Work Text:
The sun was already high in the sky when she stirred awake, the golden warmth of the morning spilling across the bed like a soft embrace. For once, the room was quiet—eerily quiet, considering it was well past the hour Alastor usually insisted on waking her.
Typically, by 9 a.m., he’d barge in without hesitation, the door creaking open with a flourish as he burst into song—one of those lively, old-time radio tunes he adored—while flinging the curtains open to let the sunlight blind her into wakefulness. But today… there was nothing.
No cheery interruptions. No gleeful demands that she greet the day.
Just the gentle hum of the outside world and the soft scent of flowers drifting through the air.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion knitting her brows.
As if on cue, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Ah! Mademoiselle!” Alastor’s bright, buzzing voice called from the other side. “Awake at last! I was beginning to think you might sleep the entire day away!”
She blinked, still disoriented, and sat up—her hair a tangle of soft waves, the sheets tangled around her legs.
Alastor burst in a moment later, positively vibrating with excitement. He looked sharp as ever in his red suit, a polished radio grin stretching ear to ear, his antlers brushing the top of the doorframe.
“Finally!” he exclaimed, hands gesturing wildly as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “I thought I might have to drag you out of bed like usual!”
A blush crept across her cheeks as she ducked her head, mumbling sleepily, “It’s just a day… no big deal.”
The way Alastor’s face fell for the briefest of moments—it was almost offended—before he composed himself, straightening up with an almost manic gleam in his eyes.
“Just a day!?” he repeated, voice pitched in theatrical disbelief. He clutched at his chest as if mortally wounded. “My dear, this is your day! The anniversary of your birth! The day the universe graced us with your presence!” His voice had the timbre of a radio broadcast, every word laced with reverence and adoration, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes.
She shrank a little, but the warmth in her chest blossomed at his words.
Alastor leaned down, tilting his head to catch her gaze, his voice softening. “I will not have you downplaying it. You’re mine, after all—and today, you are the star of the show.”
The grin that spread across her face was shy, but it was there. She couldn’t help it.
Before she could protest further, Alastor offered his hand in an exaggerated bow. “Come, my darling. There are gifts to open… surprises to see… and perhaps”—his eyes sparkled dangerously—“an evening I have thoroughly planned for you.”
The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.
As the day progressed, Alastor absolutely spoiled her. Breakfast in bed, a mountain of gifts (some practical, some ridiculous), and a private performance of her favorite songs—his voice smooth and rich as he serenaded her in the glow of the radio’s warm light.
By the time the sun began to set, the mood in the room shifted. Alastor’s hands lingered a little longer on her waist as they danced in the dim light, his touches growing more possessive, more insistent. His voice dropped low as he whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
“You look ravishing tonight, my dear…” His hands skimmed down her back, resting firmly on her hips as he pulled her flush against him, a low, satisfied hum rumbling from his chest.
Her breath hitched, heart fluttering wildly.
“Shall we retire to somewhere more… private?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
The way he said it left no room for doubt—tonight was going to be special in every way.
---------
The night air felt warm as they ascended the grand, twisting staircase of the hotel, Alastor’s hand resting lightly on her lower back. His usual confident, almost overbearing demeanor seemed… muted somehow—there was a nervous tension radiating off him, a stiffness to his posture that felt so unlike the Radio Demon she knew.
It wasn’t until they reached the top of the stairs and turned toward his room that she really noticed it. His grin had slipped—just a little—and there was a faint flush coloring his cheeks beneath the shadows of his antlers.
She paused at the threshold, tilting her head curiously.
“Al?” she asked softly, her brow furrowing in concern.
He seemed to freeze for a split second before chuckling, though the sound was forced, almost awkward. “Ah, n-no need to look so concerned, my dear!” he said quickly, gesturing for her to step inside. “Please, come in! After all, this is your day, and, well…”
His voice trailed off, and when she finally crossed the threshold, she saw it: Alastor standing stiffly by his desk, eyes darting between her and the surface of the desk, where a box sat. Not overly large, but certainly big enough that it took both of his hands to carry it when he finally turned and carefully—carefully—set it down on the bed beside her.
The soft clink it made against the mattress sent a strange ripple of anticipation through her.
Alastor, the Radio Demon, the man who commanded rooms and terrified entire realms with a grin, was… nervous.
He was fidgeting. Actually fidgeting—his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the desk, his usual smooth, confident posture replaced with awkward stiffness.
“Al…?” she asked again, voice gentler this time, concern blooming into confusion. She sat on the edge of the bed, glancing down at the box, then up at him. “What… is this?”
Alastor cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze entirely as he adjusted his bowtie—a rare, almost shy gesture.
“Well, ah… you see, since it is your birthday, and you are, of course, deserving of every manner of indulgence…” His voice wobbled, a soft stutter breaking through the usual confidence as his eyes finally met hers. There was a flicker of something raw there—uncertainty, perhaps? Or anticipation laced with a hint of fear?
“I, er… may have acquired a few… items,” he admitted, voice barely above a murmur as he gestured vaguely at the box. “For… tonight.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Items…?”
Alastor let out a nervous laugh, the sound crackling softly in the air. “Yes, yes! Nothing too extravagant, I assure you! Just… a few things that, ah, might make the evening more… memorable.” His fingers twitched again, almost trembling as he gestured toward the box.
She reached out tentatively, resting her hand on the lid—still warm from where he’d carried it—and looked back up at him, brows raised.
“Al… what’s in the box?” she asked softly, her heart beginning to race.
Alastor swallowed, visibly flustered. His fingers tugged at his collar, his grin twitching in a way that betrayed a deep, almost endearing vulnerability.
“Ah… well…” He glanced away, voice low and almost sheepish.
“I may have gone a little… overboard… in procuring certain… items of pleasure for tonight’s festivities.”
Her fingers hesitated on the edge of the box, a thrill of curiosity sparking in her chest as she slowly lifted the lid.
What she saw inside made her breath catch.
Toys.
So many toys.
Rows upon rows of vibrators in varying shapes, sizes, and colors—sleek and polished, some glittering with metallic finishes, others soft and pastel. Silken ropes in shades of deep red and black, nestled alongside plush cuffs lined with velvet, leather straps, and clips she couldn’t even begin to identify. A pair of delicate nipple clamps caught the light, a blindfold folded neatly in the corner, and an array of… things she wasn’t entirely sure how to name.
Her mouth fell open, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared down at the sheer variety before her.
Alastor, meanwhile, stood stiffly a few feet away, his hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, a faint, furious blush creeping over his sharp cheekbones and down his neck. His grin was tight, strained, as if he were forcing it to stay in place while internally panicking.
Her gaze flicked up to him, blinking slowly, her lips parting in stunned silence.
“Well…?” he asked, his voice strained and a touch higher than usual.
For a beat, there was nothing—just the quiet hum of the radio in the background and the distant sounds of the hotel below.
Then, she did something he wasn’t expecting.
Her wide-eyed expression shifted, softening into something else entirely—an amused, delighted little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, a glint of something mischievous flickering in her eyes.
Alastor’s throat bobbed in a hard swallow.
She looked up at him again, tilting her head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You… bought all this?”
He cleared his throat, tugging at his bowtie in a rare, awkward fidget. “Ah, yes, well, I may have… ahem… indulged a little more than necessary. You see, my dear, I—well, you—had made certain comments in the past about, ah… exploration, in the bedroom.”
His words tumbled out in a rush, as if he were trying to get through it without combusting.
“And, well, I—being a gentleman, of course—felt it inappropriate to, ah… broach the subject myself. I am, after all, rather… traditional, you might say. But considering it’s your birthday, and I do believe birthdays are for… special treats…”
His voice trailed off as he gestured awkwardly toward the box, his grin faltering.
A pause.
Her smirk grew, heat blooming across her face and down her neck. Her eyes sparkled with something wicked as she looked back down at the assortment of toys, a little thrill of anticipation sparking in her chest.
“Well,” she said, voice low and teasing as her fingers trailed across the polished surface of a sleek, black vibrator. “I guess we’ll have to… make good use of your generosity, won’t we?”
Alastor’s breath hitched, and his grin snapped back into place—sharp, wide, and gleaming with something dark and hungry.
“Oh, darling,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet now, his earlier awkwardness evaporating as he stepped closer, looming over her with a predatory glint in his eyes. His fingers brushed the edge of her jaw, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.
“That is precisely what I was hoping to hear.”
-----------
Time seemed to blur into nothing but heat, friction, and breathless moans.
The box of toys, once so neatly arranged, was now ravaged—vibrators in all shapes and sizes strewn haphazardly across the bed, their surfaces glistening with slick, evidence of hours of indulgence. The ropes lay discarded, their purpose long since fulfilled, and the soft clink of the nipple clamps on her chest punctuated the sounds of the room like the high, sweet chime of a bell.
The air was thick—humid with sweat, the heady scent of sex hanging heavy.
Alastor lay beneath her, hands bound tightly behind his back, his sharp suit long since discarded, his skin flushed a deep, feverish red. His antlers pressed into the pillows, and sweat dripped down his temple, his breath coming in ragged, desperate pants. His hair stuck to his forehead in wild, messy tufts, and his grin—usually so polished, so in control—was split wide and unraveled, trembling with every gasping, broken moan that tore from his throat.
“F-fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse and wrecked, his hips twitching helplessly beneath her. His head thrashed back against the bed, chest heaving with each shuddering breath.
Her thighs burned, muscles trembling with the sheer intensity of her movements, but she didn’t slow—couldn’t slow.
She was feral, chasing the high with reckless, almost savage abandon, her hands braced against his chest for balance as she slammed down onto him over and over, the lewd, wet sounds of their bodies filling the room. Her head was thrown back, sweat-slick hair sticking to her skin, the little clamps on her nipples bouncing and clinking softly with every brutal grind of her hips.
“Alastor,” she gasped, voice ragged and wild, her body trembling, slick and flushed, heat pooling low in her belly.
The pressure—the relentless pace, the toys, the teasing hours before—had her on edge, every nerve alight and burning.
Alastor’s hands flexed behind him, straining against the binds. His eyes were blown wide, pupils nearly swallowing the crimson, and his mouth hung open in a silent cry.
“Please—” he choked out, voice breaking on the word, his grin faltering, twisting into something desperate. “Ah—please, I—I can’t—”
Her hips stuttered, then ground down hard, and his breath hitched—a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he arched off the bed, his body trembling violently beneath her.
But she didn’t let up.
“Mine,” she growled, voice low and rough, her fingers digging into his chest hard enough to leave marks. Her pace stayed ruthless, every thrust dragging the head of his cock against her sweet spot, sending shocks of pleasure ricocheting through both of them.
His head snapped back, a strangled, almost broken moan tearing free as he bucked wildly beneath her, helpless to do anything but take it.
The bed shook with every frantic movement, sheets twisted and damp, the vibrators abandoned in a tangled heap of slick and metal.
Alastor’s voice cracked on her name, his accent thick and frayed, eyes wide and glassy as he fell apart beneath her.
And still, she rode him.
Relentless.
Ravenous.
Absolutely insatiable.
And from the look of him—completely destroyed beneath her—he wouldn’t have it any other way
------------
Time had shifted once again—flipped on its head, leaving her trembling and utterly at his mercy.
Her wrists were bound tightly to the headboard, soft cuffs digging into the delicate skin as she squirmed, her body flushed, slick with sweat and her own arousal. Her thighs shook uncontrollably, muscles spasming with each pulse of pleasure that had been wrung out of her, over and over.
And it wasn’t over.
Not even close.
Alastor loomed over her, his grin wicked and sharp, teeth glinting as he held the small, innocent-looking pink bullet vibrator to her throbbing clit. His chest pressed against hers, the weight of him grounding her, trapping her.
Her cries were wrecked, voice hoarse and raw from screaming his name, from begging.
“Al—Alastor, please—oh god, please—!”
Her body jolted, hips jerking wildly as another wave of pleasure surged through her, her back arching off the bed, a sob tearing from her throat.
“Please, I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I—oh fck, please, I can’t—!”
Her words dissolved into incoherent whimpers, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks as she shook her head helplessly.
Alastor just laughed—a low, dark, crackling sound that vibrated against her skin.
“Ah, ah, ah, my dear,” he growled, voice a delicious, dangerous purr in her ear as his teeth grazed her neck. He bit—just enough to sting, to leave a mark—and she shuddered, a fresh sob breaking free.
“You didn’t seem so sorry when you were riding me like a bitch in heat,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger as he nipped at her ear, his free hand gripping her hip tightly to hold her down.
Another pulse from the vibrator against her clit had her crying out, her body writhing desperately beneath him.
“Twenty minutes,” he hissed, the words hot against her skin as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe up her neck. “Twenty long minutes you kept me on the edge, watching you—teasing me. And now you want to apologize?”
He bit her shoulder, hard enough to leave a dark, blooming mark, and she screamed, her body tensing and shuddering beneath him.
“No, no,” he snarled, the vibrator relentless as it pressed tight against her overstimulated clit. “You’re going to take it. You’re going to thank me for it. And you’re going to remember this every time you so much as think about edging me again.”
Her voice cracked on another broken moan, tears streaming down her face, hips bucking wildly—trapped, helpless, completely at his mercy.
And Alastor?
He just grinned.
Grinned like a man who owned her.
Because, in that moment, he did.
------------
The room was a disaster.
The sheets tangled and damp, toys scattered across the bed like discarded treasures from a particularly sinful pirate's haul. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the lingering hum of pleasure—sated, sated, sated.
They lay there on their backs, side by side, panting—wrecked.
Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, her body limp and boneless, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her skin glistened in the low light, streaked with sweat, flushed from exertion, her hair wild and everywhere.
Beside her, Alastor looked equally destroyed—his chest heaving, fur matted and sticking to his skin, his antlers knocked askew from the sheer chaos of the night. His hair was a mess, curls damp and sticking up in every direction, but he didn’t seem to care. His grin was soft now, not the sharp, feral thing from earlier, but something languid and content.
Her gaze drifted lazily to the clock on the nightstand.
12:07 AM.
She blinked.
A small, playful whine slipped from her lips as she nudged his side with her foot. “It’s… not my birthday anymore…” she pouted, her voice breathy and light, a hint of teasing in the words.
Alastor propped himself up on his elbows, the muscles in his arms tense and lean as they flexed beneath the strain. His hair fell into his face, the tips dark with sweat, but he didn’t bother brushing it away. His grin widened as he tilted his head toward her, those ruby eyes gleaming in the low light, fond and lazy.
“Ah, well,” he drawled, voice still rough, low, wrecked from hours of moaning her name into her skin, “technically, yes… but you know, my dear…”
He cleared his throat, eyes darting away for a second as a rare, genuine flicker of awkwardness crossed his features.
“I, ah… might have enjoyed the toys more than I initially expected.” He coughed into his fist, as if that would somehow mask the flush creeping up his neck.
Her head turned sharply to look at him, eyes wide and delighted, a slow, beaming grin spreading across her face.
Alastor’s gaze flicked back to hers, and for a moment, he almost looked sheepish—almost.
“So…” he continued, voice low and smooth again, a teasing lilt creeping in, “I suppose we don’t have to wait until your next birthday to… revisit that particular box of delights, hmm?”
Her laughter bubbled up, breathless and warm, and she beamed at him, eyes sparkling.
“Good.”
Alastor’s grin sharpened, his eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling purr.
“Oh, darling,” he whispered, nipping at her jawline, “you’re mine. Every day can be your birthday if you want it to be.”
Her breath hitched—another soft, tired giggle escaping as she melted into the bed, the last vestiges of exhaustion pulling at her.
They lay there in the tangle of sheets and sweat and love, content, exhausted, wrecked.
And utterly, completely satisfied.