Let The Radio Play《 Alastor x Reader 》

Losing Control

"Won't you scream for me?"

"It isn't difficult, just open your mouth..."

Alastor's hand clenches closed in front of him as monstrously large tentacles gracefully close in on the poor, wretched soul. Enveloping it in their tight squeeze, the demon yells out. A high pitched, voluminous sound that rings out into the quiet of the night.

Alastor closes his eyes, relishing the frequency, the strength in its conviction.

"That's it. Good boy!"

He tightens his hand, claws digging into his palm making shallow cuts.

The demon has no air. He tries desperately to suck fresh air into his lungs, but his chest is being crushed. Bones fail, snapping. His sternum turning into his demise, sharp bone piercing his organs. He can't even gurgle, as the tendril releases his now lifeless body, letting it fall with a thud to the ground.

Alastor's hand unclenches, a small trickle of blood running down his palm, onto his wrist. His eyes pop open.. a haunting, glowing crimson. His left ear shifts, then does his gaze.

A feeble little fox demon. Cowering in the shadow of an alley situated next to an electronics storefront. Alastor snaps his wrist, his whole arm following suit, right leg dipping behind his left and toe tapping.

His fingers release his microphone stand, projecting it at the little cowarding fox. The blunt end piercing one of its ears and effectively pinning it to the brick facade with a wet thud. It yelps, with such satisfying anguish. Its yelp's die down, leaving it to whimper and whine like an injured dog.

"Pl..please..." It begs. Huge, round eyes pleading.

Alastor chuckles, shifting weight onto his right leg still behind his leg, turning in a circle. Gliding over to the alley, one graceful foot fall in front of the other. He whistles a little tune, in rhythm with his stride. Once he's in front of the little fox, he crouches down, meeting its gaze face to face.

"Could you smile for me, please?" Alastor asks, his own grin jagged and wide, incorporating most of his face.

The fox tries desperately to pull the staff out of the wall, out of its ear, scratching and clawing at the metal with a unique clinking sound. It doesn't smile.

"You're not... fully dressed for this occasion I'm afraid." Alastor's cheery, singalong tone now more annoyed. He waits, impatiently.

The little fox demon thrusts one of its tiny hands forward, claws outstretched and aimed for Alastor's face. Alastor, in turn, snaps his head to the side and bites down on its wrist. One jerk, one pull, and the hand is severed from its body. He spits out the hand, blood spilling over his bottom lip and like a waterfall, it cascades down his chin.

"Mmm, little fox. I'm going to need you fully dressed. Even if I have to carve it into your face myself." He lifts his hand, covering the fox demon's mouth as it screams in pain. Flailing, its legs trying to push it further away from Alastor but failing to find any foothold.

"Ironic, isn't it..." Alastor whispers, static crackling like electricity through his speech. "Ironic... that it's the deer... who chases down the predators... right here in Hell."

Alastor uncovers its mouth, allowing the muffled screams to have their full auditory glory. Removing his glove, he reaches again for the fox's face. A single slender digit, pressed to the corner of its mouth.

Pressing down.

Alastor's claw digs into its furry flesh, the skin parting at his command. Slowly, he drives upward, slicing the flesh up his cheek. Milking the crimson liquid from his visage, raining down its little jaw.