Smile In The Dark- Alastor X Reader

Smile in the Dark- Alastor x Reader

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Plot: Alastor has never been in a true relationship with anyone, let alone the new and pretty hotel maid. But soon enough he finds he can’t wait to get his hands on you— and play a game of hide-and-seek while you’re at it.

Warnings: Smut, p in v, creampie, MDNI, slight fingering, cursing, fluff, possessive/controlling Alastor. Read at your own risk.

Alastor grinned at you from the doorway. He had asked you to come to his room that night, giving no clue as to what the invitation was for.

The two of you had known each other for months now. Ever since you had started working as a maid at the Hazbin Hotel, you had caught him staring at you once, then twice, then again. 

You remembered Vaggie’s words quite clearly—“Oh, don’t worry about Alastor. He’s just being a creepy ass as usual.” But somehow, the words didn’t quite catch. You found his demeanor charming, even intriguing. Always a gentleman— holding the door open for you, or complimenting your work. But always with an air of mystery, like an unsolved riddle. There was more to the sinner than met the eye.

Over time, you found yourself liking him more and more. After repeated interactions, you had finally asked him on a date. 

He was rather reluctant at first— the deer demon was not known for being the romantic type. But out of courtesy or an unexpected soft spot for you, you didn’t know, he had been sweet the entire time. Now you were, unofficially, dating.

“Good evening, my darling,” Alastor greeted you as you walked up to him.

“Evening, Alastor. Why did you call me here?” you asked. Alastor only chuckled.

“You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?” Without another word he steered you into the room, hand gripping your shoulder firmly. 

The dark red and black atmosphere immediately enveloped you, the carved deer on the bedposts glared down at you through the dim glow. 

It didn’t intimidate you, though. It only reminded you of Alastor, who you were comfortable with already.

Suddenly, the lights were switched off, leaving you in complete darkness. “Alastor…?” you said, a bit uncertainly.

“Afraid of the dark, are we, now? I only want to play a little game,” Alastor leered from the darkness. You could just make out his sinister glowing grin in front of you.

Without warning, you were whisked onto the bed, legs already being spread on the mattress. You tried to gasp out something, but a finger was placed over your mouth.

“Trust me, dear. It will be more fun this way.” You felt yourself getting wet at these words. Turns out Alastor was more than just a gentleman— he was a lustful one. Your clothes disappeared in a snap, and a pair of lips were locked on your neck, sucking down on your delicate skin. Alastor’s hand made repetitive circles on your clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation, head tilting back.

Completely helpless in the dark, all you could do was anticipate what the radio demon would do next. His finger dipped inside, curling expertly and grazing your g-spot.

“Al-“ you gasped.

“Sh— quiet down and be a good little slut for me, shall we?” You obliged, little sounds escaping your mouth as his motions increased in intensity. You clutched at his chest, wishing you could see his face. As if he could read your mind, he sneered at you.

“If you want to see me, you have to be a good girl first.” You nodded, wanting nothing more than to do what he asked. You guessed a maid shouldn’t be doing this, but right now you didn’t care.

You heard the sound of him coating his shaft in your wetness, preparing himself to enter you. Little by little, he stretched you out, walls already clenching around him as you felt him digging deeper. And then he was pounding into you, tearing you up at such a merciless pace that you couldn’t help but moan out his name. 

“F-fuck, Alastor!” you whined, wanting more, more, more. He allowed you a glimpse of him as he fucked you, a flash lighting up his face and illuminating his full, magnificent features.

“So perfect for me,” he seethed. “Letting me destroy you like the little slut you are.” He grabbed your waist as he thrusted harder still, ripping an orgasm out of you that you could only describe as pure bliss.

You came on his dick, getting such a rise out of him that he could make you cum even while you couldn’t see him.

He relented enough to release inside of you, his seed filing you to the brim while his cock twitched inside of you. He pulled out slowly, your liquids dripping out of you like a perfect potion.

He lay his head on your chest, breathing raggedly. You soaked in his smell as you lay with your hair tangled, comforted by his warmth.

He kissed your lips. “We certainly must do this more often.”

“Yes,” you replied. “And… with the lights off.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed my little game.”

“I did.” A pause. “Good night, Alastor.”

“Good night, my precious.”

HIS FAVORITE.

𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

❝The obsession with their favorite person is a lingering echo in the soul, a whisper that never fades, where every heartbeat murmurs their name and the world dissolves in their absence, as if life itself could only exist in their light.❞

It’s always there, lurking in the darkest corners of the hotel, watching you with that wide, unsettling smile. Though it seems to be everywhere, it never manifests in an aggressive or intrusive way. Yet, the intensity of its red eyes follows you wherever you go, as if its gaze intertwines with the light and darkness of the place, ever vigilant, always present.

If someone from the hotel dares to cross a line or make you uncomfortable, everything shifts instantly. The air grows heavier, and suddenly that figure appears, almost like a shadow moving between the flickering lamplight and the dark corners of the hallways. Without uttering a word, its mere presence is enough to make any intruder rethink their actions and leave, making it clear that you are not alone.

In moments when the hotel’s energy feels overwhelming, when it seems like the walls are closing in on you, things begin to change without warning. An armchair, previously absent, appears right where your tired legs need a rest. Or a steaming cup of tea, which you hadn’t requested, materializes out of nowhere in your hands, its calming aroma enveloping you. It’s as if the hotel itself responds to your needs, but deep down, you know who’s behind it. Although you never see it directly, it’s always Alastor who, with his subtle touch, orchestrates those small moments of relief. It’s his eccentric way of watching over you, making you feel safe without ever exposing himself too much, staying within his own game of shadows and light.

When Alastor is near, the atmosphere of the hotel seems to change immediately. The lights, which usually flicker and blink chaotically under his influence, behave differently around you. Instead of the unsettling tremors, they soften, adjusting to you, dimming to create an enveloping calm. Even the strange and disturbing transmissions from the old radios when he’s near, those echoes from forgotten times, seem to mold around you. Instead of chilling buzzes and distorted voices, the ghostly waves whisper gentle, almost nostalgic melodies, as if offering you comfort. It’s as if he silently dedicates his own personal recital to you, filling every corner of the place with hidden music that only you can appreciate. Through these subtle acts, Alastor communicates without saying a word, filling the spaces with his intangible presence and unmistakable energy.

Yet, what strikes you the most are the little details. Alastor, in his reserved and enigmatic manner, never touches or intrudes on your space overtly. But in his own way, he always ensures your well-being. Doors open effortlessly just before you reach them, as if an invisible hand is guiding you with perfect delicacy. If something dangerous or inconvenient is in your path, it vanishes like magic just before you stumble over it. And when you sense a threat or imminent danger, before you can even react, the situation dissolves like mist at dawn, leaving only Alastor’s shadow at the edge of your vision, watching you from the shadows, always alert, always vigilant. It’s as if he is your ethereal guardian, a presence that never fully reveals itself but is always there, protecting you with his invisible influence.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, when you think you’re completely alone, small gifts appear, almost imperceptible but full of meaning. A dark rose, with a deep and mysterious color, rests carefully on your nightstand, placed with almost obsessive precision. Or perhaps you find a book you mentioned only in passing during a forgotten conversation, waiting on your bed, as if he remembers every word you say. These details are not conventional gestures of affection; they are much deeper. Alastor doesn’t need to speak romantic words or empty compliments, because his actions say it all. Each small act is a masterpiece of precision, an expression of his meticulousness and attention, as if everything is designed just for you. In this elaborate game that he seems to control from the shadows, you are the central piece, the protagonist of a show that only he can direct.

Each of his movements is calculated to keep you close, in his orbit, but always just far enough that you can’t quite unravel who he really is. There’s a constant mystery in what he feels for you, an uncertainty that envelops you: Is it genuine affection? An obsession or fascination with you? Or something darker, something lying deep within him? Those questions float in the air, but in the end, they don’t matter much. What really seems to matter is that with you, Alastor, the demon who instills fear in others, changes. With you, his volatile and dangerous essence seems to yield, even if just a little, softening in your presence, as if you are the only one who can calm the storm burning inside him. And, though you don’t fully understand it, you feel that this change is for you, and only for you.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

Birthday present - Alastor x fem!reader

Hello! It's my birthday today, and I wanted to share something sweet and on-theme. Just a heads-up, I’ve just finished writing it, so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you enjoy!

Words: ~2100 TW: mostly none, just some light swearing and some light mentions of sex.

It wasn't usual for Alastor to forget important things. Important dates, appointments, details... They all had their special place in his head. In fact, his attention to detail was one of the things you admired most about him.

It struck you as odd when you woke up alone in the morning, the bedsheets on his side of the bed cold and undisturbed, a sign that he didn't bother to sleep last night.

You got out of bed, dragging your body across the room, to your bathroom. Your eyes fell on your reflection, taking in the faint bruises on your neck that Alastor loved to see - a simple, yet powerful reminder to anyone who would even think about approaching you that they should reconsider such a reckless act.

You wore a nice red gown, thinking that maybe it would make him consider giving you a smal, special present... if he would've bothered to come to bed at all.

But you shrugged it off, knowing who you were dealing with and that his unpredictable behavior shouldn't bother you at this point.

You got dressed as you usually did - sliding into your clothes as your mind still wandered. Maybe he forgot... Maybe you weren't as important to him as you thought.

You shook off the feeling that came over you, deciding you would not let him destroy today. So, you made your way to the hotel lobby, ready to do anything, anything to take your mind off it.

A slight sense of anxiety came over you as you made your way there, but a sudden pressure on your leg stopped you in your tracks.

Niffty held tightly on your ankle, rubbing her face on your soft skin. You chuckled as you crouched down to her level. "Well, good morning to you too, Niff."

She grins and looks up at you with big eyes and a giddy smile. "Happy birthday!!!" she shouted happily, holding a necklace made of dead roaches and a few flowers. Your skin crawled a little at the sight, but you couldn't help but feel touched by her gesture.

"Aw, Niff! This is so... endearing!" you said as you watched her smile grow. "I love it!"

Her eyes sparkled, shining brighter than you'd ever seen before as she bounced up and down with excitement. "I got it just for you! And it's made from the finest roaches in all of Hell! And I even added some pretty flowers to make it all pretty!"

"It's wonderful, Niff. Thank you!" she put it around your neck, hugging you tightly.

"You're welcome, silly! I knew you'd love it! You love bugs just as much as I do!" She pulls away slightly and grabs both of your hands, swinging them back and forth like a child. You laugh awkwardly at her statement, not really knowing something farther from the truth, but you go along with it. You get up, and she follows you to the others.

Angel Dust walked into the lobby right as Nifty was giving you the roach necklace, giggling a little as his lips curled into a smile. "Wow, that's a mighty nice gift Nift. Really makes ya' sparkle," he chuckles, leaning against the wall casually. "Hey, today's your birthday, ain't it?"

"It is, yes," you said happily as he made his way to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Happy birthday, babe." He held you like that for a few moments before pulling back slightly, a sly smirk returning to his face. "I have just the perfect gift for you," he said as he handed you a bag. You looked inside, your face suddenly blushing as you saw what it was.

"Angie!" you said smiling, your cheeks burning.

"Don't mention it, toots! Given how low Smiley's libido is, you might enjoy it!" he smirked, winking at you, earning a laugh out of you.

"It's ya birthday, kid?" you heard Husker ask, a small smile on his lips. "Here ya go then!" he said, handing you a bottle of booze as a gift, which you gladly accepted. "One of the finest you can find in this shithole."

"Aw, thank you, Husk!"

Pentious slithered into the lobby, his eyes roaming the room until they fell on you. A frown of confusion etched across his long face. Everyone was giving you gifts, and yet he had forgotten your special day. How uncharacteristic of him to forget.

He approached you, holding out a bouquet of flowers he probably snatched from one of the vases. A pang of embarrassment tugged at him as he watched the others congratulate you and give you gifts. Pentious cursed himself for letting such a detail slip past his usually sharp memory.

"Happy birthday, miss (Y/n)... I am so sorry but I truly forgot about your special day..."

Your smile softened at his words as you accepted the flowers. "They're beautiful, Pentious. Thank you!" you said, softly placing a hand on his shoulder.

Pentious's frown lessened ever so slightly at your kind words, a small sense of relief washing over him. You didn't seem angry or upset that he had forgotten your special day. He coiled slightly, seeming to relax as your touch soothed his initial tension. "I'm glad you like them, dear," he replied with a touch of embarrassment. "I know it's no excuse—but I truly didn't mean to forget." Suddenly, a determined look appeared on his face. "I will create the greatest invention for you, miss (Y/n)!" you chuckle at his words.

"Can't wait to see it!" you smile, as your eyes scan the room. "Where are the others?"

"Charlie and Vagina are solving some Heaven-related business. They might be out the whole day." Angel explained, but even as he spoke, your mind wandered to someone else—someone you were hoping would be here.

"And... Alastor?"

They exchanged looks, but Angel decided to speak. "We don't really know, toots..." he said, feeling a bit sad for you. "But hey, let's not let smiley bring ya down now!" he said wrapping an arm around you.

You looked at them as you realised they were right. It was your birthday and you really had some great people to spend it with, so there was no need to feel sad.

"Angel, call Cherri! We're gonna have some fun!" you announced, as everyone in the room lit up.

Angel, feeling your excitement, grins widely. "That's the spirit! We're gonna hit the club and get fuckin' wasted! Let's get this thing started!" He looks down at you, analyzing you for a moment. "But first, let's find you something that shows more of your tits, babe."

He took your hand, making his way towards your room as everyone began to prepare. Excitement filled you up with every step, the worries that flooded your mind just mere moments ago slowly disappearing.

This was supposed to be your day, after all.

You made your way to your room, stumbling a bit as you still laughed at a joke someone at the club said three hours ago. You were careful with how much you drank, feeling a bit responsible for everyone else, but you couldn't help but feel a bit tipsy too.

Your hand fell on the doorknob and as you opened, jazz music echoed in your ears as your eyes opened wide, your gaze meeting Alastor's. He stood in his armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Normally, the sight of him like this, his coat thrown gracefully on a chair and his appearance slightly dishevelled would've made your mouth water. But today, you couldn't help but feel a bit mad at him.

He got up, slowly making his way to you as you closed the door behind. His expression became somewhat more clear in the dim light. You expected him to be angry, given how late it was. But... he felt somewhat relieved.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as his hand clawed at the thin straps of your dress, tugging it slightly. You knew he wasn't really a fan of you going out like this, but his face remained the same.

"I see you had some fun, my dear," he said, his voice calm and suave, making you relax a bit. His eyes fell on your cleavage, frowning a little at how much it showed. He let out a hum as his eyes fell on the bruises on our neck, his claw dragging across them gently, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I went out with the others," you said, not giving any more details, but given the smell of alcohol and smoke that came from you, it wasn't hard to guess.

He sighed, his eyes finally meeting yours, his claw gently caressing your neck, your heart skipping a beat at the gesture. "I can see that, my love..."

"How was your day?" you replied, a hint of annoyance in your voice. He chuckled, knowing exactly where you're going with it. You expected him to be mad, to act like he was the victim because he had to wait for you to return.

But what you didn't expect was his arms wrapping around you, gently pulling you to his chest. "I don't want you to believe I forgot, my dearest..." he whispered, his hand running through your hair ever so carefully as if you were a porcelain doll, ready to break at the slightest pressure. He pulled away a bit, looking down at you. "Our lovely princess decided today was the best day to give me a ton of chores to do..." he said and you could feel the frustration in his voice.

His grip on you tightened a bit, his smile becoming strained. "She said we'll make it up to you tomorrow, but you have no idea how much it annoys me that I had to spend this day away from you, my love...."

His face softened again as he crouched a bit, resting his forehead against yours. The touch of his hands sent shivers down your spine, his breath hot on your skin as he whispered. The room felt warm and intimate with him so close to you, and you found yourself unable to stay mad at him. His words washed over you, melting away your annoyance and replacing it with a sense of understanding.

"You should've told me..." you said softly, your voice laced with affection. But you couldn't help the warmth spreading in your chest. He was here now, and that's what mattered. You reached up to gently touch his face, bringing a small smile to his lips. He took the opportunity to place a kiss on your hand, his eyes still locked on yours.

"I thought I could make it back in time, but some demons I had to deal with did not... cooperate." he sighed, giving your hand a little squeeze. "But I still got something for you."

You watched as he made his way to the closet and your face lit up as he pulled out a beautiful black dress.

"Alastor, I-" you tried to say, but you were completely taken aback by the gesture.

"You like it? I came up with a design and Rosie helped me make it," he said, a hint of pride on his face, as he looked back at you. "Of course, it is not as... revealing as the one surely our effeminate fellow chose..."

"No, I-... I love it," you said and with a snap of his fingers, the dress replaced the one you were wearing, gracefully falling onto your body. The dress hugged your curves perfectly, and you couldn't help but admire how stunning you looked. Alastor’s eyes lingered on you, his smile widening in clear satisfaction with his choice.

"You look beautiful, my dear," he said, his voice dripping with affection. He walked closer to you again, his hands running over the fabric of the dress, feeling the silky material under his touch.

You smiled up at him, wrapping your hands around his neck. "Thank you, Alastor..."

His hands fell on your waist, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulled you closer to him. His smile widened at the feeling of your body against his, his touch soft and intimate as he rested his forehead against yours once more.

"Anything for you, my love," he whispered, his voice low and tender. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent, his lips leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your skin.

You stood like this for what felt like hours, slowly moving as jazz music delighted your ears. It wasn't usual for Alastor to forget important things. Important dates, appointments, details... They all had their special place in his head.

And you sure were someone very special to him.

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @n0tmentallystable

Devotion - Nun!Alastor x (fem)Reader

WC: approx. 16.7k

Be warned this one’s a fattie of a fic!

Warnings/ tags:

NSFW, soft dom Alastor (well the soft part is more of a guise), kind of an emotional rollercoaster if I do say so myself, Attempted sexual assault (not by Alastor), crude language, probably a toxic relationship, choking (in several scenes), biting, reader slowly loses her sanity, heavy sexual tension/ reader being cockblocked by Alastor, eventual smut (a bit of a slow burn… for a one-shot), sacrilege (Note: this has heavily religious themes, but absolutely does not represent actual Catholicism in any way. It’ll become clear later on that they are still in Hell for a reason), Alastor’s manipulative as usual, SISTER ALASTOR!!! I might regret writing this one day Probably not though

Teaser:

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.” Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly.  Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it. His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks. “I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.” 

.

.

.

.

.

You thought you were going to Heaven. And, if you were going to Hell, lust would’ve been the last possible sin you’d pin the blame on. You had been a good daughter, and a good spouse.

This had to be a mistake.

When you fell, you simply laid there, back as bruised as your ego; you had barely a minute to register the deep red Hell called a sky before you snapped to your senses and realized you were naked as the day you were born. All your bravado and fine silk dress had been stripped from your body.

You felt like a lowly offender. Nude and shivering, hot and cold and numb at the same time as you watched twisted winged demons you previously thought only existed in your nightmares surround you, their black eyes gleaming with eagerness at the thought of devouring a fresh spawn in hell.

“Stay back!” You had not a single thing on you to utilize as a weapon, not even the sharp edge of a diamond ring. “Don’t you dare bite me!” 

Your muscles had frozen from the shock of the fall, leaving you unable to even attempt crawling away. All you could do was choke out cries, pleading with the hungry monsters to spare you. But why would they? Even you knew your shouts were nothing but the useless attempt of a stubborn caught prey, calling out for the near impossible chance of being saved. 

Pointed fangs stop half an inch from your face. You inhale sharply at the sudden movement, as the creature’s pupils slit in surprise at being caught; then its head explodes, and you clenched your eyes shut as the sound of flesh squelching pierces the air, a warm viscous liquid blasting onto your face. You strain against the rigid weight of your body, attempting to lift your hand from the invisible chains that bound it; just enough to shakily wipe at the sticky fluid coating your skin. 

You blink once, twice, trying to adjust your sight to the feeling of stinging salt and bloody red. Around you lay the monsters’ bodies, their corpses still so fresh from their second death that their limbs were still twitching. Your eyes dart around, searching for your savior - then you hear the soft clearing of a throat and crackle of radio static.

The first thing you noticed, with a startle, was their costume; what was a nun doing in Hell, of all places? Or perhaps this wasn’t Hell after all, and your initial deduction - that you remembered dying, the sky was crimson, and savage creatures roamed everywhere, so this must mean you’ve fallen from grace - had been incorrect.

You let hope spark in your heart. Maybe you really hadn’t done anything wrong. You were good, and the figure had come to send you to your proper place in Heaven. You curl up into yourself as you suddenly become aware of your nudity- and the scrutiny of their gaze. You felt dirty, and inferior, to the figure of chastity looming above you, their black veil gracing over your shoulders as they examined you up close, concealing you from the predatory eyes of filthy sinners. 

They turn your head left and right, up and down - you shiver at the feeling of firm hands through soft suede gloves, afraid to look directly at them lest you accidentally think something depraved. 

“I can’t imagine what a lovely dame such as yourself is doing in Hell!” 

You blink, surprised at the masculine voice sounding from underneath the delicate cloth framing their head. Then you look up, finally meeting the gaze of your unexpected hero. And you wish you hadn’t, because the crimson in his eyes was piercing, the sharp line of his jaw dangerous, and you curl further into yourself, heart palpitating rapidly as you scramble for words. 

You nervously smile in response to his own, unsettlingly wide grin. “Oh, I uh, a-actually just got here.” You pause. “And, I don’t…exactly know why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Every demon here has earned their place in Hell’s wicked fire by their sin.” He extends a hand for you to hold, which you take gratefully. The air hits your naked body, and you cover your breasts with your free arm, attempting to make yourself smaller in your vulnerability. But you had no room to ask him for a spare change in clothes as he relentlessly rambles on, seemingly not at all concerned over your nudity. Was this normal in Hell?

“You don’t think that maybe it’s a mistake?” You hunch your shoulders, trying to partially obscure your skin with the length of your hair. “That maybe the angels up in Heaven overlooked something?”

He laughs, the rambunctious noise vibrating sinfully against your frame. “Oh no! I’ve been here for quite many years and Heaven has yet to make a mistake in their judgment.”  

Your heart falls, gaze turning downcast. He tucks a clawed finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his widely grinning face. “But don’t distress yourself, dear sinner! Under my direction, you are sure to find the cause for your sin.”

You peer at him, whose ebony headpiece draped over his devilish face so angelically. “May I ask why you’re in Hell? You… you’re a nun, aren’t you?”

A sharp noise wooshes by your ear, and you yelp as his pointed nails curl around your bare waist, pulling you into his side just in time to avoid the savage onslaught of humanoid demons racing past you to get to… your stomach curdles as you spot the creatures tearing into the remains of the bird-like monsters the nun had just defeated a few moments prior. To your horror, you spot a heart in one creature’s hand, the organ just as ordinarily shaped and red as any living human’s heart, despite its abhorrent outer appearance. 

“What a wretched sight those sinners are.” 

You’re once again startled at the closeness of his voice - then you catch yourself. This was a nun, for God’s sake (literally)! Just because you were in pain, died, went to Hell, and lost all your possessions and material value, doesn’t mean you need to toss away your decorum as well. Don’t think anything of that nature.

“Yeah.” You nod, eyes wide as you nod slowly to stabilize your reaction. “I don’t think I can get used to this place.” Your breath quickens at an alarming rate, and you grip tightly onto the lanky, but well-defined arm of the nameless nun beside you. 

“I really think it was a mistake,” you whisper.

He presses two gloved thumbs to your cheeks, pulling them into an upward crescent; though you felt its corners drooping downward, straining against his effort. “What a pitiful sight you are,” he starts, playing with the flesh of your face. 

“You must be miserable, thinking that the Heavens have forsaken you!” He starts walking again, guiding your stiff body down the street. You latch onto his voice, which feels akin to a stable blanket that shields you from Hell’s barbaric residents. “You’re absolutely lost!”

A sniffle escapes you, and you realize you’ve begun to cry. The nun croons at you, swiping at a tear sympathetically as you cling to his form pathetically, letting his words fuel the pessimism already rotting your brain. “What do I do now? I’ve lost everything!” 

You think of yourself just a minute before death, still smiling brightly at the glistening diamond on your digit. You think of, with bitter regret, how the yacht you rode on was far too away from shore on a much too windy day. And you remember how your salty tears melted into the waters around you, sacrificing themselves to the sea, as your last thought becomes your elderly father still at home waiting for his next payment. Waiting for his only daughter, whom he would never see again, not even after death, where you would be wrongfully cast to Hell for the rest of eternity. 

Misery, despair, and self-pity feed into one another, spinning and bubbling higher and higher until they reach a climax at the back of your throat, expelling in the form of another choked sob between your parted lips.

“I don’t want to be here forever. I-In this awful place. With awful monsters.” You mop at your tears with your arm, peering up at him through your wet lashes. His gaze is steady on your face, the soft hum of static somewhat comforting; making you want to lean on him, depend on him despite the low buzz of warning in the back of your mind. 

“Now who says this place has to be awful?” His hand feels dangerously like lava on your shoulder. He taps the tip of your nose. “You are merely at the beginning of a very long journey, dear sinner! Some souls are indeed not made to ever find the light, and those are the ones who find themselves sinking deeper into debauchery until the day they drown in their own filth.” 

Your heart squirms a little at the word drown, your own demise still clear as spring water in your mind. But you surely were not part of the some mentioned. “And others…?”

His grin stretches, face falling into shadow as you turn a corner. His half-lidded eyes glow scarlet in the partial darkness. “Yet still, some others find themselves changed after death, no longer concurring with the sins they partook in when they were alive. Those sinners work tirelessly to erase their wrongdoing…”

You gulp as his voice deepens, shamefully pushing at the thoughts prodding heavily at the barrier you built in your mind.    

“…, so that one day, they might even find themselves capable of…” He pulls you in now, dramatically pausing before announcing, “... redemption!”

“Redemption,” you whisper, mainly to yourself. Then, to him, who twinkled expectantly at you; “And how can demons, who have defied the Heavens, be redeemed?”

His head tilts sideways, so that the shadows completely obscured his face, leaving only the wicked outline of his sharp nose and Cheshire grin. You leave your ears unguarded, eagerly leaning on your toes for his response. 

The noise, which you previously had thought to be his laughter, was in fact static, which had risen from a low purr to a roaring buzz. Your forgotten nudity suddenly felt painfully evident.

“They pray.” 

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Sister Alastor. That had been the name he introduced himself, the Mother Superior, with when he brought you into the cloister he resided in, where several other nuns - you counted at least 20 other heads - were under his care. 

It was only your second week in Hell when he would save you yet again. 

You’ve slowly accepted that day he found you, that there was nothing much you could do but move on, regardless of the abruptness of your death and the regrets you left unsolved. Instead, you had done your best to adjust; but if you were to be honest, a large part of that effort was due to a certain nun. You had spent a majority of the tour he took you on hanging off of every word, letting him inspire you into faith, afraid that if you were to let go, you might lose your belief altogether. 

Never did you think there would be a colossal, gothic cathedral in the very place that repelled the divine. You had to crane your neck to see the very top when the two of you neared its imposing entrance. Even as an appreciator of the luxurious when you were alive, you had never witnessed something so…grand. Such architecture would’ve taken humans centuries, perhaps longer, to build. 

“Lucifer himself oversees the church.” You had torn your gaze away from the massive building, eyes landing on crimson pupils, which squinted schemingly at you. “He thought it would be a good idea to introduce the damned to prayer. To enlighten their ruined minds, and make them just a bit more bearable to manage.”

He was humming an unfamiliar tune. There was an old-timey quality to the nun’s voice, one that made you feel as though you were on the phone with a soul who had died long before you; vintage, as the people of your time would call it. 

 In spite of its awe-inspiring beauty, there were strange details that caught your eye; such as the fact that the benches were filled with scratches, from smaller scores to longer, more offensive gashes. The ceiling seemed to be some Biblical painting, but you could not decipher the angel’s faces; upon closer inspection, you realized that their likeness had been carved out. The only face that remained intact was the tragically fair face of a winged man, brows furrowed in rejection as a lonesome tear wept from his cerulean eye. 

Lucifer’s fall from Heaven; you remembered seeing such a painting while alive, and looking at it in Hell felt strange. It made everything you ever saw on earth feel like a simple prelude to what was to come, a mere teaser for the full-length film you weren’t aware of.

Ornamental windows line the length of the room, color reflecting off its surface so purely, so clean, that you would have mistaken the blood-red sky for blue if you didn’t know you were still in Hell. Rows of pews stretched so far that you could barely see the altar from your position in the back.  

For the entire week, you would follow the sisters into the cathedral and watch as they prayed. It was an interesting sight, watching the nuns gather around Sister Alastor, who led the prayer; as though they were praying to him rather than with him. You weren’t familiar with the practice, so you had no comparison to draw it to. All you knew was that you longed to appease him, to earn his grace somehow so that you might also earn your place beneath him, feel the firmness of his crimson gaze hold you down. 

You frown. Have you always been so pathetic? Your memories were already starting to fuzz. 

Now you sit on your borrowed bed, with nothing much to do but play with the skin of your hand and think of ebony cloth, red eyes, and sharp smiles. 

Perhaps you could get up and see what the others are doing. They had all been polite, albeit distant; you’re familiar with the way people formed cliques, and it was clear there was some sort of history you weren’t aware of. Only one seemed to be particularly not fond of you. The one with a TV for a head, whose headpiece strained comically over his screen - Sister Vox. You recall the way you stood awkwardly next to Sister Alastor, in nothing but your own flesh as he sneered at you from across the room; seemingly already angry with you despite you having done nothing.

You exhale, brushing your fingers through tangled hair as you propel yourself onto your tired feet. In a way, the greatest Hell was not your punishment, but rather the realization that there would never be rest, even after death.

You pop the door open gently and decide to do some exploring, not sure of where to start looking. The halls were empty, so you pushed open the brass door at the end of it, stepping out into a carefully arranged garden, the many rows of fruits somewhat difficult to identify from Hell’s red light casting onto their surfaces. 

“Oooh! A lady!”

You lower your stare to the tiny one-eyed girl tending to the plants, the resident cleaner, gardener, and… bug-enthusiast. All the sisters were tidy and cleaned well, but Niffty was particularly active in ensuring the place was several steps beyond spotless. You snort, somewhat amused that she forgot your identity yet again. 

“Hey Niffty. It’s me, remember? I was just helping you with the garden yesterday.”

Her single eye widens, pupil dilating like a cat’s. “Ohhhh right. You’re the new lady!” The impish girl giggles.

“That’s right! Mind if I joined you for a while?”

“Ok! I’m just going to catch some BUGS!!” She kneels, manically pulling at an earthworm stuck in the garden’s dirt. “Come. On. Get out. Get out!”

You smile, watching as she tries in vain to tug out the little wriggling creature. Nifty was the only resident you could somewhat converse with, as she didn’t have the same strange distance the others seemed to hold around them. Perhaps because she wasn’t a sister at all. When you asked her what she was, if not a nun, she had replied that she was working here simply because she wanted to. 

You knelt beside her, picking up her task of watering the tomatoes while she was distracted. In life, you had been a chatterbug, riding on the waves of attention you got from your designer clothes, hooked on the arm of a wealthy man you didn’t love. You trace a finger on a velvet leaf, admiring the way it snapped back to position the moment you let go. But in death… you found the quiet so welcoming, that you wondered why you never stopped to enjoy it. 

You mindlessly pluck at a weed. 

“If it isn’t our guest! What are you doing on the floor?” You look up, to see Sister Vox grinning down at you. 

“She’s helping me!” You’re surprised when it’s Niffty who pipes up, having expected her to already forget what you were there for. 

He ignores her, holding out a hand.

After some initial suspicion, you hesitantly take it, dusting off your borrowed clothes. 

He lets go of you before you can fully stand, distaste clear in his eyes at having to make contact with you. You stumble a bit but manage to catch yourself, shooting a half-confused, half-annoyed look in his direction. 

“What are you doing here in the garden? Could I… help you?”

Despite his religious clothing, the cat-like tilt of his eyes and sleek grin felt more like the practiced expression of a conniving businessman than that of a genuine sister. You didn’t trust him. And you also had no idea what he was here for, when none of the sisters had initiated any conversation with you. 

“I was working on the garden with Niffty, like she just said.”

“Right, right.” 

“So no, I don’t need help. Do you need help with something…?” 

His grin turns sly. “That’s alright. I was just thinking, we haven’t gotten to know each other at all, hmm?” 

You unconsciously lean away from him. “Yeah. I figured you and the others weren’t interested in getting to know me.” You briefly smile for the sake of manners, before making a path to his left and attempting to side-step him; but he grabs your arm, with enough strength to make you yelp in slight pain. 

“Hey! Bad man!” Niffty interrupts your exchange, raising her shovel to stab at his ankle; but he dodges her, plucking the tiny girl off his leg and tossing her aside. 

Any hope you had of her success ends when he points toward a distant patch of dirt, exclaiming, “Looks like there’s a lot of bugs in there!,” which sends the tiny girl scurrying, screaming “Where?”

He turns his attention back on you. “Back to what I was saying! You’re new, aren’t you? You must be wondering all about this place.”

“Sister Alastor has been helpful in providing me with information.” 

He laughs, waving his hand in the air. “Of course he has! But as I’m sure you noticed, there are plenty of secrets about this place. Sister Alastor doesn’t allow electronics, you know. And I get to work around that rule because my head has a search engine.”

“That’s… uh, good for you, I guess. I’m fine, though.” You tug at your arm again, attempting to loosen it from his hold.

“I insist! Trust me, I have all the information you could possibly need.” He sneaks a hand to your lower back, turning you around while you’re distracted by his words. “Aren't you curious about what sort of things he’s hiding from you?”

…Yes. But not from this guy.  

“So what do you say? You could ask me anything at all.”

He was asking you for permission, though the still firm grasp on your arm told you there was no real choice. You sigh, trying not to appear too displeased. “...Alright…wait, where are we going?” 

Sister Vox had resumed walking, turning heel and making his way back down the way you came from. “It’s best if we talk in a more private space. I wouldn’t want anything here interrupting. You know how the demons in Hell are.” 

You think of how crude the sinners who first attacked you were, and wonder if the others in Sister Alastor’s convent were also capable of such degeneracy. “Ok… not for long, though. I still want to help Niffty with the garden.” You say that more to yourself than him, trying to calm your instincts that were rapidly firing off red flags.

“Naturally, I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time.” 

He’s a nun, after all, he should’ve taken vows, he wouldn’t hurt you. 

The walk from the garden to the nuns’ cloister felt horribly wrong. As does the entire place, you think, stepping cautiously after him. Their weirdly mysterious schedules felt wrong, the prayers they sang were pure in a mechanical sense, as though nobody believed the words they were singing; the cathedral looked wrong cast in red, and, now that you thought of it, the sisters’ kinship was more of a cult than a clique. 

The only thing that didn’t feel wrong - or rather, did feel wrong, but felt equal parts right - was the figure at the center of it all, the nun whose promises you truly did want to believe in. When you peer off the center, to the ones worshiping below, your gut only burns with wariness.

The two of you stop before a room - his, you presumed. “After you then.” He gestures to the open doorway. 

You pause for only a moment, out of some remnant of self-preservation; until, ironically, his impatient glare is what sends you scurrying inside. Any questions you might’ve had were long gone, you just wanted to ask him whatever to get it over with.

I should’ve called for Sister Alastor, you think with slight panic as you hear the noise of the door clicking shut. Something in your chest whines at the thought of his reaction, his lips stretched into a grin as his eyes stare down at you with disappointment. 

The sound of Sister Vox’s footsteps near behind you is the equivalent of a shark circling its prey on land. You rack your brain for any question at all. 

“How long have you been a nun?” 

“Fifty years.” 

“O-Oh that’s a long time.”

He closes the curtain, keeping an eye on you the whole time. You’re left in darkness, cautiously watching his flickering screen of a head, the only source of light in the room. 

You swallow. “How did you get to know Sister Alast-.”

Your sentence gets cut off as a palm roughly pushes at your back, forcing you to land on scuffed knees. Before you could even attempt to comprehend what had happened, you felt a hand encircle your neck, cutting off your breath while furious laughter rang behind you. 

“You’re even dumber than you look.”   

“What are you do-?” His hand tightens on your neck, and your voice trails off into a squashed squeal.

“Let me make one thing clear to you.” He hisses. You could feel the heat emanating from his screen this close. “Whatever you feel for Sister Alastor, forget about it.” 

He twists you around, leaning closer until the surface of his screen is pressed angrily against your own rather feverish skin. “I know what you think! You’re new to Hell, all lost and disoriented, and here comes a nun who promises to guide your corrupt soul to salvation.”

You gag heavily, bits of spit hitting the edges of your lips as he grips your neck with such vigor, that your eyes reflexively become vitreous with a sheen of tears. You could see nothing but his glaring blue screen between bouts of blackness in vision. 

“You think he cares for you? That he’s interested in anything else but raising his own status? Ah, yes, Sister Alastor, the sweet altruistic nun who’s just so interested in the problems of an ordinary, lowly sinner.” He’s speaking eagerly now, the sharpness of his teeth nicking against your nose with every other syllable. “That’s what you are!”

Out of self-defense, you align the hard part of your knee with his crotch, and jerk it up, hard. 

He screams, the noise surprisingly girlish; though you couldn’t tell if that was part of the ringing in your ears. 

“U-urg–h-. What the fuck?” Your voice comes out awfully scratchy. 

You clamber sloppily to the door then, not waiting a second to get out of there. Sister Alastor - you had to find him, let him know that one of his nuns was crazy! 

You didn’t even get two steps forward when his claw encircled your ankle, dragging you down onto the ground with him. “Let me go, you’re insa-!”

“NO!” You’re taken aback at the utter desperation tainting his voice, whipping your head to see his screen glitching at an alarming rate, all sorts of expressions flickering on his face. 

“You’ve no idea how FUCKING LONG it took, for ME to get HIM-.” Pixelated hearts dot his screen, each one of them cracking in two as they fall to the bottom. “TO NOTICE ME! To just FUCKING LOOK AT ME!” 

He grabs at your neck again, before you can dodge his advances, and shimmies your face right up to his. “You think I’m gonna let you stay here and take what’s mine?” 

You refuse to fall unconscious now, weakly tugging at his arms with your hands, digging your nails into his skin. He’s absolutely unrelenting in his assault. Finally, as you gather enough spit to expel at his screen, his grip loosens enough for you to speak - “I’m not here to take anything!”

“LIAR!”

“I’m not lying!” You’re raising your voice now as well, although nowhere as loud as his. “I just met him today! I-I can’t leave, I don’t know where else to go! He’s going to help cleanse me of my sins, that’s all!” 

“Oh yeah? You want to be relieved of your ‘sins’ so badly?” He’s grinning like a lunatic. No, he is a lunatic! “Why don’t I help you instead of Sister Alastor?” 

What?

A rough sensation encompassing your breast made you realize, with horror, that he was groping them. “I’ll relieve you of your sins if you promise to leave this place, and never come back.”

You were growing faint from his chokehold, and this time, you weren’t sure you would stay conscious. Something heated and slimy licks its way up your face, and an all-consuming nausea grips you from the inside, as your heart palpitates faster and faster, trying to outrun a reaper you felt destined to lose to. 

You’re horrified as you realize you might have no choice but to endure his assault, your hands falling listless to your side as they pointlessly brush at his insulting limbs, unable to lessen his savage grip. A sheen of humidity coats your neck where his breath hovers and you shrink in revulsion, imagining something infesting your skin where he touched it.

“...Trust me, you’ll never get what you’re looking for from him.” 

What is he even saying?  

His head had turned double in your vision, his smile mocking you.

Please, don’t. You struggle pointlessly against his hold, as pathetic tears pooled in your eyes for the second time since you landed in Hell. This is Hell, you realized. Where every moving thing was a potential hazard, regardless of their appearance. You had no way of finding out what kind of cruel fiend they had been when alive. 

There is no need for the dead to breathe, but your mind still concludes that you’re suffocating. What a strange way to die a second time; a reaction to some missing mechanism you didn’t technically need to exist. 

Was there nobody you could depend on? 

“That looks like a no to me!” 

Sister Vox carelessly releases you, and you immediately gulp in big breaths of air. From the corner of your still-recuperating vision, you spot a slim figure clothed in black towering over your fallen form. You’ve been saved, yet again.  

The room sways, and you feel as though you’re floating; the need to find an anchor has never been so strong. You whimper, dragging yourself by your nails toward the figure, who seems to be in the middle of scolding the other, though you find it difficult to focus on their words. You put one distorted palm in front of the other, and the other…

“.....lastor She’s filthy! I could see the way she looked at you, she can’t be in a holy place like this! Wh…” 

If you had two hands, then what were the other four limbs moving alongside your body? You poke at one, and it moves away from you like a ghostly apparition.

“...when I looked at you that way, it was ‘disgusting,’ but when SHE does it’s ok? WHY? Have you ever thought, that maybe I…” 

After what seemed like a lifetime of effort, you finally made it to the figure, who stood a ways from Sister Vox. You reach out, making a rough estimation of where his legs are, and throw your arms around them, curling the rest of your phantasmal body around his solid form. 

The effect is immediate; you feel as though you’ve been sedated, in a pleasant way. The room felt a little less shaky when you were holding onto him. You shut your eyelids to help settle your stomach, then breathe in deep - you’re hit with the soft, mildly spicy scent of hyacinths, then as you sink your face further into the cotton ebony material, a deep, musky scent of wood. It deeply pleases your restless soul, and you settle there, feeling safe in the touch of your savior. 

Something vibrates against your cheek; and you realize it’s his voice - Sister Alastor’s - that thrummed all the way down from his chest to your body. 

“Look what you’ve done to the poor girl! Now Sister Vox, this is hardly a new topic of discussion between us. Haven’t I warned you plenty of times before to keep your temper in check?”

You nearly purr as a large hand comes down to caress your head, gentle but firm. The other nun’s voice, Sister Vox, is noisy and irksome in comparison. He sounds distressed. “I-I know Sister Alastor, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I just- I really- I lov-.”

Oh, I see.

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that!”

“No-.”

“You made a vow of celibacy, Sister Vox. And of obedience, and kindness toward others, though it seems you failed to follow through with any pledge. You know what that means, don’t you?” The air pops with static, the noise threatening, like the hiss of a viper preparing to strike; but you only snuggle closer to its source, which was still petting you reassuringly as though nothing had happened. You were safe. The target of his poison wasn’t you. 

“You don’t mean that, do you?” He laughs in disbelief. “It’s true, I have f-screwed up many times, but you’ve always forgiven me! What’s changed this time? It’s her, isn’t it? Sister Alastor, don’t tell me… you actually favor this thing?” 

“Ha! Don’t be ridiculous, Sister Vox. I am a creature of celibacy, just as you are supposed to be. You dug your own grave by failing to adhere to your sacred vows. Do not try to blame your own incompetence on an innocent passerby, if you have any remaining respect for your role as a Sister.” But…  you wanted to be favored by him. Perhaps one day. 

“Ok, I get it! I’m wrong! Sister Alastor, please…” Was that a sniffle you heard? His voice cracked, as though he were expecting something horrid to come. “Please. I should’ve obeyed my vows. I shouldn’t have done that to her!”

“I have turned a blind eye to your wrongdoing enough times. Rest well tonight, and know that by tomorrow, I will have you transferred to Sister Rosie’s convent.” 

Slender limbs swoop down to collect your crumpled frame into a hard chest. Your heart quickens embarrassingly fast, the odd blend of his motherly yet masculine scent sending your thoughts spiraling. “I’ll tend to our guest now-.” He cups your cheek in his hand. “-You gave her quite the fright there.” 

“Alastor! Please. I beg you. Please don’t do this to me.” 

You had half a mind to feel bad for the sister who had fallen to the floor on his knees, having lost all his dignity and bravado, reduced to nothing but a desperate beggar. You lean your cheek into Sister Alastor’s hand, notice his stance; and you feel powerful, wrongfully so. Powerful because a nun was lowered in prayer to a being he revered, while you laid elevated in that being’s arms. Wrong, because that might’ve been the very feeling that led you into Hell. 

You look away. 

“Sister Vox, I implore you to not take it personally! You have come here to devote yourself to the cathedral, not me.”. 

He truly left the room then, his long steps creating a rather soothing rhythm that swayed you side to side. Much like a lullaby, though the childhood innocence of that melody had been replaced with a much more sinister tune. Sister Vox’s sobs echo down the halls of the cloister, until they grow distant enough to be nothing more than a small buzz in your ear. You tune the remaining noise out.

Sister Alastor’s steps felt more like gliding. The only sign he was indeed walking was the force each step sent to your body, each jolt sending a shiver up your spine. You let yourself relax into him, as you tried to make pressing your face into the cloth of his habit look like an accident.

“Well that must’ve been terrible! On your first day in Hell too. It’s unfortunate, but some demons truly cannot be redeemed, no matter how long they’ve prayed.” His voice disrupts the steady flow of static humming in his throat, and you momentarily turn your face to peer at him. 

“How did you know to come find me?” You let yourself hope, for a second, that it was somewhat like destiny; how nice it would be, to have somebody tethered to you so deeply they would always get you when danger came and shrouded you with that despicable helpless feeling. How nice it would be to have Sister Alastor protect you forever.

“One of the sisters warned me of a loud scream coming from Sister Vox’s room, which embarrassingly occurs more often than you’d expect,” he casually explains.

…Oh.

“Does he find it difficult to control his temper?”

He laughs, brow quirking as though entertained by your question. “Something of that sort! Some demons were originally not so terrible, then went searching for redemption and lost sight of their purpose.” 

“Is that… What's happening with Sister Vox?”

“Indeed! Smart girl.” He taps your head with two sharp claws, eyelids lowering as his gleaming grin relaxes into more of a soft smile. The touch from his nail makes your scalp buzz, sending a bolt of heat down from your scalp to your body. “But don’t let his progress deter you! Just as many sinners have cleansed themselves of filth through repeated prayer, and have become genuinely devoted to their cause!”

He gestures in front of you, and you realize that he’s arrived at your door. You reluctantly let yourself down from his hold, immediately missing the warmth of his arms.

“Then I bid you goodnight for now, dear sinner.” 

You’re unable to look away, gaze stuck on his unreadable expression, longing to grasp onto him and do something absolutely humiliating, such as begging him to stay the night. He might agree. Before you could, he turned around, the bottom of his dress swishing. 

“Go on now, you must rest before the morning!” 

You shut the door, finally collapsing on the mattress way too firm for your liking. But it’ll do, for a body as exhausted as yours. You shut your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

…Except it doesn’t. You groan in frustration, being well-acquainted with insomnia and its way of keeping your mind wide awake while your body aches to rest. For the next hour, you roll around, adjusting any part of your environment that bothered you - tearing off your borrowed dress, moving your pillow aside, sleeping on your left then your right. 

Then at last you give up on adjusting your surroundings, admitting that it was the thoughts whirling in your mind that kept you up.

You weren’t a believer whilst alive, you didn’t put your faith in any God. Some turned to religion in times of desperation, and chose to put their fate in the hands of the almighty; but you turned to material possessions instead, and firmly thought there was no problem too great that money couldn’t solve. And now, while you haven’t exactly changed your mind, you find your thoughts relentlessly drifting back to him, twice now having stood tall over your folded body, the crackles in his voice a siren's call you couldn’t not hear.

Your eyes couldn’t find physical proof of the divine, and your mind couldn’t process your abrupt shift in value; but your body tucked into itself obediently, as though it instinctively knew it wanted to worship him.

…It was ridiculous. Disrespectful, how your wretched mind polluted such an act of purity.

Still, you toss and turn, unable to rid yourself of the urge.

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It’s difficult to describe the atmosphere in Hell. The airflow is practically nonexistent, although you do not feel suffocated. In fact, as a reminder from your close encounter with Sister Vox, you don't need to breathe at all; but you could, if you so choose to, still inhale and exhale - almost as though time had frozen everywhere, but each individual element of the landscape could still move about as they normally would. 

So you don’t feel cold when you tiptoe out of your room, avoiding the telltale bumps of creaky floorboards as you make your way to the exit; but you shiver anyway, perhaps purely from the memory of sleepless nights you spent walking the streets from when you were still alive.

And now you’re dead, but your muscles still strain with the effort to not be heard, your eyes still dart about to check for signs of danger possibly lurking around the building, your heart still quickens in anxiety at the thought of being caught, though you weren’t trying to hide from anybody in particular… were you?

You briefly wonder whether those automated bodily functions would eventually come to fade when you’ve become accustomed to death. 

This part of Hell was surprisingly quiet, in contrast to the nightmare you first landed in. You find yourself lost in its silence, which feels neither peaceful nor safe; but you relax into it anyway, for lack of a better source of comfort. 

You snap out of your inner thoughts when you hear the soft, haunting melody of a choir; you lift your head, and you’re met with the familiar sight of the cathedral.

The stone doors loom over you expectantly, luring you to grip onto its handle. There are still others awake at this hour?, you think as you tug with your whole body’s strength to get the heavy door moving. The hinges make a despaired screeching noise as they release from their frame. The choir rises in volume when you open the door, though eerily enough, you find nobody singing inside.

Your footsteps start as a soft ping on the tile floor, then blow up tenfold from the sheer size of the room. They sound like lonely drums to the suspenseful invisible choir, melancholic but enigmatic. You walk down the aisle, closing your eyes to savor the haunting tune until…

…Your face stings, as though somebody’s stare was burning you. You look up to find Lucifer’s teary eye pointing down, and you follow his gaze to the altar, where an isolated figure kneels on the top step. Red light shimmered through the multicolored windows, casting a halo around him. His back was turned, but his bent elbows signified that he must be clasping his palms in prayer. 

It seems you were mistaken, and there was a source for the beautiful melody after all. Up close, bits and pieces of the song he hummed audibly glitched, as though the phantom extra voices in his choir were composed of several radios playing simultaneously, with him at the core. He must’ve heard you come in by now. But what was he doing up so late? Come to think of it, you’ve never seen him head to his room, when bedtime came and all the other sisters went to sleep. 

“Sister Alastor?” Your voice comes out hushed, afraid to disrupt the almost divine sight in front of you. 

He doesn’t reply, and you stand quietly to the side, simply admiring the sharp angle of his face. You should look away, but you don’t. You were afraid of being scolded, but some part of you felt compelled to stare at him until he opened his lidded eyes, which would narrow down at you to reprimand, but ultimately be forgiving. 

Indeed, you wanted the sweetness of redemption that could only be savored as the after-meal dessert to a heaping plate of bitter punishment. 

It takes you a moment that he really is peering back at you now, and not as part of your fantasy. His grin is as sharp as ever when he stands, slowly making his way to your figure at the bottom of the steps. 

“Were you unable to sleep, dear sinner?” 

You swallow to ease the dryness of your throat. “Yeah. I was just taking a walk, to clear my thoughts.” 

Up close, his gaze is too intense to hold, and you find yourself staring at his chest instead. “And what sort of sinful thoughts could be torturing your mind at this hour of the night?”

“I don’t know, just thoughts. Thoughts of the whole fiasco with Sister Vox, I guess. And…” Your face flushes further. “And just about why I got into Hell. I’ve been wondering what type of sin I committed.” 

“Hmmm, and you can’t think of a single wrongdoing you’ve done?” You jolt, heart racing as his voice buzzes right beside your ear. “Not a single crime you might’ve committed?”

You pause in contemplation. The answer was right at your tongue, yet… a lump forms in your throat, but you push, determined to get your words across. “Well I’ve never done anything wrong outright. But I guess… I might’ve been too greedy in life.” 

“Oh?” His voice tastes just like a purr. “Do tell me, what sort of dreadful pleasure was a modest little thing like you greedy for?” 

“I was greedy for wealth. E-Especially new clothes, jewelry, shoes. I didn’t mean to.” The syllables were rushing out of you now, and you hurried forward, determined to keep speaking until you expelled the one truth you genuinely wanted to say. “I was born into a poor family. My mother was gone by the time I turned 12, and my father soon grew ill. I had no choice but to make money for the both of us, and I did, but it wasn’t enough. And I was getting tired.” 

“How pitiful!” 

Even while his words stung, you still wanted to hear more. So you kept going. “There was a wealthy man who showed up to my college campus. He complimented my eyes. How cliche, right? I didn’t like him from the start. But I was tired, and I thought he was a good opportunity. And once I got some, I wanted more. I became greedy. I-I stopped talking to my father, aside from the monthly payment I’d lend him. Because I was too busy spending.”

You lift your head to look at him, heart pulsing faster as you realize that his gaze is as steady as ever. “That must be my sin, right? I was a greedy, horrible daughter.” 

You eagerly search his face for signs of praise, a hint that you have answered correctly. Instead, his eyes slit further, his mouth closing into a closed-lip grin; he was amused at your attempt, but you weren’t entirely there. 

“Something tells me that wasn’t your only sin!” His voice turns singsongy as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as he gesticulates with his other hand. “There must be something else, something that is so shameful you are unable to even admit to yourself. Try again, dear sinner.” 

You rummage through your brain, pausing and scrutinizing every possible mistake you’ve ever made. “Once when I was 12, I rode my bike over a squirrel. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t see it.” 

“Surely you can think of something more depraved?” He examines his nails, looking bored at your attempts. You begin to grow frustrated. 

“I picked my neighbor’s lock when I was 7. I just wanted to try it out since I read how to do so in a book. I screamed at my mother sometimes. I stole a pencil from my high school once.” He looks at you expectantly. You inhale, already out of ideas. “I don’t know! I really don’t! I just want to be rid of it, whatever my great sin is!” You continue, riding on the momentum of your exasperation. “I want to pray beside you, Sister Alastor. I want to put my faith in God.”

The fidgety motion of his nails comes to a stop. “You wish to pray beside me? How noble of you!” You hold your breath as he cups your chin, the tip of his claw scratching a nerve pleasurably, causing your eyes to water as you attempt to keep your stare on him. His palm flashes cold and hot on your feverish chin. 

“For sinners, worship holds an entirely different meaning! We have all come to this place because in one way or another, knowingly or not, we’ve disobeyed the word of God.” 

He’s guided you away from the altar now, headed toward some place you couldn’t bother to pay attention to. “Some of us choose to pray for forgiveness, and do indeed want to redeem ourselves in the eyes of God. Others of us no longer want to put our faith in God, but rather come here simply to pray to something.”

Your legs weaken again, your head lightening at an alarming pace at the seemingly consistent dizzying effect he had on you. “And why do you think that is?” You croak out your words.

“Why would any sinner pray for anything? For the pure fulfillment of thinking they aren’t alone in their wickedness! That somewhere, there is still something that will receive their decrepit prayer.” 

He steps behind you. 

“That there is still something above them…” A sharp-tipped finger knocks at the underside of your chin, forcing your eyes onto him, the one above. “...Something they can surrender themselves to, and still be accepted as they are.” A small, submissive, choke leaves your lips. He’s not at all deterred, as though he already knew your filthy thoughts and was expecting them. “So that they can continue sinning, all while believing somebody will answer their prayers regardless of the wretched grime that they are.”

You're fully shivering now, desperately pushing yourself against him to feel something, anything, answer the prayer that ached between your thighs. He laughs, the sound echoing across the empty space of the church and infiltrating your innards.

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.”

Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly. 

Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired at this point that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it.

His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks.

“I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.” 

He licks lazily at the pulse on your neck. It thrums erratically, as he begins to answer your unspoken question. “It’s obvious in your appearance, though you try to hide it. There’s a way those burdened by lust walk, all clenched tight. It’s in the way they talk, as though they’ve lost their rationality in favor of the all-consuming desire…”

The sharp teeth of his grin ghosts over your skin. “...to fuck.”

You’re caught off guard as the nun utters that dirty word, an open-mouthed moan leaving your lips before you can stop it. His nails graze your hardened nipples through the sheer fabric of your nightgown, that he had personally lent to you. He continues. “I can smell it too! But why settle for that when I could choose to taste it?” 

There’s no amount of mental preparation you can do for the feeling of his teeth slicing through your neck easy as butter, the odd angle making you lax like a prey in the jaws of a hunter, having fallen for his irresistible trap of allurement. You let out a defeated whimper, wounded and small. A whisper of a growl rumbles at his throat (add more, smth about how you shamelessly push into him) - but all too quickly, he’s pulled away. What - no! Come back!

You hopelessly thumb the place where his teeth were, already aching for his mouth again.  Impatient frustration brews in your gut. “What-where are you going?” Your desire overrides embarrassment, driving you to tug at the cloth of his habit. “I thought you were going to relieve me of my sin?”

He laughs once, the sound sharp - and humiliating, even more so when he rejects your touch and pushes your hand off his clothing. “Now, now, I hope you weren’t expecting anything when you went wandering out at night, lost and seeking warmth like a little doe.”

Was it a trick? You could’ve sworn that you heard his breath hitch when he held you from the back and that as you pressed yourself onto him, there was evidence that he, too, wanted you. No, he wouldn’t trick you. 

“Remember dear, good things come to those who wait!” He hums sweetly at your expression, which must’ve been confused and crestfallen. “And such a heavy sin takes time to resolve!” 

Or was it that you misread the situation? Ah, that must be it. Of course, you had! He was a nun! Just as you’ve been reminding yourself since the beginning! Why would he be thinking of such a thing in the first place? You must be more affected by your sin than you originally thought, to think such a dirty thing while in the arms of holiness. 

And just like that, the bubble bursts, leaving you scrambled, completely out of breath, and outrageously needy while Sister Alastor walks toward the double doors, the perfect image of sacred composure. 

You breathe deeply, smearing the sweat of your palms on your clothing, trying to gather yourself. This couldn’t go on. You must cleanse your sins so that you can stand properly below him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks into your new life in Hell, the dreams began. 

Ever since Sister Alastor enlightened you on your sin, you’ve been actively avoiding it. 

Lust. 

You still recall how sinful the word sounded on his lips, how you had gone back to bed that night all too hot and bothered. And how you laid awake for hours, afraid to go to sleep lest you betray his words and dream of something lustful. 

You managed to ward off sleep for two weeks, given that the dead really didn’t need sleep. But keeping up with the rest of the sisters’ rigorous schedule, and the fact that each interaction with Sister Alastor sent your entire body into overdrive, was wearing on your energy. You didn’t need sleep, but you were tired. And the only way you knew to rid yourself of tiredness was to sleep. 

So it was inevitable that one day you would lay down to rest, heavy head sunken into your pillow as you promised yourself not to fall asleep - you were only going to close your eyes a few moments for the reprieve. Then you were lost to your dreams, which does indeed end in debauchery. 

It begins innocently enough, taking place in the very same room you fell asleep so that you couldn’t even tell your reality had shifted to imagination. You were staring up at your ceiling, reflecting upon your newly found cause of sin, when there was a knock at your door. 

You dragged yourself off the bed to answer the door. Sister Alastor stood on the other side, grinning down at you as he gestured for you to step out. 

 “Come now, you’ll be late to the ceremony!” He starts walking down the hallway, and you hurry after him, almost tripping over the length of your nightgown as you race to catch up to his long legs. 

“What ceremony?” You rub the sleep from your eyes, glad that somebody had interrupted you before you could fall asleep (oh if only you knew). 

“To our ceremony, of course!” 

“Huh? We’re getting married?” Well, he was a nun so that was out of the question, but really you couldn’t fathom what else he meant by our ceremony.

He laughs. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, dear sinner! Rather, today is the day we finally ease you of your sins. You’ve been eager for it, I’m sure.” 

You nod, more awake than ever now. “Yes! Yes, Sister Alastor, I want to be pure.” You breathe a sigh of relief; all the weeks in Hell questioning your reason for being there, feeling dirty next to the untainted sisters, would finally end. Today was the day your sin of Lust would be lifted, allowing you to stand beside Sister Alastor without those sorts of thoughts. 

He led you to the doors of the cathedral, which truly was becoming familiar to you at this point. Inside, you walk down the aisle, trying to control your pace. You don’t want to appear too eager, just because you intuitively worry that might bother him. 

He steps up to the altar, and, to your surprise, stretches out a hand as though to invite you up with him. Ah, that’s right, he had said our ceremony. You beam, excitedly offering up your hand, which he takes firmly and pulls next to him. 

And that was the line where the innocence of your dream ended, while its true corrupted nature showed itself. 

You can’t tear your eyes away as he trails his lengthy fingers over the top of his headpiece, moving to unfasten it. Oh my. Oh my…whoever. Panic starts to rise as the veil is loosened from his head, revealing a mess of crimson hair that starts in black at its bottom, and ends in two pointed ears at the top; ears that you could see the silhouette of through his headpiece - but you had no idea they were the same alluring red as the rest of his hair. You want, badly, to tug on them. He continues speaking, casually, as though he weren’t a nun stripping his clothes in front of a tainted sinner with a deeply perverted mind. 

“Poor girl, you must’ve been waiting a long time.” 

The nuns around you had their heads bowed in prayer, not a single one daring to peer at the two of you. He scoops you up, and you revel in the delightful feeling of weightlessness, of having to carry no burden, for everything that was heavy had been lifted by him. 

Half of your mind thought it was strange, that he might perform a forbidden act with pride in public, while the other half convinced you that this was the normal you were kept from all along. He rests his veil on the floor with one hand, the other helping lean your body against the altar.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hands on the sides of your nightgown, pushing up the material inch by inch. This was not an act of perversion, but an artful performance. He, the subject of your mind’s masterpiece, tilts closer; this was a different kind of art, where the painting had taken control of the artist.

His nails drag across the divots of your body as he tugs the nightgown up and over your head. You were bare as the day you were born, bare as the day he found you, vulnerable and about to be eaten alive. But he saved you then, he saved you from Sister Vox, and he’s going to save you now, by relieving your lust once and for all. 

A soft noise catches your attention then; and without even looking, you become aware that the nuns beneath you had started singing. The sound of violins pierce the air, along with the hiss of static. The orchestra is coming from the radios, you realize. Just like that night when you found him alone in the cathedral. Finally, he was going to give you what you needed. 

Lust crawls up your body like a snake, whispering something ugly in your ear. Your eyes close, feeling the heat of his breath near, his gloved hands brushing over your hardened nipples… then past, across your back. You crack your eyes open to see a very real snake coiled around your neck, and your mouth part in a half-moan half-scream. He shushes you, a lithe finger pressing against your soft lips. It’s then that you notice how strangely his pupils glinted. They were a ruby blood red as usual, but the blurred circumference of an orange circle reflected across them. Your head tilts back as he licks a trail across your chest and over the snake cutting off your airflow, until your gaze is parallel with… did Hell always have a sun? 

“...Darling, your hand.” 

You refocus your attention on him, who clutches your smaller hand gently, so delicately that you don’t notice where he's taking it until your fingers are right beneath the jaw of the snake. You widen your eyes nervously, but his stable composure relaxes you. Perhaps this was part of the ceremony. The snake hooks its fangs onto your ring finger, and bites. 

The bite was soft, and painless. Sister Alastor widens his grin, as though saying, I told you it would be fine! 

Then his hands grope at the skin of your thighs, parting them so that he could insert himself at your center. You feel your hole clench, lifting your hips to meet his thrust. 

“Are you ready, my dear?”

Then before you could fearfully whisper yes, let your breath brush over the snake which was choking you increasingly hard with regained vigor from your blood, and look up to see his expression - would he appear pleasured? Or would he look composed, the same as always, lowering himself to the sexual act only for the sake of saving you from it?

You had no chance to find out when your eyes snapped open, the scene dissipating as you shifted back to reality. The touch of his firm grip still echoed on your body, the stinging scales of the snake shaping a ring of ghostly pain around your neck. 

You’re horribly disappointed at first; then you snap to your senses, panicking, as you push yourself into a seated position and give a quick comb through your hair before running to the door to answer the very real knocks. Thank goodness the knocks had woken you up! Who knows what other perverted things you would’ve dreamt of? 

You opened the door to find Sister Maria, the nun residing in the room next to yours. “It’s time for supper,” she courteously informs you.

This wouldn’t happen again, you promised yourself as you followed her to the garden, where a table of hot meals was already set out. You were going to stay awake as long as possible, until you’ve fully ensured your purity.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months into your afterlife, and you had dreamt a similar scenario many times, one where a guileless beginning would turn to an ending where Sister Alastor would embrace you sinfully, his hardness buried deep into your wanton walls. Then you would awaken, inner thighs uncomfortably sticky with the evidence of your depravity, as you shamefully make your way to clean up so that you could get dressed, and greet the sisters in the cathedral to pray alongside them, your mind burdened with guilt; every word you spoke, every note you sang felt an impure lie.

You’ve begun to avoid him; after every prayer, song, and meal, you would make excuses to hurry back to your room. You’d say you were tired, that you were still adjusting to the pace they lived at. Not that any of them would notice. In fact, it was just the opposite, and they were all too happy you were leaving early. 

But you could feel the weight of his stare as you left, its gaze so intense you had half a mind to check for red stains on your back. You wanted to turn around and collapse back into his arms, to show him all your sins and hear his forgiveness, if not for the crushing fear of rejection weighing densely in your mind.

It was an accident, the day you finally spoke to him. 

All of the sisters had left early that day, for the excuse of preparing some extravagant meal. You hurry back with them, engaging in conversation with Sister Elaine, who you had practically never spoken to, in fear of Sister Alastor catching you free. It was an accident, because how were you to know that Sister Elaine had forgotten her readings at the cathedral? She had requested you go find it, because she was the main cook amongst all the sisters and had to get to the cloister first. So you ran to the cathedral, chanting to yourself that all you were going to do was grab her readings, which you yourself had never read, and then run right back. If you were lucky, Sister Alastor wouldn’t be there at all.

To your luck, he was indeed gone - or so you thought. As you’re scouring your eyes over the benches, searching for a sign of her belongings; a familiar static-filled voice greets you from the back. 

“My dear sinner! Have you forgotten something?” 

Your heart skips a beat when he addresses you as his, though you forbid yourself from thinking further. “No, Sister Elaine forgot to take her readings.”

“Did she now? That’s certainly… not good.” 

“Yeah-.” 

You collide into his chest when you try to leave, making a little “oomph” sound. “I have to get the readings back to Sister Elaine.” You quickly mutter your excuse, but he doesn’t budge an inch. Anxiety starts wrapping its spindly fingers around your chest, threatening to squeeze when the seconds tick by and he still doesn't move. 

“What are you in such a hurry for? It’s been a while since we last conversed, hasn’t it?” He bends his head to your level, grinning knowingly like how an adult might scold a child for lying. “Could it be that you’re hiding something from me?”

Your will to resist weakens with each word he speaks, and you curse yourself for agreeing to retrieve Sister Elaine’s readings. “I-.” Fuck. You couldn’t lie. “I might be.” 

If feeling charitable was your first mistake, admitting that he might be right was your next. Now he was sure to ask another, then another, until you’ve entirely poured out your heart; then he would know every sinful dream you’ve had, every wrong way you’ve looked at him. Would it finally be too much for him to forgive? 

He scratches leisurely at your head, and if you could purr, you would. 

“It isn’t good to keep sinful thoughts to yourself, my dear!” His grin turns sly. “Disgrace grows much faster when left to ruminate in a single sinner’s mind.” 

His hand comes to rest on the side of your jaw. “Do tell me, what has been troubling you lately?”

And as usual, the ambiguous tone of his voice is so alluring, so full of promise that perhaps, he will be understanding; that you cave in and speak without meaning to. “I-I actually do have something to confess.” 

“Hmmmm?” His eyes tempt you to go on, and so you do.

“I’ve been having dirty thoughts.” Your face is a furnace as you continue. “And dreams. But I really didn’t mean to!” You bite your lip, unsure of how to continue.

“Dear, have you heard of confessing?” He notices the confusion in your eyes and carries on. “It is the idea that by admitting all your sins, that alone might lessen the burden inside you.” 

He walks to a bench, and then, seats himself on it. You were free to leave… but you couldn’t. He gestures at you with a single hooked digit, and your feet release from their glue-like bind to the tile floor, scurrying to sit beside him. The heat of his body reverberates into your side. His breath hits your head as he speaks. 

“Confess to me, dear sinner.” 

His presence was a metaphorical magnet, suctioning the words from your chest. “I dreamt of you… doing things to me.” You could practically see your blood pulsing before your eyes. “Bad things, that felt good. L-Like touching me. It felt so g-good.” 

“Oh dear!” 

You felt your dead heart stop, your next sentence stuck on your tongue. Then you look at him, compelled to say what can never be taken back. “I dreamt that you fucked me.” 

The sound of static breaking fills the air; and for what felt like an eternity, that was all you heard. Just crackles and pops and the sound of hissing, which was ordinarily hum drum, but now felt torturously suspenseful. You start to feel light-headed. Something flickered beneath his eyes; a living thing you couldn’t decipher. 

“I apologize. It seems I’ve underestimated how deep your sin truly runs.” His dark gaze never leaves yours as he draws a finger across the downward tilt of your lips, pressing them upward into a counterfeit smile. “That was my fault. How could I, a devout Sister of the cathedral, ignore such an obvious plea? Not to worry dear, I have just the idea to help ease the weight of your sin.” 

Like clockwork, tears pool in your sockets as you peer up at him, trembling in your seat on the bench. The wetness pricking your cheeks nagged at you, as it felt all too wrong, that you should cry so often under a being so sublime. But you couldn’t help it; his words provided only the promise of comfort, leaving you wondering whether you will ever have him how you want. The lump in your throat feels bruising. 

Sister Alastor caresses your cheek, swiping away a fallen tear with a finger; the slight cut from his claw replaces your sorrow with a bead of blood. 

“Come now, dear sinner, don’t weep.” 

The silver cross on his neck gleams with red, taunting you, mocking you, with its purity. 

He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it to rest on his own lap, then shifting you until your heat is slotted over the hard muscle of his lean thigh. Your eyes widen, shaking your head, your tears scattering with the motion, and you grip the cloth over his chest; you try to warn him, that you are dirty, that you shouldn’t be tainting his clothes.

But he merely croons at you, brushing your messy hair behind your ears as he begins to rock you back and forth on his thigh. “Let go, my dear. You’re alright now.” 

There’s a challenge in his eyes, as though he were watching, waiting for you to crack. For all his care and comfort, there was something equally demeaning in his expression. And for that, you summon up all your will not to melt all over his lap, clenching the muscles of your inner thighs to minimize the contact it had with your pulsing heat. Your hands loop over his neck, freezing as they clasp onto his veil, soaking the cloth with your sweat. You weren’t going to give in. You still wanted him to believe that you could be saved!

He hums, the noise vibrating directly into your sensitive chest. You harden your resolve, refusing to let it affect you. But how could you ignore something so all-consuming? You were unable to peer away from him, as the height of his figure blocked your view entirely; unable to stop the gratifying torment of his claws in your hips, grinding you down so deliciously on his thigh. Your breaths turn heavy as your muscles begin to weaken, threatening to collapse on him. Back, and forth. 

Back…, and forth. You cry out as your thighs unwillingly part, allowing his muscle to press directly onto your clothed pussy. With each motion, your mind grows more and more fuzzy, so that even if you desperately wanted to, you couldn’t cling onto your determination. Without the grounding pain of his claws, you would’ve surely melted into his body. Your mouth opens, stilted whimpers rushing out like a waterfall, when several bolts of heat jolt into your womb consecutively. Faithful as ever, you listen for his feedback; but the usually talkative nun has gone quiet, leaving behind only the low buzz of static. 

“Sister Alastor…” You grind through your teeth, needy for his voice. “Please-.” 

You squeeze the tears from your eyes, just enough so that you can see his still figure, entirely collected save for his clenched jaw and lidded eyes, which bore into your trembling body with the heat of magma. His grin is strained. Did he want this as well? You moan, shifting yourself further into his lap, closer to the spot you really wanted. But all you could find, in the depths of his cryptic eyes, was blatant cold condescension. 

His hands tighten around your hips, gyrating them down with increased force. Your pussy convulses at the same time your heart shatters, leaving you sobbing as you feel yourself coming to a climax. But your orgasm evades you, as each grind of his thigh only sends jolts of vibration into your heat, leaving your aching womb unfilled. Through the haze of your pleasure, you distantly hear what sounds like his breaths turning ragged. 

The static clips, glitching intensely in the background as you hear him speak up. “Are you going to release onto my thigh, dear sinner?” 

Your eyes fly open in shock when you realize that the radio filter has disappeared, leaving only the raw baritone of his voice. You catch his eyes, which narrowed deeply into your own, his usual wide grin erased into a closed-lipped smile - then it was over, your eyes lulling back into your head as you nearly screamed, feeling yourself spasm violently over his thigh. Your climax carried on for ages, your vision turning black as one wave rode into the next, the comforting buzz of broken static aiding you through your peak. Yet when you at last lowered your head, gasping forcibly while clutching onto his figure, your heat still ached to be filled, still wanting more.

You were still dirty, tainted with the expectations of a sinner. 

You gather yourself, thoughts racing rapidly as you try to comprehend what has just happened. Before you could lower your head in shame, or will yourself to climb off his lap to beg for forgiveness - his fingers tighten their hold over your hips, reminding you of their presence. Then, in one sharp unexpected move, you realize that he’s pulled you over his crotch. 

You shoot your gaze to him, who stares down at you with an indecipherable expression. Your heart beats so quickly it drowns out all noise around you, leaving only the sound of blood racing through your eardrums. Your eyes darted around his face, trying to get a sign, anything of what he was thinking. Strained grin, eyes slitted. The tiny handle of a radio dial ticks in his pupil, and you hang onto its movement, letting it guide you further into suspense. 

It becomes a game of who will look away first. You’re frozen, afraid that if you were to move, the moment would end. If only you could see clearly the murky creature slithering behind his eyes, which was normally dormant, obediently coiled up like his collectedness, but now wriggled freely like wildfire; unexpected and untethered.

Hunger. 

The realization that there was pure, unbridled voracity in his eyes sent your sinful heat clenching over his cock, which, you realize with a wanton moan, was painfully stiff beneath you. You realize at the same time as him, and before you could gyrate your hips down by instinct, the moment was over. He stands, settling your shaky figure onto the cold tile floor. 

“What a performance!” He lifts a finger to adjust the lens of his monocle, which is still steamy from your breaths. “Do you find your soul just a touch lighter, my dear?” 

You search like crazy for a break in his voice, a crack in his composure, anything to indicate that deep inside, he was as affected as you were. That you had somehow brought a creature of devotion down to your wretched level, that you had affected him with your perversion. 

But he only stood straight and tall as always, the only difference in his appearance was the wrinkled cloth where your palms had grasped so tightly. 

“I…” You barely make half an effort to find your words, still unable to compute your reality.

He adjusts the crumples in his clothing, smoothing his lengthy fingers over his lopsided headpiece. His grin is once again open and sharp-toothed, as he turns to face the doors of the cathedral. “Now dear, what have we learned from today?” 

Your knees wobble, only barely catching yourself in time on your feet. You were no longer listening to his words, only the delectable sound of his voice, which you desperately pleaded to come back to you - but nothing would come out of your lips, as you only huff out more breaths, eyes doe-like with their current wideness.

He chuckles. “Well there’s no hurry! You have an eternity to think, and I do expect a lovely little thing as devoted as you will come to an answer.”

Don’t leave. Your tears, which had only just stopped their flow, began to wet your cheeks yet again. Please wait for me! I can’t leave this place without you. I need you to save me from my sins! 

“Don’t leave me!” 

He was long gone when you voiced your plea. Your knees give out at last, as you sit sobbing pitifully; deserted in the enormous interior of the cathedral, with only the musky scent of his mouth still lingering on your quivering lip. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been several weeks since the incident, and life carried on the way it always did after death. You stopped sleeping at all because you knew that your dreams would hurt more than ever, given what had occurred between the two of you. 

The worst part of it all, was how unaffected he was by it all. How unchanged he was. You would’ve preferred it, in fact, if he had grown more distant. Because then at least, there would be a clear sign that your interference had an impact on him. 

Instead, it was only you who darted your eyes away a little quicker, only you who ached with the pain of uncertainty. At night, you warded sleep by pacing in your room, thoughts of him torturously plaguing your mind. Why wouldn’t he accept you? Hadn’t you shown your faith enough? If not, you could pray harder. You devised plans, of improving your cooking skills, doubling the times you prayed a day, of kneeling for him even when it was not required. 

Of devoting yourself only to him.

There was a boundary between the two of you, one you couldn’t find the bridge to. He had the power to give it to you, but he wouldn’t. Because without the bridge there would be no difference in your level. And you found yourself hopelessly grasping for him from below. 

Perhaps that was the true reason you couldn’t clear your sin. Perhaps that was what lust meant. Lust lured you, a lowly sinner, to try and set foot on the bridge connecting you to the heavenly. It gave you the nerve to long for the embrace of something that shouldn’t be touched. But you didn’t care anymore. If you couldn’t climb up to him, then you could at least pray for his mercy, so that he might consider coming down to you. At least once, you needed him to claim you. To fill the enormous emptiness inside you. 

A throat clears above you, while you’re kneeling in the dirt of the gardens. You don’t bother to look up, not until they bend next to you. It’s Sister Maria. 

“Hey.” That rouses your attention, because she speaks with the understanding voice of a friend, rather than her usual distant monotony. “I was just looking for you.” 

You stare at her, your glum contemplation fogging your clarity and slowing your response. A basic reply finds itself in your mouth. “What for?”

“We just wanted to talk.” A second voice sounds behind you, and you look to your right to find Sister Sofia. 

“So you had that kind of experience with Sister Alastor, huh?”

The gears of your rusted mind start turning, as your vision clears, becoming aware of what she was referencing. You begin to deny them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-.”

“You don’t have to lie. We can guess what happened.” 

Your face flushes with embarrassment. 

“If it makes you feel better, he never even touched any of us like that.” A sigh comes from your right. 

“Yeah, the most he ever did was entertain Sister Vox, although that was just to put him in place. And, he’s gone now.” 

You rest your head on your knee, peering at the sisters who each looked so forlorn, so down about his indifference that it made you wonder - why did they still revere him? You ask them just that. 

“Revere?” Sister Maria begins, a small smile growing on her face. Then she sighs, bunching her knees to her chest to mirror your position. “I guess we all still have some hope that he will return our affections one day. That our subservience is some sort of divine discipline we must master before he can acknowledge us.” 

“And… you stay here just because of that?” You speak slowly, their words a sudden bolt of enlightenment through your mind. 

Sister Sofia pipes up quietly, staring out the window at the red sky. “Yes. Just because of that.”

Seeing their reactions, it wasn’t too difficult to deduce that perhaps this was the secret you felt divided you from the rest of the sisters. Oh, you realize. All along, they had already been in reverence to him, devoted purely only to him. And I was the newcomer, who was still too fresh to understand the bond that forms only from a deep, shared admiration.

Sitting here now, in the garden with the rest of the sisters surrounding you, you felt a sudden kinship with your fellow devotees, who each prayed for the petting hand of a figure so far up he might be in a different realm entirely. 

“Do you think he’d cast me out? If I tried for his affection?” 

The sisters glance at one another. One worried, one indifferent. You glance back down at the still-wet dirt, thumbing through the thick brown paste absentmindedly. One of them speaks up. “Well, we wouldn’t recommend it. Sister Vox was particularly insistent on his attention, after all, and…”

“Sister Alastor was truly generous with him. He should’ve cast that fool out the first time he tried to touch him.” 

“Sister Sofia!” 

“It’s true. Look what he did at the end!”

Another pregnant pause. You feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“What we’re saying is, just be careful. I know what you want, because that’s what we all want. But you need to learn to control that desire. Learn to let it fuel your prayers, not destroy your faith.” 

“Exactly. You should stop, while you can.” 

You don’t hear anything they say, with the exception of what you thought was a chance. “So you say he was generous with Sister Vox…” You mumble to yourself, digging your fingers deeper into the dirt. 

Then you start smiling, and the world around starts lighting up with you. The garden suddenly felt that much more beautiful; oh, Niffty cared for the plants so well! Your smile grows to a grin, and you admire the pretty lining of dirt under your fingers. Jagged and unkempt, with a light sheen of moisture creating gentle red reflections on your nails. Hell looked celestial.

You grin even broader until you feel the edge of your dried lip cracking from the stretch; and it delights you, as you think of Sister Alastor’s eternal grin. So that’s why he’s always grinning!, you think excitedly. If I were able to see the world from such a divine view, I too would never stop feeling gleeful! You spring to your feet then, widened eyes searching for the lovely sisters beside you so that you can embrace their purified souls and share your newfound joy. 

They were gone. They left, but it’s no matter. They helped you understand! 

Your footsteps are light, and you start humming softly as you glide forward, enjoying the lift from your invisible wings. There would be time to relish in the feeling of flight later. Right now, you were set on finding Sister Alastor, eager to share your newfound revelation. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you reached the cathedral, where you would most likely find Sister Alastor, your hands had started quaking with the thrill of seeing him. 

You hadn’t blinked the whole way, afraid to miss a single second of the spectacle around you. And even the sting from the dryness of your eyes sent tremors of joy down your body, for the world had never felt so vivid. The stone doors had turned to paper, and you giggle at the thought of them flying away, clutching just a bit tighter onto its frame. 

You dart inside, and unlike every time before, you instantly spot his figure. Beautiful and alone, beside the altar. The carmine sky reflects off the jeweled cross he held in his palms, scattering a path of light pointing toward you. You follow each glowing dot with anticipation, the staticky sound of violins growing louder with each step, until you’re encased in the hypnotic instrument.

Up close, you notice for the first time his lashes; which lay petal-like over the grayish tint of his cheek, an intricate contrast to his domineering stature. His mouth twists into a demonic grin, made angelic by his serenity. That twinkling crescent mirrored onto your own lips, as though his whole body, and not just the cross he held, had turned into a gem. 

He’s beautiful, you think breathlessly. 

You smile, enchanted as you hold a hand up to him, one half of a prayer. You understood now, that all the pearls you pleaded for, all the diamond rings you held to your chest at night, in place of a loving body; none of that was sin. They were candy-colored stones that would one day lead you to a house of platinum. And all along, you were meant to step behind its doors, so that the lord might lift your sin of lust. So that he could take you, and let your wretchedness reflect onto its platinum walls.

“You’ve come to find me, dear sinner.” 

“I have.” 

His eyes are slitted; pupils contracted, glancing at you curiously, asking you a silent question: have you figured out the answer? You lean forward, keen to prove your knowledge. 

“Sister Alastor,” you begin, kneeling on the bottom step of the altar. “I think I’m ready for redemption.” 

“Oh? Pray tell, how am I to be sure of that?” It was a rhetorical question, a request for you to demonstrate your sincerity. 

So you beam up at him, your hands releasing from their prayer, and pressing against the ground to support your weight as you kiss at his ankle. And just as you suspected, instead of pulling away, he hums instead, keeping his body a statue for you to worship. 

  You daintily tuck your hands beneath the cloth of his habit, lifting it up while taking care to not tarnish the gossamer surface. Your fingers slide up the expanse of his legs, your eyes widening as you glimpse the chiffon fabric of black stockings that end around the hard muscle of his thigh. Your heart pulses faster, yearning to explore what was hidden from you up till now. You offer a kiss to his heated skin through the cloth, arching your back as you lean further into his legs. You lick a strip up his thigh, higher, and higher…

The sound of the violins has started breaking, though you no longer find worry in that. Rather the breaks were equally breathtaking, its existence creating a second, more primal song out of the purer first. You glance up to find his eyes sprung wide, pupils taking on the shape of radio dials, just like that day on the bench. But it wasn’t enough. You turn your attention back to his lower half, lifting his habit over his hips. Your smile brightens in delight to find him hardened beneath lacy black undergarments. 

You press your lips to the bulge there, wetting the cloth as you offer your mouth to him. You start to lick, flattening your tongue against his cock, hands finding purchase on the sides of his sharp, angled hips. You vary the flicks of your tongue; small kitten licks give way to longer strips, as you crane your neck, dedicating yourself to pleasing him. 

A sharp sound of static pierces the air as you encircle your lips around his clothed tip, creating a third song that is so erratic in tempo that the notes are hardly decipherable. Yet it too was beautiful, and you moan ecstatically onto his hardness as your pussy grinds down onto his suede shoes, the point hitting your nerves just right.

You lift your fingers to the band around his hips, ready to peel away the only cloth separating you and your object of devotion, only stopping the motion of your mouth so that you could-. A primal groan infiltrates your ears, and his clawed hand digs into your hair, yanking you away from your ministrations.

You take in a gasp of air, face flushed and hair lightly clinging to your forehead. 

“Sister Alastor…?” 

There are small cracks in his composure; a subtle, barely there flush to his cheeks, his sharp teeth gritting so tightly it looked like a zigzag across his mouth. His chest rises and falls, the distorted jumble of music and static mixing in with his breath. He tugs on your hair to lift you into a standing position, causing you to moan in surprise. 

Now you’re at eye level with his chest, though he tilts your head so that you can stare directly at the insatiable fire in his. His other hand squeezes around your jaw, the dampness of his sweat apparent through his gloves. You wait with bated breath. 

“That’s quite enough out of you, my dear.” Soft tufts of red hair had loosened from his headpiece, and they brushed heatedly against your cheeks as he bent down to ghost his teeth over your pulse. “Your prayer has been heard loud and clear.” 

Then he bites down, and color explodes before you like a kaleidoscope entirely composed of shades of red. He lifts you by your hips; and by now, you’ve lost track of where the ceiling and floor was, of what was beside you or within you. All you can feel is him, tearing into your skin as he ravaged the fluid from your neck, him throbbing fiercely between your legs, his sacred mouth stained with your dirty blood as he pulled away, a small, jagged piece of your skin on his lips.

You whimper, your dripping pussy glued to the outline of his cock, desperately trying to suction him in through his clothing as his eyes wildly drink in your reaction. In the distant background, you hear a laugh track start to play. Or was it screaming? Perhaps it was laughter, so maniacal that it mimicked screeching; or perhaps it was screaming, so in denial of negativity that it turned to laughter.

It blends in seamlessly with the nun above you, who had started laughing himself. “Ha ha! Are you feeling it now, dear sinner?” He forces his bloodied jaw onto yours, and you moan at the taste of your own blood, hot, salty, and sickeningly sweet, with the slightest hint of bitter. 

“The marvelous passion of salvation!”

Before you even have time to take a breath, he puts a pause to your prayer, gripping your thighs with the whole of his lengthy hand, ripping away the cloth of your underwear, and thrusting himself into your waiting hole in one go. 

You scream, throwing your head back as your walls flutter in shock at the sudden intrusion, the hissing of a thousand laughs encapsulating the two of you as he grunts into your ear, hips twitching with the effort to stay still. You throw your hands around his neck, tugging unceremoniously at his veil and digging your fingers into his hair, stroking over his folded ears. 

The ceiling’s mural is a blur of color before your pleasure-hazed eyes, and you note that even Lucifer’s teary face was grinning down at the two of you. Though you had no time to contemplate whether he was weeping from happiness, or grinning to conceal his tears as Sister Alastor slides your slickened pussy up his cock, then slams you down again. And again, and again. 

Your foggy mind couldn’t decide anymore; was he a sinner disguised as a nun, who used his saintly appearance to freely express his wicked nature? Or was he a nun, disguised as a sinner; a devout angel whose nefarious image had distracted you from his genuine desire to help? How could someone whose thick, satiating cock that snapped so deliciously against your own hips have cruel intentions underneath it all? Each thrust of his girth filled your womb just right, and this time when your eyes rolled back, Heaven was right there in front of you, glitching white-hot like lightning against the hellish red veins of your lids. 

“...N-nghh…Sister…A-Alastor!” 

His name is a stutter on your slobbering tongue, a screamed prayer from your upturned lips. Sweat runs down his ashen cheeks, dripping past his clenched teeth onto your whimpering mouth. 

You squirm in the firmness of his hold, your body a mere ragdoll in the hands of his faith. Why did you ever request him to help you find God, when all along you could find Heaven within one another?

“I-I'm s—orry!” A lousy strand of drool drips down your chin. You tangle your dirty fingers in him, your untarnished savior. Laughing as you at last confessed your wrongdoing. 

“-----so–rry, sorry for sinning—!”

He peers at you knowingly, the line of his wide grin wobbly with the effort of sex. His breath is ethereal, reverberating on your collarbone as he nips you there. “The Lord forgives you, dear sinner.” 

He flips you onto your stomach, cock rubbing languidly against the sensitive nub of flesh in your walls, pressing your wrists to the ground with his claws as he resumed fucking into your sobbing wet hole from behind. Then his larger frame collapses against yours, his chest pressing flush to the heated flesh of your arched back, and just like that you once again doubt his purity. For a man of Heaven wouldn’t grunt so depravedly into your ear, plunge himself so desperately into the womb of a sinner, as though he were afflicted by the very same sin himself. 

And he leaves you no room to feel betrayed, no time to reflect upon your basal desire of being rutted into, by a nun or a demon, or whether that was wrong, because the enormous head of filthy gratification pulsing inside you led you to believe that it could only be right. 

“I forgive you.”

The sound of his remission sends the top of your scalp bumping against his lowered chin as you throw your head back for the nth time, feeling something build inside you to an uncontrollable degree. He holds your head in place by the moist strands of your hair, grinning down at your contorted face. With each long drag of his cock against your walls, you feel yourself tighten harder around him, until he pants beside your ear, clamping his teeth into the sensitive divot beside your shoulder. And you howl with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the proverbial rubber band snap, sending your walls convulsing in waves around his cock, as though some biological part of you were trying to suction the cum out of him. 

“...Fuck.”  

Your eyes snap open to find him watching your expression, his own brows furrowed over his glowing eyes as he spoke the unfiltered curse word; the one syllable so filthy, yet so right coming from his virtuous lips that the band snaps a second time, drawing out the clenching of your walls around his cock, your smile giddy with hedonism. 

Your body sinks bonelessly into his hold, but there’s no time to recuperate as he relentlessly pounds into your womb, his grin pulling into more of a snarl as he approaches his own climax. You whimper weakly; the feelings were all too much - his cock squelching against the sponge of your heat, the pleasant sting of his bite marks, the knowledge that this saintly being was losing himself in the sinful depths of your body. You cry out, feeling yourself lose control of your muscles, the need to cum present, at the border between unreachable and occurring. 

His claws circle around your neck, squeezing you like a dog on a leash; and just like that, your beyond exhausted body resurrects itself, only for the sake of coming around him one last time as he stills, staticky sigh releasing from his lips while spilling inside you, painting your walls sticky white with his blessing. His hips stutter a few more times as he holds you against him.

You foolishly imagine that he doesn’t want to let you go. 

Then he’s getting up, and you blink, trying to recuperate your senses. Your hearing returns to normal first, noticing that the jumbled radio orchestra has quieted. Your sight and touch stabilize, and you take in your surroundings. 

You laid, spent, on the floor warmed by the passion of your bodies. Above you, Sister Alastor hums a tune, collecting his seed which spilled bountifully around your lips, and pushing it inside. Your hips twitch, still overstimulated, and you obediently clench your thighs to retain the gifted fluid. You peer up at him innocently, a smile still resting on your lips.

His grin is approving. He dabs a handkerchief at the dried blood around your wounds, readjusting your clothes. “Good job! I always knew you had potential.” The pat he places on your head feels affirming, good, and not condescending. 

Then he stands, but not before scooping your molten body into his arms, the tune he’s humming vibrating pleasantly against your body. The walk back to the cloister was light, warm, and carefree; you still felt as though you were floating, but the vibrant disco ball of colors around you had dulled down to a tranquil pool of softer hues. 

The sisters gasp as Sister Alastor walks into supper, his mouth still stained with your blood, your ruffled body tucked into his chest. You revel in their disbelief as he takes a seat, joining the rest of them for once instead of eating alone. Pride glitters in your chest, unafraid and free. 

Still, you know not to step too out of line, as you eat beside him, noting his gaze, which was once unreadable to you, fixed on your form. You know what he means; that you had successfully walked the bridge beneath you, but now you had to return to your rightful place beneath him. 

Until it comes time for your next prayer.     

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Starting your morning prayers so early, my dear?”

You grin around the base of his cock, eyes teary with appreciation. Your nod of agreement comes out as a bobbing of your head, which sends his smile straining in that enticing way you loved. 

It was still early in the day, as according to the clock Sister Alastor had made to circumvent Hell’s lack of a night and morning. The rest of the sisters should still be asleep, while you had rushed to serve him the moment you awoke next to him, who sat next to you with a book in his hands.

It made sense to you that he never slept, unlike the rest of you who, while you didn’t need sleep, still did so because your sinful minds needed a rest. The divine had no such needs. And you were happy to greet him in the mornings with a prayer, your throat gagging around his length as he gracefully pushed on your head. Sometimes, you would wake from a sinfully perverted dream to find your pussy already filled to the brim with his erection, as he grinned down at you, reassuring you that he was here to cleanse your body from your wicked sleep. 

Then you would laugh with him, letting your glee bounce into his body and then back to yours, so that you could wake up another day and do it all over again.

With time, the sight of your sisters’ betrayed faces no longer bothered you. Sister Vox’s pained cries as he was expelled, rejected from Sister Alastor’s care, became but a mere dent in your memory on the pristinely crafted image of your new God. Your fate was different from theirs, as long as you kept his eyes on you. As long as you tirelessly bent beneath him, praying to his body while he salvaged yours. 

Remaining, utterly and completely, for an uncertain fraction of infinity, devoted.

.

.

.

.

.

Then you ride his dick into the sunset THE END!

A/N:  Dear Grammarly, stop correcting "her heat" to "her heart" I MEAN HEAT WHEN I SAY IT IT'S A SYNONYM FOR PUSSY. Anyway if you got through this fic without thinking “Hey sisters!” once, congratulations! I did not have the same luxury LMAO. This fic was supposed to be a very quick snippet, that turned HUGE (as his cock). If any of you saw the poll, I was actually gonna post that relatively short fic on the same day I made it… but then something dangerous started happening. I started to feel POETIC. AAHHHHH I COULDN’T STOP MY CARPAL TUNNEL WRISTS FROM TYPING. It took over my mind this week :( and while I do type fast, it actually takes me forever to complete a fic because of one main reason: I always end up changing my mind 30002790372097 times on what the plot should be and what should go where then I have to edit out all the stuff I wrote previously that doesn’t work with the new stuff THEN THE CYCLE CONTINUES except when I actually do get the plot settled I'm too lazy to edit the final and it’s AMAZING but also it SUCKS cuz I still have the rest of my life to tend to. But whatever fuck the rest of my life. Does the rest of my life have Alastor in it? NO? THEN WHY IS IT THERE

Taglist: @angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight

Note: I'll make a master list sometime in the future & link it here, and if anybody wants to join the general taglist you can reply to that. For the time being though, if you wanna join (or be taken off) just reply beneath the post.

♡ I Got You ( Human!Alastor x Afab!Reader )

♡ Content Warnings: MDNI ; 18+ ; Porn without plot ; smut ; semi-public sex ; car sex ; brat taming ; unprotected sex ; creampie ; if I missed any, let me know!

♡ Author's Notes: For my darling wifeys Hazel, Mink, and Danny~! I hope I was able to deliver on the base idea 🥺 Not proofread, my brain stopped braining near the end so it's kinda rushed, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless~!

♡ Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska

"Where's that- nngh! ... that attitude now, dear?"

You couldn't speak, your brain unable to even perceive the words that tumbled from Alastor's mouth as the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin filled your ears. "A- ah! Hah! Uh, oh, oh fuh-!" His hips slamming against the fat of your ass smothered any attempt to form words.

The darkness of the alley he had parked in kept your licentious activities hidden well enough from prying eyes on the bustling city street, thankfully. But the vehicle rocking back and forth from the force of his movements was a dead giveaway to anyone that lingered at the alley's edge a couple seconds too long - the moans of pleasure being torn from your heaving bosom, the pleading whimpers for him to fuck you harder a simple confirmation of what Alastor was doing to you.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked, his voice laced with a smug arrogance, and suddenly you found your head being pulled back, your sweaty cheek being torn away from the sticky leather when his fingers tangled in your hair and yanked even further until you were staring at the lining of his car roof.

Eyes clenched shut from the pain in your scalp and the delicious, burning stretch of his cock ramming in and out - going deeper and deeper than any of your previous partners, reaching new places you didn't know existed with every thrust - your nails sunk into the headrest of the seat you had been pressed against, clinging desperately to something, anything tangible to keep yourself grounded.

What was he saying just now? Oh, yeah - it was something about your attitude.

"I- hah! I said- fuck, I sssaahh-!" You managed to get out in between your gasps, biting the inside of your cheek to gain some semblance of control over the mind numbingly sensations coursing through your veins. Using the front seats as leverage, you craned your neck to peer over your shoulder until you could see Alastor's face, smirking at the site before you - rounded glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, pupils dilated, cheeks dusted with a faint pinkish glow, jaw slack.

"I said, you can fuck me better than that!"

"Such foul language! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Tsk, tsk, tsk," he teased, the flowy skirt of your dress bunched at your waist, giving him a clear view of the ripples being sent through your backside. His free hand grasped one cheek, guiding your sweet, sweet cunt up and down his excruciatingly throbbing member.

"You're right, I can fuck you better. But I wonder - can you?"

Detaching his hands from your hair and ass, Alastor spread both arms across the top side of the backseat, slowing the lazy bucking of his hips until he stopped moving entirely. Groaning loudly at his goading you into movement, you didn't waste a single second - rolling your hips back and forth on his lap harshly. Gripping the edges of the front seat tightly, your grinding gradually turned into a bounce, gaining speed with every downward motion of your hips.

"Ho-hoooh fuck yes, just like that! Keep going!" Alastor breathed out, watching as your hips gained speed with every downward motion, the 'smack, smack, smack!' of skin against skin and the obscenely wet squelching of your pussy filling the air and pushing you closer to your release, threatening to throw you over the cliff's edge of absolute bliss any second now.

Clamping down on his painfully hard length, Alastor let out a delectable little whimper, clenching his eyes shut and throwing his head back against the leather seat. Raking a hand through his damp chestnut locks, the pliant walls of your heated sex wrapped around his cock provided him with some amount of relief; but it wasn't anywhere near enough.

He needed more.

"Fuck, fuck, Alastor! I'm so close!" you cried suddenly, closing your eyes tightly as both of you felt the all-too-familiar fluttering of your pussy, causing your hips to stutter - leaving you right on the cusp of glorious ectasy but holding you back from that heavenly plunge. Alastor let out a breathy laugh at your predicament, wanting nothing more than to edge you, to grab hold of your hips and hold you still until your orgasm slipped from your grasp entirely. It would undoubtedly teach you not to act like such a brat, especially in public.

Had Alastor not been dangling off the very same cliff, he would have.

"I got you, dear."

And with that, his hands returned to the plush roundness of your ass cheeks and spread them apart for a better view, helping you to regain your momentum and planting his feet into the floorboard for added leverage.

"That's it," Alastor whispered, mesmerized by the sight of your ambrosian heat swallowing his engorged cock whole, his balls slapping against your neglected clit as he bucked his hips into you from below.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Don't stop, don't stop, almost there-!" he coaxed you into the beginnings of your release, imagining the way your face would scrunch up at the first few waves to come crashing over you. Thighs trembling, toes curling, your jaw dropped into a silent scream at the overwhelming pleasure hitting you over and over and over again, each wave more intense than the last.

Alastor wasn't too far behind you, and with one final thrust he was spilling his hot cum inside you and painting your walls white with his seed. He kept still as he rode out the high that accompanied his release, his hips pressed flush against your bottom while both of you panted and gasped and tried to bring yourselves back to reality.

"Fuck... maybe I should complain about your poor choice in musicals more often."

I need some more platonic fun stuff!! So how about something silly.

I need Alastor meeting a pirate overlord reader (gender neutral if you want but i prefer male reader) Alastor and reader becoming great friends. Like reader even having pirate slang, sea shanties!! A pirate ship and everything! Obviously Reader is the captain but they fun and often times joke.

(Probably because Alastor dressed up as a pirate once)

Reader will be the father alastor never had 💀

Good evening my dear! I positively ADORE the idea of pirate reader, I wrote a drabble and some headcanons!

Hell's greatest pirate

Alastor & M! Pirate reader

Warnings: ARRRRG PIRATE NOISES, this did have two other sea shanties but I took them out because GOOD GRIEF THE EDITING.

Sea shanty

There once was an pirate that was feared across the seven seas, he struck fear into those who opposed him, he was revered by his crew, and he only perished because of the harshest of storms, and now he was feared across the seven rings of hell, with his crew of outcasted sinners and floating ship.

This Pirate was you, in all of your waterlogged pirate-y glory!

You led your crew through the skies setting course to visit an old friend of yours in Cannibal town, you breathed in the stale air as the youngest member of your crew, a young imp sat on the edge of the ship, giggling.

"Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum," she started, glancing at the ground below her.

"I smell the... the bones of an English Man!" She giggled, so you did the only acceptable thing, and you hoisted her up onto your shoulders.

"Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, Crossbones, swords, and a bottle of rum!" You spun yourself around as the child giggled, you matched her glee as you sung

"Heave, High, Ho, Hum," your right hand man, or octopus in this case, Kirby sung along.

"No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum, from the dawning of the day," your boot stomped into the ground of the ship.

"To the drowning of the sun,"

"No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum," The little imp giggled as she dropped from your shoulders landing in Kirby's arms.

"Salt on my tongue from the spray of the sea," you steered the ship to the side, as the harsh wind brushed against your face you grinned.

"Drunk on the sun beating down on me," you watched as some of your crew stumbled before catching themselves and adjusting.

"Bound for a treasure that's never been seen," you grabbed your flask out of your pocket and took a swig, the rum patching your thirst, not enough to make you tipsy though, wouldn't want to meet Rosie dead drunk now would you?

"Where dead men lay their bones," you tucked your flask back into your pocket as you barked a few orders for the crew to follow.

"Blood on my hands from the pull of the rope," Kirby placed the child onto the ground, grabbing onto a stray rope and tying it back to where it belonged, the child beside her watching with glee.

"No wind in our sails, So we have to row," another crew member ran past carrying a comical amount of swords.

"And it's heave, ho-" The crew member tripped over themselves, sending the swords flying.

"Or to the locker, you'll go," several other crew members moved out of the way, managing to not get stabbed and injured, at most they simply got a new tear in their clothes.

"Where dead men lay their bones,"

"Pick up the damned swords you bilge-sucking seadogs!"

"Where dead men lay their bones,"

The little Imp child ran behind you grinning and watching as the adults around her worked.

"Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum," you ruffled the hair on her head, being careful not to accidentally smack her horns.

"Crossbones, swords, and a bottle of rum," You adjusted your hat as you watched your crew scramble below.

"Heave, High, Ho, Hum,"

The fallen swords were cleaned up in a perfect symphony.

"No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum," You watched as they returned to their respective duties afterwards.

"From the dawning of the day," you looked upwards, catching a glance of the fool in the crows nest.

"To the drowning of the sun," an eyebrow was raised as you watched him drunkenly move around.

"No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum," You motioned for Kirby to take over steering, as you hopped down onto the deck and traveled below.

You could faintly hear the child giggle as you head into the cabin, grabbing your own ropes and the such.

"Shapes in the shadows, wanna swallow us whole,"

You could hear the stomping and walking around of your crew, all doing their due diligence.

"The roar of the Kraken, tries to pull us below," you turned around to make your way back to the top.

"So it's heave, ho, or to the locker, we'll go," you took a moment to look at the ground, you would reach Cannibal town soon.

"Where dead men lay their bones," hiding away your grin you looked up at the sailor in the crows nest, you watched as he took a swing of the bottle in his hand.

"Captain Jack throws another one back," a sailor who acted like he ran the ship all while doing nothing at all.

"He finishes a bottle," you raised an eyebrow as he threw a bottle overboard.

"While we're breakin' our backs, so it's "Aye Cap!" until we give him the sack," you kicked the wooden pillar that held the drunken sailor with such force that it caused him to stumble and fall right into your arms.

A romantic thing it'd be if it wasn't for the fate that beheld him.

"Where dead men lay their bones"

Your crew surrounded him, taking the ropes you got to tie his arms and legs together.

"What do we do with a drunken sailor?" the drunken sailor sobered up quickly as he realized what was happening.

"Don't have a longboat or a rusty razor," he was soon lifted up and brought to the side of the boat.

"Toss him in the drink, and watch him sink" what an unfortunate fate that you had just entered cannibal town, your former crew member's body becoming a meal for whichever one got their claws on him.

"Where dead men lay their bones," you grinned as you looked down, waving at some of the residents.

"Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum," you traveled back to the top where your first mate and the child stayed taking control of the ship once more as the child giggled once more.

"Crossbones, swords, and a bottle of rum, Heave, High, Ho, hum."

"No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum," Kirby took the child down onto the deck as the crew began to prepare to anchor.

"From the dawning of the day, to the drowning of the sun," you steered the ship hoping to park near Rosie's emporium, not wanting to risk crushing a building like you did the last time you visited.

"No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum,"

Your crew took down the sails, slowing down.

"Weigh, hey, and up he rises," "Weigh, hey, and up he rises" "Weigh, hey, and up he rises" "Weigh, hey, and up he rises"

The anchor was grabbed and hoisted above,

"Weigh, hey, and up he rises" "Weigh, hey, and up he rises" "Weigh, hey, and up he'll stay"

Once you were right next to Rosie's, you motioned for your crew to drop the anchor, the metal causing the sidewalk it landed upon to crack, catching the attention of two cannibal overlords that resided inside.

"Where dead men hang their bones,"

You hopped down onto the deck, taking a moment to make sure you looked decent.

"Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, Crossbones, swords, and a bottle of rum," you proceeded to run to the side of the ship.

"Heave, High, Ho, Hum, No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum," and like Tarzan you took off running, leaping into the air and grabbing onto one of the ropes that hung off the side of your ship.

"From the dawning of the day," you swung around in the air, catching a glimpse of Rosie walking out of her Emporium with a deer-like sinner in tow.

"To the drowning of the sun, No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum."

"Ahoy Rosie! Ahaha!" You waved at the cannibal below, maneuvering the rope as you slid down, jumping off it once it was safe to die so, your crew cheering at the rather reckless move.

"Captain! It's been quite awhile dearie!" Rosie said as she moved in to hug you, you graciously returned the hug,

"Ay it has! I've been sailing these here skies with me swashbuckler of a crew but we're back in this side of the ring until the briney deep calls for us again!" Rosie grinned as the hug broke apart,

"You simply must tell us all about your travels, ah but first let me introduce you to Alastor!" Rosie gestured to the Radio demon beside her, to the average sinner his grin would be unnerving but to someone like you, you thought it was rather welcoming!

"It's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure!" Alastor reached a hand out for you to shake, only for you to pull him into a pirate hug, squishing the poor deer.

AND IT'S HEADCANON TIME FOLKS! OHOHO

Alastor was NOT intending on getting adopted by a Pirate, but alas you cannot escape the pirate found family.

You're practically the entire crew's dad, Alastor is probably one of your favorite children though.

First couple of times you encountered Alastor [At Rosie's] You called him a landlubber but after y'all get closer, you begin calling him "My boy!" Or "Son"

Alastor acts like he despises it but you're the dad he wishes he had when he was young.

Y'all are very Hamilton the musical, George Washington and Alexander Hamilton coded

"Son!" "Don't call me son!"

You hear a lot of stories during your travels, and therefore tended to "Scuttlebutt" with Rosie, and eventually Alastor.

When Alastor disappeared for seven years you were WORRIED,

"Has anyone seen my son? Alastor! Papa's looking for you!!!"

You somehow got ahold of his baby pictures and show them off like a proud parent, honestly same case with his most recent pictures.

Imagine getting tortured by this pirate and he just pulls out his wallet and starts talking about his kids, and one of them is the FUCKIN' RADIO DEMON??

The two of you go head to head in drinking competitions, so far y'all have tied in them.

If you get him drunk enough he'll join in with singing your sea shanties

Rosie and Kirby are NOT thrilled about having to take care of a plastered Radio host and a three sheets to the wind Pirate caption

Can't remember if Alastor being afraid of heights is canon or fanon but we're going with it rn,

Dude is PETRIFIED ON YOUR SHIP.

Doesn't show it but like, it's horrifying and it does not HELP that you keep referring to the skies as the ocean.

By the way you definitely own one of those singing fish, you gave one to Alastor.

He has it hung up somewhere and he curses at it.

You teach Alastor pirate slang meanings and it's the same case as when Rosie teaches him modern slang.

Cursed cat Alastor likes to chill out in the boat.

He does try to eat the crew at times.

Very similar case with Mimzy and Rosie with the touching, you give very.... Strong hugs.

Good evenin' folks! I do hope you enjoyed this! I had fun writing it! And I'm glad that I got to sneak in my little Pirate Kirby, I haven't mentioned her in months, Hopefully I'll get the chance to play around with a Pirate reader some more but anyways Thank you for tunin' on in and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!

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