicious and fascinating. He knows the verb ‘to crush’ - imagines holding you against him until you squeak, until you go weak and your body turns to a boneless, helpless thing in his embrace. 

“And if I want to know what they taste like?” He presses on. “Without biting into their flesh?” He pauses. “No. I just want to know what they taste like. I’d bite as hard as I could.”

Geto laughs again, a laugh too old for the man he’s pretending to be. Mahito is the most human-like curse he has ever met; he wonders, sometimes, how much easier it would have been to experiment if he had Mahito on side hundreds of years ago. Why, the curse even seems to have figured out ‘desire’ all on his own--

“Definitely a crush,” Geto hums. “Touching and tasting? Would you want to kiss them, too? Hold them? Fuck them?”

The question leaves Mahito silent for just a moment. 

“Crush,” Mahito repeats to himself, instead of responding to Geto. It seems the conversation is over; Mahito turns away without answering any further, still murmuring that syllable under his breath. But he is smiling, now - the stitches on his face pulled taut, his eyes sparkling with what somebody optimistic might call ‘mischief’ and what somebody who understood Mahito would call ‘intent’. 

He thinks about you again, later that night. In the privacy of his hammock, with a stack of aged, foxed books by his side as he flips through them. He’d taken them from a library - simply wandered in and picked a collection from the ‘romance’ shelves, intent on understanding what it is he feels stirring in his gut when he looks at you. 

It had been an accident, the first time he had seen you. It had not been you he was following - but that 7:3 sorcerer, the one who had almost beaten him. A fascinating opponent, and a fascinating man - and Mahito was always interested in learning. He had stuck to the shadows, let his body change and ripple in order to camouflage himself, as he had followed Nanami Kento around the city. 

And in a restaurant, Nanami sitting and checking his watch, he had seen you for the first time. You’d been babbling apologies about being late, a flurry and swirl of colour and motion in a dress the colour of melted butter, and Nanami had stood up to greet you and laid a hand on your shoulder and you had gone quiet, looking up at him with a smile on glossy lips until he had kissed you. 

(Mahito had found a drugstore the next night; picked up lip glosses and swiped them over his own mouth, wondering what yours had felt like against Nanami’s. Intense, sticky flavour? Strawberries or pineapples or vanilla? He’d taken one that had shone like yours). 

He had just wanted to know what fascinated the sorcerer about you at first; dissect him, work out his weaknesses. You had seemed so different from the stolid, stoic man that Mahito had encountered - and he had read so many books, of course, about human relationships and psyche and how like calls to like but also how opposites attract . . . He had thought of it as research. 

Research to watch you go about your day to day life; grocery shopping and humming under your breath. You’d seen him, once - Mahito had felt himself tense, had grinned at you something sharp and inane and waited for you to pounce on him (a pity, he’d felt at the time, to shape you into something hideous when you were such a pretty thing to observe, like a bird in a glass cage)--

But you had smiled at him and tilted your head to the side and gone back to what you were doing. If Nanami had ever said anything to you about a curse with a patchwork face . . . clearly you had not remembered it. So you could see curses, at least (would see him, then, when he dug his fingers into the chub of your cheeks and they sunk into the soft flesh - when he harshly grabbed your chin and jolted it upwards so you could see how the light played over his stitches). 

Research, then, to fade into the background and watch you with Nanami. The way he placed a hand around your waist and you seemed to go all soft and complacent. The way he placed his mouth against yours with perfect surety. 

Research, to take the form of a crawling creature and perch himself on the branch outside the apartment you and Nanami shared. To watch you shower and wonder what it would feel like to press against you in it, hot and damp and wet, humid in a different way from the sewer. To watch you pick up piece after piece of flimsy lingerie and hold it against your body, brow furrowing in distaste at the way you looked in the mirror. 

Mahito likes the way your body looks against the frills and the flounces; likes the idea of ripping them to pieces as he bares you again. Nanami, it seems, prefers something tighter - lace, stockings, complicated straps that he traces his fingers across and smiles. 

Research, to watch how you kneel for the blond sorcerer and look up at him with devotion writ clear in your eyes. Research, to watch Nanami knot his tie around your wrists - to scuttle closer until he is on the windowsill, insect creature of too many legs and eyes, something that wouldn’t attract attention on a hot summer night - and to hear the way that Nanami speaks to you. The harsh orders that you fall over yourself to fulfil. The way your voice pitches and whines when you call him ‘Sir’. 

What would Mahito make you call him, he wonders? 

He leaves when the two of you are sweat-slicked, naked, wrapped around one another in the big bed. Frustration gnaws at a part of Mahito he didn’t know he had. He has read the romance books. He knows, without a doubt, this is what they would call ‘jealousy’, and it does not abate even when he reaches his sewers and pouts, climbing into the hammock and making it swing gently from side to side. 

He thinks about yours and Nanami’s anatomy; the part of him that had fitted into you as if it was meant to be there, that had made you arch your back and beg the man for more, please, you could take it. He touches his own stitched body; makes it swell underneath his touch, makes the thing between his thighs bigger and thicker than Nanami’s so that you wouldn’t know for sure if you could take it. Would you cry? Say it was too big? Mahito thinks perhaps he’d like that. 

The jealousy does not abate, roiling in his stomach sour and irritable. Sulking, Geto had called this. Had told Mahito to go and play with some of his toys to make it go away.

But as Mahito’s hands press into fleshy quivering masses that may once have been human, that beg him to die . . . it is only you he can think about. As he makes a human soul smaller and smaller, shriveling it to the size of a kidney bean, wondering if he could ball it up in his fist so tight that he could turn it to dust. 

A crush, Geto had said. 

He thinks about you. Thinks about how Nanami had cradled you so tightly against him, about how his hips had pressed so deeply into you that Mahito couldn’t see from his vantage point on the windowsill where one of you started and the other ended. Thinks about Nanami’s mouth pressing hungrily against yours. 

Crush. The word in his mouth, murmured in a puff of stale air - like a candy, like something to be grabbed between his teeth and shaken until he had conquered it. 

He smiles to himself; thinks about the indent of his hammock pressing into your skin until it marked you for hours, a beautiful pattern on your soft, sweet, achingly mortal body.

Crush. 

How appropriate. 

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 2'627

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, Implied forced relationship, Implied captivity, Toxic relationship, Possessiveness, Invasion of personal space, Non-consensual touching.

Additional Notes: Do be kind, I have not written for this man before and find him exceedingly difficult.

Every week at the Hotel, there was something new Charlie had planned.

Trust exercises. Ice breakers. Activities meant to bring everybody closer together as a group. To try and get people to open up and show a side of vulnerability that - she believed - would help sinners take one step closer to salvation.

Most of them were awkward, and a lot of them never went as planned. A fact she realized and, after a near mental breakdown, had her promptly take advice from Vaggie and agree to try something different.

The task was very simple compared to the previous activities. She requested everybody to think about redemption and what it meant to them.

Thinking about the definition itself took little to no effort.

Redemption (noun): The action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.

But it was clear that Charlie wanted more than just a quote from the dictionary. She wanted residents of the Hotel to mull over it while looking deep down into themselves so they could share their stance on the matter later on.

That was the tricky part.

From how you saw it, “saving yourself” from sin was easy enough to accomplish. ‘Just don’t be a dick and avoid the bad shit.’ was the first thought that came to mind, but where you hit a snag was based on what Charlie had shared about Heaven. According to her, even so much as breathing in Hell was enough to solidify your place in the inferno, yet she made it clear that actively resisting sin wasn’t something to go unrecognized.

It took a lot of effort, energy, and courage to do so, and it was hard to disagree even if Heaven didn’t see it that way.

Error was a bit harder. In your opinion, nobody could be saved from that, at least not entirely. Eventually, inevitably, you or someone else would do something wrong, it was just a matter of degree. It could be something as minor as bumping into somebody by accident or as major as Angel relapsing for what felt like the hundredth time, but it would happen and it was only a matter of time.

Charlie did bring up a rather good point, though. Apologizing when you realized you had done something wrong was the best thing someone could do, and it was the first step in the right direction.

You had to give her credit where it was due for that.

But evil was a different matter entirely.

Evil lurked everywhere in Hell. Across every street, around every corner, evil was out in the open for everyone to bear witness and see. None of it was hidden. None of it was meant to be hidden.

What would be the point? You and every other sinner were already in Hell - and many would argue that hiding it would be counterintuitive to being there in the first place.

Charlie tried to plead the case that everyone had good in them. A good that could be tweezed out if given the right chance, and the right environment, which the Hotel was perfect for.

You wish you could agree.

Evil was in the hotel itself, not that Charlie was fully willing to see it.

You believed she was careless there. Little Miss Bleeding Heart wanted to see the best in people, and by god did you ever want to know what it was like to see through such rose-tinted glasses, but you knew you never could. Not in this place.

Stepping a foot into the building was the worst thing you’d ever done because it showed you just how wrong you were about evil being so out in the open. It still had the ability to lurk, something you learned the moment you shook hands with Alastor.

You could see it on his face upon meeting him for the first time - the way Alastor’s perpetual grin widened upon seeing the goosebumps that lined your arms when he clasped your hand in his. No comment was ever made on the matter, but the way his lips peeled back to reveal the black of his gums before he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles said enough.

Something utterly sinister reeked from him in a manner you couldn’t describe, so you took your own advice and applied the same thing you did when it came to sin.

Avoidance. As much as you could, at least.

Some moments were easier than others. The distinct metallic clack of Alastor’s microphone against the floor combined with a surge of radio static usually bought enough time for you to make whatever excuse you needed in order to leave before he arrived.

Other times you weren’t so lucky, and Charlie’s group meetings were usually to blame in that regard.

At first, you made a great deal of effort to put as much distance between yourself and the Radio Demon as you could, which worked for a time. Unfortunately, Alastor caught onto what you were doing much faster than you would’ve liked.

He reveled in it. You knew he did. After a while you had the gnawing suspicion he was purposefully going out of his way to make you as uncomfortable as possible for his own entertainment. You saw no other reason as to why he’d consistently move so close to you that you could literally feel him breathing down your neck.

Lately, he had adopted the skin-crawling habit of locking eyes with you the moment you stepped foot in the room and patting the seat beside him - reserved specifically for you. Accepting the gesture felt like swallowing nails, but being openly rude to Alastor was something that you knew better than to do.

Instead, you began to find excuses for skipping the meetings entirely and have Angel or Husker fill you in later, which was exactly what you were doing now.

“To be honest I wasn’t payin’ much attention,” Angel said while he scrolled through his phone, resting his chin in his upper left hand while his lower right swirled alcohol around in a glass. “Was the kind of thing that could’ve been sent in an email.”

You traced your finger around the rim of your own glass, its contents untouched. “Still, I want to know what I missed.”

“He’s right, it wasn’t anything special,” Husker replied, slinging a cloth over his shoulder from behind the bar. “Same old bullshit about salvation with a new coat of paint on top.”

A pang went through your chest, but you pushed it down. “So nothing new?”

Angel scoffed and looked up from his phone. “Trust me, dollface, you did yourself a favor.” He downed the rest of his drink in one go. “What were you doing anyways?”

“You know…” You replied with a shrug, glancing down. “I went out.”

Angel smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out?”

“Yeah.” You tapped your nails against the edge of the glass. “Things were feeling a little claustrophobic, so I went out for some air.”

Husker made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I know how you feel, kid. This place is a mess.”

Angel tilted his head, placing his phone down on the bar and leaning forward a bit. “So where’d you go? Anywhere fun?”

“Where indeed~.”

All your movements went rigid. After a few seconds, you slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder to see Alastor standing barely a foot away from you, staring down at you with a tight, closed-lipped smile. You hadn’t heard him coming in the slightest, which you immediately could tell was intentional.

Whether he’d used his shadow or had actually stalked up behind you wasn’t something you wanted to think about, and if Angel or Husker picked up on the immediate tension, neither of them said anything about it.

“Hey, Smiles.” Angel greeted with his usual flirtation, placing the elbows of his upper arms on the bartop as he turned to face Alastor. “Fancy a drink? You look a little stiff” He gave Alastor a very long once over, “and I’ll have you know I know a few ways I can help relieve some… tension.” 

Alastor’s lips curled back to reveal his teeth, the muscle in his cheek spasming for a moment.

Mentally you were kissing Angel on the cheek for the save as you slowly picked your coat up off the bar and slipped it on, concealing the goosebumps already present on your skin. Husker gave you a glance from the side and gave a very slight shake of his head, silently advising you against your unspoken desire to leave.

“I assure you, such a thing is never going to happen.~”

“You sure?” Angel rested his lower right arm on his hip. “I have a few tricks that can loosen you up.”

The leather in Alastor’s gloves audibly squeaked as his grip tightened around the staff of his microphone and his attention immediately shifted back to you, ignoring Angel entirely.

“My dear,” His voice dripped with such a saccharine sweetness it made you feel sick, “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Fewer combinations of words could instill such a unique feeling of encroaching dread all at once, but you refused to let it show as you nodded and turned your body on the bar stool to face him fully; waiting for him to say the first word.

His eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Privately.”

That made you swallow.

“Sure.” You slid off the bar stool, doing your best not to appear as reluctant as you felt.

“Lovely.~” He said, promptly turning on his heel and walking towards the staircase - expecting you to follow.

You glanced back towards Husker and Angel, each giving you looks of grim sympathy and confusion respectively before you took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other, following Alastor up the steps.

You thought he would talk along the way. Engage in some form of idle chit-chat where he’d be pulling the strings, or even hum along to the countless jazz tunes that he played in the halls over the Hotel’s sound system.

But no such music played and he remained silent. A few minutes into the walk you gathered enough courage to glance up at him and found his eyes locked straight forward, not even sparing you so much as a glance.

You averted your gaze, the hem of your sleeves suddenly the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen.

Eventually, he came to a stop, and he held out the end of his microphone to prevent you from going any further down the hallway.

“Here we are!” Rather than producing a key from his coat, a green flash emanated from the lock when he placed his hand on the handle and opened the door.

He all but leered at you as he gave a small bow that didn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

“After you.~”

Like the alleged gentleman he was, Alastor held the door open for you, eyes never leaving your form as you walked inside his suite.

The smell of dampness and soil hit you immediately.

Alastor’s suite wasn’t the worst thing you’d seen in Hell by a mile, however, it was still eerie beyond words. The skeletons that hung along the walls and mantlepiece of his fireplace became less complete and increasingly disorganized as they led further into the room - which itself gave way to a swamp-like environment halfway through. Undoubtedly a result of whatever hoodoo, voodoo bullshit he was capable of, and while it still wasn’t the worst you’d seen, it served its purpose thoroughly.

It creeped the shit out of you.

“Now, then.” Alastor clicked the door shut, his body half-facing yours as his hand still lingered on the doorknob. “I'm sure you have a good explanation for what you’ve been doing.~”

The immediate dryness in your throat was hard to ignore. You knew what he was talking about, and you knew that he knew, but you still attempted to buy some time as you tried to figure out what to do.

You cleared your throat. “I was just catching up with Angel and Husk-”

He chuckled, the sound like that of a radio shifting stations. “Don’t be coy.” His head turned towards you with a sickening, ossified crackle that bent his neck in a manner that made your stomach lurch. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I’d like to know why.”

Fuck.

“I haven’t.” Lying to Alastor was a mistake, but you still decided to risk it since it wasn’t entirely false. “There’s just been a lot on my mind recently.”

“Hmm.” Interest and something much worse flickered behind his eyes as he faced you fully with another crack of his vertebrae. “Such as~?”

You shook your head, looking away from him. “That’s private.”

There was a quick flash of red, and the tip of his microphone turned your face back towards him - the cool metal of the edge digging into the skin of your cheek. You had to bite back a grimace.

“Not when it concerns me.” His tone was sharp, a stark contrast to the faux politeness he was putting on before. He kept the tip of his microphone where it was to prevent your eyes from looking anywhere but him. “And trust me darling, when it comes to you, everything concerns me.”

His words twisted in your gut. “...I’m not sure what you mean.”

Alastor tutted, his smile widening once more. “Don’t be stupid, darling, it’s unbecoming of you.” The way he said it was patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “You know precisely what I mean, so I’m going to ask again, as much as I hate repeating myself.~”

Cool metal was replaced with the warmth of his hand as he tilted your head up and brought his face frighteningly close to yours.

“Why are you keeping yourself from me?”

It was an odd sensation. Being backed into a corner, both metaphorically and physically. A frightening one that all but yanked on your instincts to do whatever it meant to get the fuck out of there, but you knew that was the worst thing you could do.

Alastor was a predator, a creature designed to prey on those he deemed weaker, and turning your back on a predator would almost certainly trigger a series of events that would not bode well for you.

So you did the next worst thing.

You told him the truth.

“Because I can see you.” The words felt wrong to say out loud. “I can see you for what you are, I can feel the absolute malevolence that radiates off you in waves, and it’s suffocating.”

Saying any more was a horrendous idea, but you couldn’t help but add one last thing.

“And if I want any chance at leaving this god-forsaken place, I can’t be around you.”

The silence that stretched on afterward was deafening.

Mentally, you were bracing yourself. Alastor had killed people for far less, and you expected nothing different for saying something so daring to his face.

You could see it too, the anger that simmered underneath his gaze. You expected the red of his sclera to flash black and his antlers to extend with his body in a grotesque display before you were ripped to pieces while he laughed.

What you didn’t expect was for his eyes to narrow into slits and his expression shift into one that was far more genuine than you wanted it to be, and it was then you knew that being saved from this kind of evil was never going to happen.

“Oh, my dear, you don’t need to worry about something silly like that.” Alastor all but cooed.

“After all, what makes you think I’d ever let you leave?~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

another Yandere!Alastor imagine

(~500 words of him Making Things Worse)

I need to go to bed

———————

Alastor always seems to be there at your worst moments. It’s always a coincidence, never contrived enough to make you think that he wanted to see this. No. It was merely a stroke of fate that led him to wander into the lobby the one time you cried in public, to pass by your room just at the moment you threw something against the door…

The first time, it’s a shock, an embarrassing realization that someone has witnessed a part of you that you’d very much like to keep to yourself. But he doesn’t do anything to make you feel judged. Only asks you if everything’s quite alright, as if the answer to that isn’t blatantly obvious. Listens as you swallow the remnants of your tears, and spill a little bit more of the truth than you’d planned to when you opened your mouth, relieved to have someone, anyone to talk to. He draws you out of the shell you’ve built around yourself, lets you go on speaking - insists upon it - no matter how hesitant your voice becomes. Actually smiles wider when you do. Bids you goodnight, walks away.

It’s only long after this that you realize how much you really said. But it’s okay, you tell yourself. You’re supposed to talk about your feelings. You were lucky, if anything, to have such a willing, patient audience.

When it happens again, and again, you begin to wonder why - why he keeps finding you in these situations, and why he keeps putting up with your barely-coherant attempts to explain what, exactly, has you in such a state. Of course, it crosses your mind that it’s intentional. That he knows when you’re feeling this way, that he’s drawn to it for reasons you can only guess at.

It’s not like it’s malicious. It can’t be. If it was, he would do something other than sit there and hear you out. He certainly wouldn’t encourage you to keep talking, wouldn’t wring out every little drop of awfulness before deciding that you were ready to be left alone.

And if he says something not-so-comforting, now and again? If the tears come back after he’s spent a few minutes by your side? That’s just another coincidence. You’re set off by little things, sometimes. Benign words in the wrong tone, or little phrases that remind you too much of ugly things in your past. How is he supposed to know? He can’t possibly be expected to understand you that well.

Then again - by now, with all the things you’ve said to him, he might understand you better than anyone. And as time passes, you begin to believe that this is your fault, as well. You should have found a different confidant. Now that he’s found you, it’s a bit too late for that. It’s not like you can run to anyone else when he’s always there.

Your relief at merely having someone is gone now. You’re not sure, anymore, if it would be better to have only him, or no one at all. But it doesn’t matter - regardless of what you decide, you’re not going to be alone any time soon.

I made resumes for hazbin characters because that’s the kind of thing that amuses me, results are below

(I did angel dust, niffty, husk, pentious, and cherri bomb this round but the odds of me not making more are slim)