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alastors-microphone · 2 days

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Oh Deer

Alastor x Y/n

Summary: What happens when y/n uses Alastors mug.

The morning hummed with the promise of a new day at Hazbin Hotel. Y/n, feeling the pull of caffeine, ventured downstairs to the kitchen, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. A cursory glance at her array of cups revealed a mountain of unwashed dishes, prompting a tired sigh. Resigned, she reached for the nearest ceramic, which happened to be Alastor's iconic mug emblazoned with the words "Oh Deer." A mischievous grin crept across her lips as she imagined the chaos she could sow with this borrowed cup.

Pouring herself a generous serving of coffee, she indulged in a sinful amount of sugar and cream, relishing the sweetness that danced across her taste buds. With her concoction in hand, she sauntered into the living room of the lobby, her tail swishing behind her with excitement, ready to tackle the day's challenges.

From his post at the bar, Husk's bleary eyes widened in horror as he spied Y/n cradling Alastor's prized possession. Panic clawed at his chest as he approached her, snatching the mug, his voice a frantic whisper. "Are you out of your mind? He'll have your head for this," he hissed, the fear in his tone.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she defiantly reclaimed the mug. "Relax, Husk. I'm just a doe enjoying her morning brew," she quipped, her smirk daring him to challenge her further.

Husk's expression wavered between disbelief and trepidation, but ultimately, he decided to wash his hands of the impending chaos. With a resigned shake of his head, he retreated to the safety of the bar, determined not to be caught in the crossfire of Y/n's antics and Alastor's wrath

———————————————————————

Alastor, the illustrious radio demon, embarked on his customary routine. With each step echoing a sense of purpose, he descended into the kitchen, eager to fuel himself with the elixir of wakefulness before ascending to the radio tower for another captivating broadcast, replete with reminders of those who dared to cross him.

However, his meticulously planned morning took an unforeseen detour as he reached for his prized mug, only to find it conspicuously absent from its designated spot. A flicker of confusion danced across his features before morphing into a scowl of irritation. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, betraying evidence of recent use. How could anyone be audacious enough to pilfer his cherished vessel?

Venturing into the lobby, Alastor's keen eyes swept over the familiar faces occupying the space. Husk diligently tending to the bar avoiding his bosses gaze, Charlie engaged in animated conversation with Angel Dust, and Vaggie brushing Charlie’s hair—all mundane scenes in contrast to the brewing storm within Alastor's mind.

Yet, it was the sight of Y/n, nestled comfortably amidst a sea of paperwork, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, that drew Alastor's attention like a moth to flame. A devilish grin spread across his lips as he honed in on the object of his suspicion.

Approaching with predatory grace, Alastor loomed over his favorite little doe, his presence casting a palpable shadow over her workspace. With a tilt of his head and a glint of mischief in his eye, he addressed her in a melodic tone that belied the underlying threat. "What have we here, my dear?" he crooned, his voice a siren's call of danger.

Y/n met his gaze with feigned innocence, her lashes fluttering as she summoned her most pure expression. "Just a cup of coffee, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sweetness as she dared him to challenge her façade.

A tension lingered between Alastor and Y/n, their relationship a delicate dance of affection and provocation, evident to all who dwelled within its walls. Over time, they had forged a bond woven with pet names and whispered endearments, their connection an open secret among the patrons who watched with bated breath as their story unfolded.

As Y/n sat, in the familiar warmth of Alastor's presence leering against her, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. His voice, a velvet purr, tickled her ear as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. “That belongs to me, cheri.” Y/n was at a loss for words, heart pounding in her chest and her face as red as Alastor’s ears. With deliberate intent, he materialized before her, his proximity a deliberate distraction as he reached for the mug cradled in her grasp.

A pout graced Y/n's lips as she resisted his advance, her fingers tightening around the mug as if daring him to challenge her claim. Alastor, undeterred by her defiance, closed the distance between them, his nose almost touching hers and his gaze locking with hers in a silent challenge. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, every eye trained on the unfolding drama, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity.

Charlie, her smile a beacon of encouragement, stood hand in hand with Vaggie, their shared anticipation mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. Husk, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation, braced himself for the inevitable fallout, while Angel Dust held his breath in rapt anticipation, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

With bated breath, Y/n awaited Alastor's response, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of apprehension and desire. As he took the mug from her grasp, a triumphant smile graced his lips, the thrill of victory evident in his crimson gaze. He went to retreat as he thought he had won but, Y/n seized his hand with a surge of newfound confidence, pulling him close in a bold display of affection.

“This belongs to me” she says and their lips meet in a fervent kiss, the world around them falling away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their attraction. For a moment, time stood still, the only sound echoing through the lobby the soft murmur of their mingled breaths.

As the kiss lingered, a resounding crash shattered the fragile stillness, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the moment jolting them back into reality. Alastor, his resolve crumbling like the shards of his shattered porcelain cup, returned Y/n's embrace with both hands and a passion that ignited the room, their connection transcending the confines of words and gestures.

In the aftermath of their impulsive display, the patrons of the hotel stood in stunned silence, their shock palpable as they beheld the wreckage of Alastor's beloved mug lying in ruins upon the floor. Yet, amidst the debris, a newfound understanding dawned, as they witnessed the depth of Alastor's devotion laid bare in the wreckage of his shattered mug, a sacrifice made in favor of a love that defied all expectations.

Amidst the scattered remnants of Alastor's shattered mug, Nifty, the ever-efficient maid of the Hazbin Hotel, sprung into action with characteristic zeal. "A mess, I'll clean it," she declared, her voice ringing with determination as she swiftly gathered the fragments littering the floor.

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alastors-microphone · 2 days

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Painted Smile! Alastor and Reader being.. a couple goal ? Tell me your thoughts!

私は二人のことが大好き。

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alastors-microphone · 2 days

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I have been consumed by the concept of Alastor teaching someone to dance. Not just the popular dances of his time, but also like a two-step or a waltz. His hands never wander, never grip too tight (unless you stumble and he has to keep you from falling over). He hums little melodies to keep you on beat, and every so often, you recognize a song you've heard from one of his broadcasts. Imagine the praise when you master a step, the pleased grin when you nail a complicated turn. I'm so obsessed with this I need to go rot in a cave somewhere

Oh my god.... can i join you in your cave because this has become a little brain worm....

Can you imagine his hands just barely hovering over your waist, ever the gentlemen as he guides you around the lobby of the hotel? You're constantly stepping on his toes but he doesn't mention it, not wanting to embarrass you. "You're doing wonderful, darling," he would say. "A natural!"

But then you slide your foot too soon, too far, and you stumble to the side. His featherlight touch tightens around you and he catches you, swinging you down to make it seem intentional to your small audience of friends 🤧

He would never humiliate you in front of everyone, but when he gets to see you later in private, he'll never let you live it down :p

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alastors-microphone · 2 days

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WAHHHHH THIS IS THE CUTEST SHIT.

we've seen Alastor with deaf reader. but what about Alastor and blind reader?

how confusing it would be for them meeting Alastor for the first time with the radio filter overlaying his voice

and how confusing it would be for our deer man to find out he grew soft spot for reader? bc they find his voice very soothing to listen? since their hearing senses are hightened due to the blindness

so in one of their shared peaceful moments he asks reader if they want to see him. and to answer their startled expression he just brings their hands to lay on his face.. for them to "read" his appearence..

sorry if there are mistakes, Im not eng. love your writing sm, thanks for quality food you bring us, fluff-starved people!

💕

a/n: hiii hun!! i'm so so sorry i took so long to respond to this, but i really wanted to write something for this because aaaaahhhhh that's such a good idea omg 😭❤️ i hope you like it!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor once believed himself to be the demon of all demons.

He was everything a Sinner wanted to be and everything a Sinner feared in one soul—a package wrapped up pretty with a bowtie. He loved it. Thrived on it.

There was something so delicious about terror.

He played into his horrifying image. Purposefully made his presence known; broadcasted screams for all to hear. Power and fame only made him greedier for souls.

Being the center of attention came naturally for him. As natural as breathing, friends would jest. He attracted eyes wherever he went. Some admiring. Some not.

So it was quite a shock when you bumped right into him on the street and didn't immediately comb him over with your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you quickly stammered out, fiddling with your own sleeves.

Finally, you looked at him, but he could tell you were just looking for the sake of looking. Absently, you stared at him as you waited for a response.

Perhaps you expected him to chew you out. To lay a hand on you or to drag you into the alley so he could kick you until you bled. He could see it in your expression.

His heart uncharacteristically ached.

Instead, he steadied you by the shoulders and fixed a stray lock of hair out of your face.

"Carry on, my dear," he mused.

He was surprised with how pleased he was when you smiled at him. Big and wide—charming, really. He was hooked.

Alastor became a frequent in the area, always keeping his eyes peeled for you so he could take your arm into his and ferry you around. You insisted that you were fine, that you didn't need help, but he denied that those were his intentions. He simply wanted your company.

(And to scare off any other demons who had hit you or spat at you before.)

Eventually, you grew fond of him, too.

You could hear him so clearly—the trail of death and despair he left behind was loud, after all. Screaming souls followed his every move. For some reason, it comforted you.

He never tried playing nasty pranks on you. Never tried sneaking up behind you just to scare you, or hit you just because he could.

Alastor did not feel like a demon anymore.

Sinister and cruel, he thought the words didn't suit him when you were walking hand-in-hand.

For as many lives as he took, he had a soft spot for you.

His very presence brought you ease. You knew no one dared to approach a weak Sinner like you when you had him dangling off your arm. He found ways to fill the silence when you weren't chatting, just assuring you he was there.

"You're too kind to me," you once said to him. "You're not an angel trying to trick me, are you?"

"I am!" He chuckled, feeding into your little joke.

The way you laughed made his heart squeeze in the same way it had when he first met you. For a moment he felt nothing but guilt burn in his stomach.

He was the demon of all demons, but for some reason, he couldn't stand you thinking he was a demon at all.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Ever since convincing you to come to the hotel with him, you've not left his side once.

Not that he was complaining about it.

Surrounded with new people and often jolting out of your own skin whenever they began impromptu musical numbers, Alastor could tell you were entirely out of your element.

You were slowly but surely beginning to open up to your new home and the compatriots that came with it. However, you were always the most relaxed with the Radio Demon's soothing presence. He found himself cherishing the moments that you spent alone.

Conversation was not needed to tell each other how you felt. He appreciated that the most.

It's why he is slightly confused when you open your mouth as if you want to say something before snapping it shut with a loud huff. Again and again, you keep it up, sighing and groaning quietly to yourself.

Finally, Alastor has had enough. "Is something the matter, dear?" He asks, peering up from his newspaper to eye you on the other end of the couch.

"N-No!" You squeak, fumbling around with your hands like a cartoon character. "I just..."

He waits for you to continue, only to be met with deafening silence. Sighing to himself, he sets down his paper and scoots over to your side.

"Go on," he gently urges.

"I don't want to be a bother," you say quietly after a pause of hesitation.

He only stares at you, flabbergasted by the way you start to pull away from him. Stopping you by giving your shoulder a squeeze, he swallows harshly.

Your heart is racing so loud that he can hear it roaring in his own sensitive ears.

"You are never a bother," he quickly assures. "Come now, look at me."

Your brows furrow, unsure of what he wants you to do. You slowly turn your head to him with a confused scrunch of the nose. In all the time that you had known each other, he had never asked you to do something so pointless.

"Look at me," he pushes, hands sliding down your arms to take yours. He tugs you closer and brings your hands up to his face, allowing you to cup his cheeks.

Careful not to nick your skin with his teeth, his smile softens. Your hands roam his face tenderly, subtly squeezing at the fat of his cheeks. With your fingers tracing every part of him, from the bridge of his nose to his brows to the infinite curve of his smile, you relax.

"I'm a monster."

He had always tried to convince you that he wasn't terrible. That he was worthy of having your hands cupping his cheeks. But you could feel it—his smile. His antlers.

He's never felt vulnerable before. For some reason, it feels good to open up to you.

"You're just as pretty as I always imagined," you tell him with a shake of your head. Alastor flushes at your words.

No dishonesty. No fear. Your heart has stopped pounding in your ribcage.

That's right. He was kind to you, even though he was a beast. The demon had always thought that what he wanted most was to be feared, but he was wrong. You knew his heart before his form.

He shifts so he can kiss your fingertips.

"Well? What would you like to say?"

You suddenly freeze up, lips pressed into a thin line. Flustered, you sputter. "Nevermind, please just forget about that!"

"Oh? Keeping secrets from me isn't very nice, darling~" he muses. You groan, pulling your hands back to your own face to hide it.

Alastor only laughs, static crackling in his voice as he does. He leans forward, gently prying your wrists to reveal your face again so he can press his lips to your forehead.

He knows. The way you melt into his arms is enough. No conversation needed.

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alastors-microphone · 2 days

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Drawing cursed cat Alastor: Day 3

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alastors-microphone · 3 days

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they’re so Lilo and Stitch coded 😭

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alastors-microphone · 3 days

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He’s just a little guyyyyy

if this isn’t your thing i totally get it… but could you do a fic where alastor finds and adopts a stray cat? i just really want to see him interact with animals; i think he’d treat them like the egg boys lol 😂

literally took me a month I'm so sorry but HERE'S ALASTOR WITH A LITTLE GUY 💕🐈 short and sweet!

Alastor brushes his hands off on his trousers, stepping away from the remains of the demon that lay bleeding on the floor of the alley. When would the denizens learn that he was not to be trifled with on a whim? He toes the body with a distasteful glance- another of those gaudy shark demons, hardly even worth a nibble. A waste, truly, but perhaps he could take some of the flesh home, throw it into a stew with some proper venison like a ‘surf and turf’ of sorts-

A tiny pathetic noise distracts him, and he looks over to see what almost looks like a kitten emerge from behind a dumpster, brown and orange fur patchy and ruined, a clip in its ear. It mewls at him, eyes earnest, and glances over to the body of the demon like it was asking for permission.

“Oh, by all means, little one!” He gestures to the fresh corpse and the creature seems to understand, trotting across the alley and lapping at the pool of blood before digging into the arm of the demon. Alastor watches silently for a moment until the little thing seems to almost be choking itself with its fervor, and he reaches a hand out to wrap about the kitten’s middle and pull it away, to at least swallow before resuming. Honestly, it felt like he was the only person in Pentagram City with manners anymore.

It resists, sinking its teeth further into the flesh. Alastor gives a firm tug, pulls the creature away from its meal, and the blasted thing turns on him, tiny needle sharp claws digging into his wrist and teeth clamping down on his thumb.

Despite the vague anger at being bitten- he had been trying to help the little bastard, after all- he can’t help but admire the tenacity. He releases the thing, lets it drop atop the body of the shark demon, and with the shock of the fall it transforms, body shifting into a strangely colored cardboard box reminiscent of one nearby in the alley, tumbling off the body to the asphalt.

Alastor is fascinated as the creature shifts back, once more becoming cat-esque and clambering back onto the body, mouth again reattaching to the meat of it. He waits until it has eaten its fill and it approaches him, rubbing against the fabric of his trousers and vibrating with something almost like a purr- a little deeper, more of a shake than a vibration. He reaches down and grabs it, brings it up to inspect. He can see now that the features of a true feline are not correct- there are no whiskers, the mouth is a tad too wide, the ears situated a little lower than they would be on Husk, for example. Like it had tried to imitate a true cat but couldn’t quite make the cut. The thing watches him closely, seems to understand that it’s being inspected.

“What a curious creature you are!” He crouches low and sets the beast down on the asphalt. It seems to understand him so he addresses it directly. “What else can you do?” He spends a few minutes conjuring items for the animal to recreate- it’s always just a tad off from what it should be, but Alastor is delighted to see that the items still function as they should for the most part. He ends the test with a small radio, cathedral style, and the teeth of the creature reflect in the patterning on the wood, nose elongating into the display and eyes becoming the dials. It puts up a minor bit of resistance to Alastor fiddling with the latter, but when music emerges it acquiesces, the not-quite-purr adding a nice reverb to the tone of the song.

It shifts back into a cat-like being and watches him with dark eyes as he scoops it up off the ground and deposits it into his pocket.

He fades into the shadows and reemerges in the hotel, dropping the kitten thing on the bar to stare at Husk while he grabs himself a glass of whiskey.

“The fuck is this?” Husk stares aghast at the thing, which lets out a hiss like an eldritch horror and spits at the bartender, fur raising like it means to strike.

Alastor is delighted. “This is Duke,” he says, having decided on the name in the moment after one of his favorite musicians of his own time. “If Angel Dust is allowed to keep that filthy pig creature in his room I, as the Hotelier, should be permitted to keep my own little pet.”

“That mean you’ll finally leave me the fuck alone if ya got another cat?”

He reaches out to tousle Husk’s fur, the cat scowling and batting him away. “No need to be jealous, dear Husker! I’m happy to find you more tasks around the hotel if you find my attention on you to be lacking. Duke here is merely for entertainment!”

“Right. Charlie know about this thing yet?”

“They’re a new addition to my inner circle,” Alastor says. “I’m sure Charlotte will have no issues with my keeping of a companion, and they will not stray from the Hotel.”

Husk sneers at the tiny creature, which in turn hisses at him again and puffs up, headbutting a nearby glass and sending it hurtling to the floor where it shatters. “Goddamn- keep that fuckin’ thing away from the bar!” Husk shouts, and Alastor scoops Duke up with a tentacle to deposit him back into his arms, making his way to his own bedroom before setting the cat creature down on the floor.

“You’re free to use this space as your own,” he tells it, gesturing to the room at large as well as the bayou dimension. Duke hops up onto the armchair by the fire, climbing onto the back of it to stare at him. “There are creatures that can be chased in the woods, but I warn you; they don’t taste quite as soon as the real thing! Perhaps I’ll take you out hunting with me on occasion, how does that sound?”

Duke lets out the almost-purr noise again, grating and vibrational, and allows Alastor to sit in the seat below him, curling up in his lap. Unexpected, but Alastor will permit it- he will need to get used to the usual behaviors of being a ‘pet-owner’ if the Princess is to let him keep the tiny creature. He pets a hand down the feline and it stretches, rolls onto its back, and stills, the Radio Demon watching with a content smile.

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alastors-microphone · 3 days

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LOVE THE MINI SERIES.

SO HOT….

This is a prologue to 'Game Night' (about 80 years before) enjoy! TW: murder, gore, mentions of war, mentions of SA Minors DNI!

Getting called into you Boss's office was bad. But getting called into you boss's Boss office was even worse.

When Archie staggered over to you, almost tripping over his storck legs, he looked almost panicked. "I don't know what you did, but Zestial wants to talk to you. What the fuck did you do?!"

You didn't react. You kept on typing the end of the article you were currently writing, ignoring the worried stare from the other employees that were working on the same floor. Zestial was one of the overlords in hell and the owner of the newspaper agency you were working at, an extremely tall, thin and ancient demon that exuded a machiavellian charm, enticing yet dangerous. You had no idea why he would want to talk to you. You didn't remember doing anything wrong, or at least, nothing worth that would him getting personally involved.

When you finished the last sentence, you stood up and walked past Archie, who was still waiting nervously for an answer, his gaze fixated on you, a mixture of curiosity and horror on his face.

"Hey, aren't you even a little bit worried?", he called after you. You shrugged, and smiled.

"And what good will that do? If I'm in trouble, I can't change it now, can I?"

You walked through the hallway and knocked at the big, dark mahogany door. A deep, sonoric voice called out to you, and you opened the door. Zestial was sitting at his desk, his slender fingers intertwined on the tabletop, next to a steaming cup of tea.

"Ah, my dear. I wast awaiting thee. Cometh in and sitteth down."

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

Zestial nodded, and smiled, gesturing at the chair in front of him.

"Ah, yes. Thy work has been quite outstanding for a while, mine lief. Thou hast impressed me greatly. Therefore, I have an offer."

Your smile widened, a little out of nervousness, but more out of curiosity. A job offer was the last thing you had expected from this meeting, based on Archibald's behavior and the fearsome looks of your coworkers. Zestial pushed the delicate cup in your direction.

"Drink, it'st not poisoned. It'st my own recipe."

"Thank you, sir."

You took the cup, careful not to spill the hot liquid, and sipped at it. The tea tasted unusual but delightful, earthy and tart and a little bitter. You couldn't quite identify the ingredients, but they had to be rare and expensive.

"A lovely blend, thank you."

"Thou art most welcome. So, my offer: One of mine aquaintances, Miss Rosie in Cannibal Town, hosts a party this evening. Sadly i wilt not beest able to attend... So i'd like for thee to go in mine stead."

Your eyebrows shot up. Not a job offer. This was a surprise, indeed. You had heard of Rosie and her own peculiar district. She was an overlord too, but in contrast to her peers she didn't show any desire to expand her territory, focusing instead on improving Cannibal Town as a community.

"I would be honored, Sir. What's the occasion for the party, if I may ask?"

"Ah, no occasion, really. Miss Rosie is just the kind to host parties whenever the fancy takes her. She'st a very charming woman, I am certain thou wilt enjoy thyself."

Zestial stood up and walked over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and smiling down at you, a genuine smile, that even reached his four green eyes. You smiled back, and set down the cup. It was apparent that your work somehow got you in good grace with Zestial, and you would've been a fool not to seize the day.

"Thank you very much for the opportunity, sir. I shall be sure to make the best of the occasion."

***

Stepping out of the taxi, you made sure not to step on the hem of your ankle-length red dress, clutching the small purse with your invitation and essentials in one hand and a gift for the hostess in the other, and stepped onto the pavement. All the windows of Rosie's emporium were lit, creating a warm atmosphere and luring guests into the center of the colony with a glowing, eery yellow vibrance. There was music in the air, and a sense of unusual merriness as guests talked and laughed, holding colorful drinks and glasses in their hands.

You made your way through the crowd towards the towering demoness, who was greeting oncoming guests left and right.

"Miss Rosie, it's a pleasure to meet you."

The woman turned, her lips pursed as her pitch-black eyes focused on the source of the sound, on you. Your smile didn't waver.

"Pleasure is all mine, sweetie. You're... Zestial's little newcomer, aren't you?"

You nodded with a grin that matched hers. "Indeed, Miss Rosie, that's me. It's an honor to be invited." You handed her your gift - an embellished, silver cookie tin with long, golden filled cookies inside. "I hope you don't mind homemade treats? I made them myself - they're called langue de chat."

"Cat's tongue. How fitting... ", she giggled, peeking inside. "Thank you my darling one, I'll be sure to hide them from all the hungry mouths here - wouldn't want to waste them, wouldn't we? Now please, hop right in, mingle a little and have some fun tonight. No work! And enjoy my little buffet, you'll surely find something to suit your diet."

Relieved from your official obligation, you snatched a glass of rose colored champagne as you decided to wander a bit without being seen and made yourself invisible. It was the newest of your powers you developed, and a most useful one for looking around and observing, very interested in the strange but not unfriendly atmosphere that lingered. An atmosphere that was so different from the district you had settled in - It seemed almost human. The cannibals were old-fashioned - you appreciated that- but they were friendly, courteous and downright delightful sinners to be around (if you were minful of their diet).

You watched the dancing couples, women twirling around in colorful dresses, the men accompanying them with fine suits, everyone adorned with flamboyant bow ties and flashy hats, wearing shiny leather shoes and polished heels. And that music, jazz at it's peak. Everyone was laughing, joking, the air was electric with happy chatter and jokes and it felt as if all your worries simply evaporated. It had to be, one of the most unique places you had been, in Hell.

You made yourself visible again, startling a group of young cannibals next to the buffet. With a giggle and a swish of your magenta-and-black striped tail, you set down your emptied glass on one of the silver trays. Turning back to look for another refreshment, your vision was blocked by a red pinstripe suit. A man had stepped in your path, a charming smile on his lips, and he seemed amused.

"Moving is a funny thing to do when no one's watching."

He offered you a glass of wine with the same burnt red color of his hair, his teeth glinting as his eyes scanned your body - not in a lewd way, but with bemused interest and impish curiosity. You chuckled, taking the glass with a head tilt.

"Why thank you, stranger, but you know, moving without being seen is just half the fun. Getting where you want without being noticed is the other."

You twirled the glass in between your fingers, sipping the expensive beverage, watching his expression with delight - how his grin widened, eyes locked to yours, amused and captivated by what you just said. Of course you knew who he was, your tail shivered and bushed up as you thought about it. Hell, you wrote more than one article about him.

One couldn't exist in hell without hearing the stories about the radio demon - the up and coming overlord, toppling long-established powerholders like dominoes and broadcasting their screams on every radio in the pride ring. Known for his gentlemanly manners, his brutal ruthlessness - and his never-fading, signature smile.

"Spoken like a true feline. The name's Alastor, darling, pleasure to be meeting you.", he mused, and tilted his glass towards yours, awaiting you to clink it. His crimson eyes were shining like rubies, glinting dangerously yet so strangely intriguing as they watched your every reaction, and his lips curled up into a challenging, cocky grin as your glasses chimed together and you told him your name.

"Say, would you care for a little dance, dear? Your tail seems quite desperate for some frivolity, why it looks like it will come to life in a moment."

You glanced towards your backside, the traitorous appendage whipping completely out of control in anticipated excitement, the damned thing. You laughed, downing the rest of the drink, and made the tail disappear. Alastor rose a brow at your innocent expression.

“Seems like my tail has a full dance card. I, on the other hand, am quite free..."

His other eyebrow raised along the first one, and he chuckled ass he gave you a little bow, which he coupled with an outstretched, clawed hand.

"I can only hope you are able to compensate the loss - it looked quite eager."

The next thing you knew he had you on the dance floor, pulling you close to his body and guiding your steps, spinning you around with ease. One hand was around your waist, the other had a hold of one of yours. You quickly lost the feeling of time and space - all you were able to focus on was him.

"Your smile never falters, darling. I can't help but wonder why?"

You giggled, a gloved hand covering your mouth as he turned you, crimson glowing eyes never leaving yours.

"I don't know, really. My papan used to tell me that it was the only thing I had going for me, and it's what made silly soldiers so easy to kill."

You could feel the air around him tense and shift, his grin widening at your words as he turned you in again.

"Ah, a lady after my own heart. I can appreciate a woman who knows how to have fun."

You didn't say anything to his comment, just smiled, and he pulled you closer.

"Why don't we have a little fun of our own? I have the right mind for a little game, if you're up to it, darling?"

The music ended, everyone around you applauding but you were captured. Entranced. Frozen. By those eyes, this most unique and alluring voice. Oh, yes it was alluring. He was charming and intense, the mystery of this person was attracting you so hard, you could almost taste his taste, feel his touch.

The way he offered a game... he had the same dangerously mischievous expression you had, back when you planned what to do with your next victim. Only that you were absolutely sure, you were invited as a player, not as a pawn. And that made you burst with excitement, you hadn't felt such thrill and lust for a challenge in so long, you could almost physically feel your hunger taking hold of you, your craving for that sensation, for an opportunity to rise to this occasion.

***

The night was chilly, for hell's standards. You both had bid your farewells to Rosie, who in response only cocked an amused brow at Alastor and wished you both a fun rest of the night. After Alastor gallantly offered his arm, you had started walking, seemingly aimless, but you didn't mind. He proved to be a very pleasant conversation partner, and you soon found yourself very relaxed and amused around him.

You enjoyed listening to him, laughing in amusement about his animated gesticulation and his storytelling skills. And there was more, a tension, a strange attraction in the air, an electromagnetic current that almost hummed between you two. When he asked about your heritage, you were pleased to notice how enthralled he seemed that you were french in origin and the fact that you killed german soldiers during the still raging world war stirred up his sadistic and malicious sense of humor. When you explained to him how you met your end, a grin that could only be described as purely diabolic curled up on his lips.

"Why, you're my favorite type of femme diabolique, aren't you a scintillating creature?"

His ears flicked and he stopped in his tracks, grin widening as gestured for you to walk next to him into the shadows of an alley. Intrigued, you made yourself invisible and followed him, hearing faint voices as if in a fight.

"As exciting as I found our conversation to be, darling, the night is young - and I do owe you a little fun, wouldn't you agree?"

His voice sounded lower and remarkably more sinister, shoulders tense and almost trembling as he stalked forwards, pressing you into his side. "It seems we have found the finest opportunity. What luck he have."

The voices became eligible, and you instantly knew what he was talking about. Two shark sinners were standing in front of the back-entrance of some dubious bar, sharing a smoke. The fight seemed to be about a girl they intended to drug and take advantage of - both of them insisting to 'break her in' the first. Abominable scum. You felt your teeth itching to sink into their necks to break them.

"So, madame - two wasteful beings, two players. How would you like to set the rules for our game, hm?"

You shivered with delight. "Sometimes I find the most simple approach is the best, d'accord? You show me what you can do, I show you what I can. After they're dead, we vote who won best kill. If it's a draw, no one wins et la partie est perdue."

Alastor grinned wider and hummed, apparently delighted by your idea.

"An uncompromising game - I like the style, I say, game on! Now, for the winner's reward..."

"Une carte blanche? - but no souls, I'm afraid.", you grinned at him, slowly fading into nothing from the bottom to the top, until there were only your eyes and your smile left.

"Sounds fair enough, let the games begin, darling! I'll take the left one."

And with that, he melted into his own shadows, creeping up behind the left sinner who had just extinguished the cigarette to a tiny piece of tobacco butt on the floor. You followed him entranced, fully invisible now, and rounded the right one - he wasn't as fat and greasy as Alastor's victim, with droopy eyes and lanky legs - perfect for breaking.

"Fuck you, Ollie, I saw her first, so I get the first fuck, too."

With a last glance to the moving shadow you leaned into your prey.

"How about we make it a threesome, baby?"

The man spun around in a panicked startle, and you could smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores. He was intoxicated, and sloppy on his feet. Just how you liked it. His friend tried to say something in warning, but was quickly muffled by dark tendrils that shot out of the dark shade below him, binding his limbs and wrapping around his face.

"What the fuck... who are you, bitch?"

"Aw, come on chèrie, you don't need to know my name to have a great time. You don't even have to drug me first."

You shifted to become visible, the man's eyes bulging out of his skull as you did and took a tentative step towards him. His friend was screaming behind him, his arms and legs wrapped up in shadowy tentacles, the sound muffled and the tendrils slowly squeezing him, wringing him out like a moist rag. It was a truly bizarre and yet absolutely hypnotizing sight.

"Oh shit, Ollie... H-hey, listen, we didn't... uh, fuck, we can all just forget this and, and... fuck, get the hell out of here!"

You laughed, it echoed in the cold night, a sound so eerie that even the man before you shuddered, his eyes fixated on you as you advanced and circled him, claws dragging over his neck and shoulder, and a shiver went down your spine when you saw Alastor, emerging from the shadows, as fixed on you as your victim was, but with fascination and satisfaction rather than fear and panic.

"Oh no, cherie... let's make this a night to remember, oui?"

With that, you pushed the man forward, your tail wrapping around his ankle to swipe his leg off the ground. With a sickening crack he fell onto his back, a pained scream escaping his lips and rendered helpless as you pinned him down by kneeling right onto his crotch before he could even move. This bastard would never be able to use his dick on poor, unsuspecting women again. You let your head fall back into an unnatural angle, watching behind you to a still unmoving, enthralled Alastor.

"Are you just going to watch, cher? It's quite rude to stare at a lady like that."

For a split second, his grin faltered, before widening once more, a low chuckle resounding in his chest, a sound that made you shudder.

"Why, my dear, how could I not, when you're making such a captivating sight."

His words spurred you on and stretched your smile so wide it started to hurt, your body hot and eager - you wanted to impress him, make him crave more of this. More of you. You shifted, turning your head back, and reached a clawed hand onto the man's throat. You concentrated on the feeling of your claws against his grayish, leathery skin as he choked.

"Let's make it a real party, then."

You willed magenta glowing mirror images of your claws into existence, envisioned them scratching and slicing the sinners body into long, thin ribbons - his screams told you it was working. He was cut up alive, his thrashing restrained by a few of the many hands you conjured. They lifted his mangled body up, it looked almost like a bastardized version of a crucifixion, and gave him a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Cela ne fera que très mal."

You've only ever let your full demon form come out once - right after you fell and were attacked by other newcomers. It still felt new, almost untamable, but you were desperate to show him. For Alastor to see you, not as a damsel in distress, or some silly girl playing checkers where others played chess. So you let it take over, your form growing longer, your skin becoming black fur with glowing pink streaks, claws sharpening, and your maw growing. Your victim was still howling and fighting the hands holding him, his blood dripping onto the street and mixing with the puddles on the concrete. He screamed in terror as your jaws opened and you bit into his throat, ripping him to shreds with your sharp teeth, his intestines sloshing onto the pavement and the smell of blood filling the air and the sweet and bitter iron taste ran down your throat.

And just like that, the last remains of his body hit the floor with a mundane, squelching noise. The silence that followed was deafening. You couldn't hear anything, except for the rapid beating of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Then, you heard clapping, slow and rhythmical. You turned your head to see Alastor standing, the other sinner still bound, his face twisted in agony and his eyes bulging out of his eye holes.

"My my, a breathtakingly gruesome display, my dear. Truly enticing!"

He walked towards you, the shadows dissolving as he came closer, the tentacles retreating and the man falling onto the pavement. You watched him with a manic expression, your smile still on your face as your demonic form receded and you could feel the coolness of your victims blood on your fangs as a gust of wind blew through the alley, ruffling your hair.

"Now, for my own part... I have to admit, yours is a little hard to follow, but, oh well."

He snapped his fingers and his shadow stretched out behind him, towering above him with its head bowed, and you saw his eyes glow and transform into dials as a green glow and strange symbols surrounded the sinner's body, his limbs bending and his joints cracking, the sound of snapping bones and gurgling blood filling the alley, as the shadow slowly pulled the man's insides out through his mouth and ripped his head from his neck. It fell onto the concrete, and rolled right into your direction. You watched the eyes of the severed head turn gray, and smiled.

"Very impressive, cher. A true work of art, no?"

"Thank you, darling, I appreciate the compliment."

With another snap of his fingers the gore was gone, the streets cleaned and the corpses - or rather, what had been left of them - vanished, leaving no evidence behind. He turned to face you, the shadow retreating behind him as his dial eyes vanished and returned to their normal, intense red ones, an inquisitive grin plastered on his face as he came to a stop just before you.

"Now, there's only one thing left to do - the determination of the winner."

You laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You couldn't care less who won. Alastor's eyes darted downwards, to your lips, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch, the urge to bite your lower lip growing.

"I'd say we're both winners, but rules are rules."

"I fear so, darling."

There was a pause, neither of you said a word. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and brushed his fingers over your bloodied cheek. You closed your eyes, your breath catching as his claws traced the outlines of your lips. The moment was charged and electrifying, you didn't want to say anything and maybe break the spell. He laughed, low and sweet, leaning into you.

"I think I'm inclined to give my vote to you, darling. Do I have a choice, really?"

Before you could respond, your words were stolen from your lips as they met his, crashing together in a passionate, heated, long overdue kiss. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you and pressing you into his body with ease and your tail curved behind you, happy to know your feelings were mutual as his long claws buried themselves in you blood-stained hair. You sighed against his lips, your own hands clutching to his neck and shoulders, a feeling you couldn't describe in your stomach.

For the first time in forever, you were kissed without it being because you were just pretty, or just a girl, perceived as a weak thing to be taken advantage of. This kiss was because you were powerful, you were impressive, because you were something of an equal in his own image - and if the world wouldn't stop here, if it went on forever and on and if time itself would cease to exist, this kind of passion would not.

A purr escaped your throat as his tongue danced with yours, tasting you - the sweet yet bittersweet, almost metallic taste of blood - yours, the sinners, you didn't care. You'd die all over again, a thousand times more painful than the original time, just for another second of this bloody kiss.

All too soon, it ended and his mouth left yours, making you feel the strange warmth radiating from his skin as he pressed a light peck on your parted lips, brushing his fingertips over your soft skin, red-stained and glowing. You panted, opening your eyes, and your own magenta irises met his, staring deep into them.

"It's a draw, then.", you said, the corners of your mouth tugging up to a smirk as you gave your vote to him unspoken.

"Which means the game is lost.", he answered, and you laughed, knowing you'd never been happier to lose at anything ever, and with a smile your lips chased after his once again.

"Hmmm... with a reward like this, I suppose a victory wouldn't be near as satisfying, anyway." He chuckled into the kiss. "And there's always a next time, right, darling?"

Translations: et la partie est perdue - And the game is lost Cela ne fera que très mal - This will only hurt a lot

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