Human Alastor X Reader - Tumblr Posts

🥰😭 How angst authors don't start sobbing in the middle of writing these imagines I will never know

Drowning

Notes: I’m writing this with Painted Smile! Alastor. I just want you all to know that, because if I were to write him like you weren’t with him from the beginning , he would care as much. This is an ask from  @kimoko-james, I hope this little scenario will sooth your heart,  my dear. Ask: Could you maybe write something about how we lost a pet close to us?

You were crying, holding your pillow against your chest.

It was so painful, you felt like drowning.

Alice has given you a kitten for your birthday. You always wanted a pet for yourself. You would cherish it more than your own life. He was so little when Alice gave him to you. He could almost fit in your palm. He was meowing as you nuzzled against him.

His little paws were so cute, touching your face like it was trying to remember your face.

But then, he was gone.

You didn’t know what happened, he was just… no longer by your side. You wouldn’t hear his little paws on the floor anymore. You wouldn’t hear him meowing at Alastor because the man put him back on the floor so he wouldn’t dirty his suit with his fur.

“ Darling?”

You sniffed, turning your head toward Alastor. He didn’t turn on the light, keeping your room in the dark which you silently thank him. You didn’t want him to see you like that and yet…

He walked toward your bed, sitting next to you, caressing your wet cheeks. You let go of your pillow before going on his laps, sighing in bliss when you felt his arms wrapped around your frame.

“ He is gone…”

He listened to you as you poured out your heart to him. You kind of expected Alastor to mock you. He wasn’t a fan of animals. He didn’t understand your love for them, but he respected it. You were having so many bad thoughts about yourself. Did you make any mistakes? 

“ How lucky of him.”

You jerked your head toward Alastor. Did he say what you really thought he said? You felt anger swirling inside your body. You weren’t strong enough to play any games today. You opened your mouth but he kissed you quickly, making you shut up.

“ I’m jealous. He knew you all his life. All his memories, as short as they are, are filled with your smiles, your kisses. How can he not be lucky?” he smiled at you, moving away a lock of your hair. “ Come on, dearest. Don’t be sad for giving him the best life he ever had? Being loved by you is the best thing to feel.” He kissed your forehead as you looked down.

Your pet was gone, you would no longer hold him against your chest, you would no longer call his name and beamed as he reacted to it. You would feel pain for losing him. But knowing that the little life he had with you made him at least a little happy, soothed some of your pain.

You looked at Alastor who was still looking at you, observing the pain in your face. You knew he hated seeing you in this state but you couldn’t help it. You felt tears gathered once more in your eyes.

Alastor kissed your eyes, making your tears drop, before standing up and walking toward the record player and putting a vinyl on it. You looked at him as soft music began to feel the air. He walked back toward you, before holding his hand toward you. You took his hand after wiping your eyes and gasped as he tugged you against his chest.

He began to balance you from right to left, softly against him. You kept your head against his chest, listening to his beating heart. 

“ I want you to smile after the song is over.”

You hiccuped,looking at him, not sure of yourself. He was so obsessed with your smile but you didn’t know if you were ready to smile right now. As you felt dread when the song was coming to an end, Alastor restarted it. 

You looked at him, blinking. He kept dancing with you, smiling down at you, going to the record player each time the song was coming to an end to restart it.

You closed your eyes as his arms caged you against him. You knew he didn’t like you in this state, mostly because it means you weren’t thinking about him, but you know he would do anything to make you smile.

And just like, you smiled a little bit. Just like the song that was on repeat, you would start again your life, bearing your loss. But you wouldn’t be alone, Alastor would always be here to keep you from drowning.

Don't worry I'll write both of the headcanon-oneshots(??), but whichever one wins will be posted first!

Omg your headcanons are so lovely ! Could you write Human Alastor/Fem! Reader who is very playful and loves roughhousing with him any chance she gets? He also enjoys it as he gets to let of steam but ofc he tries his best to be as gentle as one can be when roughhousing. She however is tackling him like a football player just because.

ROUGHHOUSING .ᐟ

human.alastor x reader

"i definitely remember you now."

⤖ synopsis ; human alastor with a s/o who loves to roughhouse!

⤖ notices : romance, petnames, mentions of murder, roughhousing, injury, and alastor's long ass leg can fucking run and it's scary.

⤖ missive ; will do! i've been dying to broadcast more human!alastor content, so i hope you enjoy, dear listener! thank you for your kind words and request!!

☼        first of all, as we heard in the show, alastor states that it's been a while since he was able to blow off steam. so, it would most likely be the same way when he was alive.

☼        that is until he started dating you.

☼        you were a rather playful thing, or at least you were towards alastor.

☼        not a morning went by where he wouldn't be met with you jumping onto his back and sending you both straight back onto the bed.

☼        at first, he didn't know what to think of it. he knew you were just messing around, but he felt like he should have some other reaction other than just laughing.

☼        so, he started being rough back.

☼        you both constantly got into pillow fights, or even fights where you would tackle alastor. of course, there were some moments where one would hit their elbow on the side of the table or trip over their own feet, but it was never something bad.

☼        small bruises would be a common thing, and it's one of the reasons he's slightly remorseful for getting rough with you.

☼        on one hand, he got to blow off steam, but seeing your stunning self being covered in small bruises made him stop fighting back for a bit.

☼        you were able to tackle him while he held you to make sure you didn't hit yourself, and anytime you jumped on him, he learned to stand up without falling back.

☼        he would just be fixing his suit with you on his back, and when he was done, he'd walk backwards so you'd fall onto the bed.

☼        he would then turn around and lean over to give you a kiss goodbye.

☼        but you had other plans.

"i'll see you in a few, my dear—" the words were cut off as soon as you grasped his tie, and you yanked him down onto the bed before flipping him over.

you hovered over him with a slight frown, and you let go of his tie before you flicked his forehead. "what's wrong? you never mess with me anymore."

alastor slightly chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist, "because you'd have bruises, darling. i can't live with the idea that i'm harming you."

"al."

"yes?"

"those bruises are from me tripping all over the house—when we mess around, you hardly even touch me. you mostly beat the couch..."

you only smiled as alastor sheepishly grinned, and he shrugged before grabbing your arms.

you laughed once he flipped you around, and you were pinned below him before he leaned down to softly kiss you. "i'll see you after work, my dear..." he mumbled against your lips while you hummed.

once he pulled back, you gave him a smile. "i'll see you after work, al..."

☼        after that, he'd continue to roughhouse with you to your hearts extent.

☼        he also learned you were fairly resilient because you hit your head and bounced back up like it was nothing.

☼        but nonetheless, he was still fairly careful. no matter how many times you tackled him, he'd never tackle you back.

☼        until you made a joke about him being weak.

☼        all of his gentleman manners went away while he tackled you to the ground.

⤖ word count ; too lazy to count

© soleilplume

☼         reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

One Faithful Night (Human!Alastor x wife!reader)

(A/N: this may be one of my most favorite works I've written. Also human Alastor 🔛🔝)

TAGS: human Alastor x reader, intimate smut, domestic fluff (if you squint hard enough), mentions of wanting children, creampie, fingering, riding

This human Alastor is heavily inspired by one of my idols, so please check out A Doe In Fall by @/ hazelfoureyes :33

You glanced at the clock, crossing your legs as you draped yourself on the cushioned couch. One o’clock. 

You sighed, shaking your head as you stood up; Alastor was coming home incredibly late for the 3rd time this week, and it’s just Thursday! 

You knew why he was out at such a time. You knew why he would come home with a red stain somewhere on his clothes or his body.

Your husband was with somebody.

Well, some body. You knew he was the New Orleans serial killer. 

You’ve come to terms with it long ago, when he ranted about one of the victims shortly before they died. Or when you were washing his and your clothes one day and noticed the way the water turned a faint red when you were scrubbing his black dress shirt.

To be honest, you weren’t really surprised; he had some murderer tendencies that you were aware of when you said yes to him. Plus, you had your own skeletons in the closet; you couldn’t just berate his dark secret while keeping yours safely locked away.

You slowly made your way to the bedroom, unbuttoning your dress to slip into a more comfortable nightgown. It was a deep, almost rustic red, its hem only reaching your mid thigh.

With a sigh, you jumped onto the bed, hurrying into the covers and relishing in the pressure of it as it slowly fell on your body. The air tonight was cold as hunting season rolled around, so curling yourself into a ball was definitely the best way to reserve your body heat. 

You found yourself easily drifting to sleep, your eyelids becoming far too heavy to be kept open. You took a deep breath before you succumbed to your weariness, though missing the weight of your husband beside you.

You were awoken by a small peck on your forehead, and the sound of polished shoes on the floor. With groggy eyes, you opened them, your eyesight still blurry as it caught the vague outline of your husband. 

“Al,” you surprised yourself at your hoarse voice, and you saw him turn his head to look at you. “Mon amour, why are you still awake?”

You sat up, shaking your head. “That doesn’t matter. What time is it?”

Alastor glanced at his watch before taking it off. “Half past 2.” He turned his gaze to you apologetically. “I’m sorry for coming home late again.”

You smiled warmly, watching the way he sat on his side of the bed to remove his shoes. “It’s alright, chér; I know how much of a workload WWL can give its employees.”

Oh, did you mention that he didn’t know you knew? Ah, men; always thinking they’re slick.

He softly laughed, his smile making his glasses raise slightly. “Yes, it’s quite a lot.” Alastor stood up to change into cleaner clothes, but you stopped him with a noise.

Your husband craned his neck to look at you with a curious arch of a brow, and you grinned, patting his side of the bed. “Stay here for a bit.”

“I’m dirty, my dear.” He tried to reason out, but you put a palm in front of you as a way to stop him. “You aren’t to me; come here.”

He rolled his eyes with a playful smirk before untying his bowtie and placing it on his nightstand, slipping under the covers with you shortly after. Alastor’s arms easily wrapped around your waist, as they’d had multiple times before, before placing a quick kiss on your lips.

As soon as he laid beside you, you immediately tugged him closer, your nose breathing in his perfume and natural scent; God, you missed that.

Alastor noticed what you were doing and chuckled. You glared at him before taking another sniff. “What? I miss my husband; is that a crime?” you asked, kissing his neck before finally detaching yourself from him.

He grinned, pulling the covers closer to both of yours and his shoulders before responding. “I never said it was, dear.” He cupped your cheek gingerly before pulling you into an intimate kiss, the arm around your waist doing the same motion with your body.

You welcomed his romantic action with open arms; he rarely ever gave you a kiss longer than a couple of short-lived seconds, so who were you to refuse such a sporadic gesture?

What you weren’t expecting, though, was for him to deepen it, his tongue asking your mouth for permission to do so. You allowed it, a smile growing on your face. Well, this was new.

Alastor’s hand trailed from your waist to your thigh, where he cupped the bottom of it to hook around his hips. You let out a noise of surprise at that and pulled away, narrowing your eyes in playful skepticism when you caught that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Alastor,” you drag out, a grin with the same behavior as his gaze. “What are you trying to pull?”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to your lips, spawning butterflies in your stomach. “Isn’t it obvious, my dear? I just missed you so much today; I hadn’t seen you in practically 12 hours—”

“13,” you corrected, making him laugh. “13 hours, and I intend to make up for it…” The hand that was on the bottom of your thigh gripped the flesh of it tightly, his nails probably marking soft crescents against your skin, and you shuddered at its grasp.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You don’t have to make up for anything, mon beau. Just your presence is enough—”

Alastor shook his head, making his glasses shift on his face. “Nonsense.” He smiled gently as you fixed them, knowing fully that you couldn’t just remove them without removing his ability to see. “Let me please you…”

This stupid radio host’s voice was so sultry, it sent sparks of heat all the way down. While you were distracted by it, though, Alastor’s hands roamed around your body, softly caressing your skin through the nightgown before gingerly cupping your chest, making you moan quietly.

He seemed to bask in your reaction with how wide his grin stretched. One of his hands went back down to your lower body, kneading the thigh around his hips tenderly. His thumbs were the real devil, however, one of them was brushing against your nipple while the other was so dangerously close to your now aching core.

You shortly laughed at his antics, and shot him a warning glare. Alastor just smiled innocently despite his fingers threatening to do something the exact opposite of that.

Both of his hands began to memorize every curve your body had to offer, and he sighed when your nightgown’s silk tickled his palms. “It should be a sin how you look absolutely ravishing in what you’re wearing right now, chérie…”

You giggled at his words, quirking a brow upwards. “Do you like it, sweetheart?”

“No, I don’t,” he said sternly. “I love it.”

One of his hands lowered itself to your inner thighs, where his thumb drew circles on it. You sucked in a breath at his touch; for someone who constantly says that anything sexual isn’t his cup of tea, he surely knows how to please a woman.

You bit your bottom lip as you felt his middle finger enter you, the slender little serpent. It began to curl upwards, easily hitting your g-spot. You couldn’t hold back the moans that he was getting out of you, and you buried your face in the space between the pillows and his neck.

Alastor chuckled, and you could’ve sworn you heard condescension. “My, my, darling. Falling apart at a single finger already?”

You groaned, the sound muffling from how you were positioned. Your husband set his pace irregularly, constantly switching back and forth between quick and shallow thrusts to slow and hard curls. “I’m not ‘falling apart’,” you huffed. “I’m simply acknowledging the pleasure you’re giving me. Am I not allowed to react?”

Alastor laughed at your words. That’s one thing he loved about you, always so quick-witted to his teasing. He responded by slipping his ring finger inside of you and pumping with such care and calculation, the thought of it alone made you see stars.

“Of course you are.” His voice was so close to your ear, blush spread across your cheeks. “Of course you’re allowed to react to this, ma beau femme.” Alastor cursed under his breath when your warmth squeezed his fingers the more he thrusted them inside you; you were so inviting. “So wet, all for me…”

“Oh, stop it with your words, you tease.” You lifted your head up to look at him, every other word being accompanied by a pant.

“But why would I ever do that?” He tilted his head, making the pillows shift under him. “Why would I neglect you of something that clearly makes you so worked up?”

You tensed at his words before melting at his fingers, the sinful appendages rendering you speechless. Your lips found solace on his collarbone, lazily kissing and biting across it.

Alastor hissed at the contact of your teeth to his skin, and increased the rhythm his fingers had on you, his palm hitting your now swollen clit with every thrust.

Your hips stuttered at his pace, your breath coming out in hot and heavy breaths. You shut your eyes and rested your forehead on your husband’s neck; you could practically hear his pulse thumping against it.

“There you are…” He whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead. Every single movement of his was so intimate, so romantic. Well to be fair, Alastor was never one to be rough with you. He would rather pamper and spoil you than anything else.

You turned into jelly as he connected your lips together, shockwaves spreading all across your body when he added more intention to pressing his palm against your clit. You whined into his mouth at the sudden intensity, hips having a mind of their own as they grinded onto his hand.

“Someone’s needy.” He commented, surprise fake in his voice. The pads of his middle and ring finger pressed against the spongy part of your walls at the same time he thrusted his palm, causing you to practically wail. Your lips quivered at the amount of noises being pulled out of you, and Alastor seemed to relish in each and every one.

You mewled his name, his skilled fingers making them come out as hushed whispers. Normally, you would’ve been embarrassed about the fact that you were crumbling by just two fingers that you’ve had inside you on various occasions, but your mind was too hazy to think about your pride. Plus, this night felt different, and you weren’t not going to cave into such a pleasure.

Slowly, you felt pressure build up in your core, and you gasped at the feeling; bliss was consuming you more quickly than normal. Your eyes darted to meet Alastor’s half lidded ones, catching the sadistic grin on his face afterwards. You pouted your lips as you groaned, taking a deep breath. The cool air of late November filled your lungs tastefully, and you shivered at its lack of warmth. 

Alastor’s grip on you was sufficient enough to heat your entire body up, though. Your hand found its way to rest on his chest, where it focused on the way he was panting alongside you.

Your pleasure was his.

“Won’t you cum for me, darling?” He asked hoarsely, his smile evident in his voice. His other hand trailed up to your breast, which he kneaded and fondled with.

You let out a sharp gasp before nodding vigorously against his clavicle, your breaths mere hiccups as you grinded your hips erratically. “I-I will, Alastor; I will…”

Your husband’s lips curled upwards, his eyes gazing at you longingly. “That’s my girl, so compliant.” Your walls convulsed around his digits, and he groaned at the feeling, wondering just how tight you’d be if he’d entered you instead.

The double stimulation was too much for you to handle, even if you’ve done similar things to yourself before. But with his slender fingers sliding in and out of you with such ease, abusing your sweet spot endlessly, it felt nothing like yours.

Shit, just the idea of him being the one pleasing you was able to send you right off the edge. With a cry of his name, you came undone, legs spasming as he did not slow down.

The yapper he is, he began to babble praises and sweet nothings in your ear, taking deep breaths to match with you. Alastor knew how coated his hand was with your juices, and the thought alone made his pants tighten painfully.

But fuck, the pain felt so good.

“That’s it, that’s it. You’re doing so well,” he cooed, planting another kiss on your forehead. That only made your hair stick to it even further, but you couldn’t give a rat’s ass about it now. All you could think about was his fingers in you. 

Alastor grinned as he watched your whole body stir from your climax, your breathing finally slowing down. He watched your eyes struggle to open and look him in the eye and reward him with that flushed out, slightly pathetic expression that he loved seeing on you.

You were divine in his eyes. He knew his fate, his place underneath the soil of the earth, and he constantly wondered what angel brought you down from Heaven as his personal gift. Maybe they were trying to convince him, trying to sway his judgment to a better one. More moral.

But Alastor accepted the fact that there was no redeeming him. Even with that, though, that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the apple that God gave him. What’s wrong with a little indulgence?

He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt the bed shift, and he looked at you in alarm. “(Name)?-”

“Shh.” You shushed, climbing on top of him. Alastor gave every drop of his attention to what you were doing. He grunted softly when your hips landed on his while you twitched at the accidental overstimulation. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

He just chuckled softly, his smile growing on his face. Alastor never ceased to amaze you with his perfect grin. “You already do, chérie.”

You tutted, shaking your head, despite knowing that he probably meant it. “Non, you’ve given me something, let me give you something in return.” You leaned forward until your chests were almost touching, arms folded underneath you to steady yourself.

You ignored the faint discomfort of your bare cunt against his clothed erection, and instead focused on his soft groans as you grinded yourself on him. Your eyes followed your husband’s fingers as they trailed to his mouth, where he sucked all of the remaining juices from a couple minutes prior.

Alastor sighed deeply at the taste, almost fully shutting his eyes to savor the flavor. 

And good God, was that a sight to behold. 

To see your husband, someone who people have praised for his poise, with two digits in his mouth, sucking and pumping them like there was no tomorrow, not letting your flavor leave his lips made you swell up with pride. You made Alastor a starved man eating his last meal before his death, and he made sure to eat until he could no longer taste you on his fingers.

You could only gaze at him through warm eyes, your hips never stopping its movement against his. Alastor removed his fingers from his mouth with a pop before lazily grinning at you. “You taste absolutely heavenly, my dear.” His other hand snaked up to your nape and pulled your closer, noses touching.

He let out a shaky breath before chuckling, his eyes tightly shut. “And you make me such a dirty, feral animal.”

“And I intend to tame you.” You whispered in his ear before placing a kiss directly below it, so close to his pulse. The perfume he put on hours ago filled your mind, and it urged you to kiss him more. Make him feel ecstasy. 

He groaned at your kisses, his hands instinctively gripping your hips. As you peckered your lips on his neck, you couldn’t help but grin. “You deserve to rest, darling,” you muttered against his skin, barely sinking your teeth in. 

Alastor let out a tight laugh, his chest rising as he inhaled afterward. But before he could respond to you, you lifted yourself to sit upright, your hands fumbling with his belt on purpose. “You worked so hard today, didn’t you, Al?” You removed his belt in one swift motion, your hand immediately palming his aching hard on. “Oh, you poor thing; so neglected…”

Your husband had more than enough self control; you knew that. He could probably pleasure you for hours without thinking a single thought about his own. But all of that came crumbling down when you teased him through his clothes.

Alastor’s hips bucked against your palm, and he cursed under his breath as he shut his eyes. A strained smile formed on his lips, his brow twitching in difficult restraint. “My dear, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not!” You laughed out, your thumb tracing the outline of his pants’ crotch. Your eyes followed your soft trails of fire you were leaving on Alastor, the smile on your face still present. “I’m simply stating the fact that you did so good today.”

“(Name)-“

“Fuck, you should be rewarded, right?” You breathed out, unbuttoning his pants. “You should just stay back; relax.” Your eyes flickered to lock with his. “Let me do all the work this time. Trust me?”

Alastor didn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes; he knew that whenever you asked him that two-worded question, you were planning something. “What would happen if I’d say no?”

You snorted at that before unzipping his pants, your pointer finger’s knuckle grazing against his clothed erection.

He shuddered beneath you, the back of his hand on his mouth as he glanced at you through his bottom lashes. Alastor watched intently as you finally freed him, your thumb circling his leaking tip.

You could see the way he was throbbing, inviting you to sink down on him, and it had made you as wet as your previous orgasm. Your eyes scanned and learnt every vein meticulously until you couldn’t take it anymore. You aligned your hips with his, and glanced at him to see his reaction.

Just as you predicted, Alastor’s eyes were locked onto where your bare bodies touched, his breathing almost coming to a standstill. You saw the way the lean muscles of his stomach convulsed as you finally sat down on him, the one hand on your hip squeezing into the flesh of it. The pain made you moan as you tried to bottom him out in one go, but the both of you knew that could never really happen.

“Dear, slow down.” Alastor whispered, noticing how you rolled your hips with him midway inside of you to ease him in. You bit your bottom lip, adrenaline coursing through the blood in it. “I can do this.”

“I know you can, love—”

“I can—” You found a spot that comfortably slid him in you and took advantage of it. In just a snap, your pelvis touched his, and you sucked in a breath before moaning, your hands splayed on his chest. 

Alastor bit the back of his hand as he let out a low, dragged out groan. He closed his eyes at the feeling of being inside something, someone so warm. It doesn’t matter if you two would be making love 10 or 20 years after your marriage; he will never get used to this.

God, he wishes he never will.

You panted with your tongue fat in your mouth, your lips twitching with eagerness. At a pace you could carefully adjust to, you rocked your hips against his, soliciting small whines from yourself, and breathless moans from him.

“You’re so tired, aren’t you, amor?” The words rolled off of your tongue effortlessly, in the same fashion as your lower body. “You just wanna relax…”

Alastor just scoffed at your words, removing his hand from his mouth to cup your hip with both hands. You were so beautiful; he could just stare at you for hours, listen to your voice for eternity.

You lifted your hips and sat back down once, something Alastor did not expect. He let out a loud moan, his upper body tensing at the unexpected but welcome feeling. “Oh, poor baby.” You pouted, having a field trip teasing your husband like this. 

He gritted his teeth; so this is why you asked him if he trusted you. “(Name), you’re more of a tease than I am.” He remarked, his voice taut. Alastor couldn’t help himself when he thrusted into you after just a second or two; frankly, it surprised him just as much as it did you.

“Well, look who’s the needy one now.” You smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye as you leaned closer to his lips. He had expected you to kiss him, or press your nose against his, but you had just lingered there, smiling and taunting.

“You must’ve been so stressed at work.” Ugh, he heard it. He heard the pity (near mockery) laced delicately in each word. It usually would’ve pissed him off (though he wouldn’t show it), but now it strangely aroused him even more.

Alastor decided to indulge in your little rambling.

“So tired, love.” He breathed out, watching in amazement as you finally started to ride him. “I guess—oh, you feel so good—I guess I do need to let off some steam…”

Your eyes gleamed when he agreed with your little taunting statements. You finally connected your lips together, and he immediately accepted your kiss. 

And fuck, was it intimate. It was sensual, desperation heard in every slick, wet noise made from either the kiss or your very handsome ride.

Alastor gripped your hips so tightly to the point you were surprised it didn’t draw blood, and sat up, guiding you along with his body. “I need someone gorgeous,” he thrusted, timing it with your bounces. “Intelligent,” he pushed his hips deeper into you, and your eyes rolled to the back of your skull at his desire for you. “Sexy,” at that, you laughed, earning a small chuckle from your husband. His hands traveled lower to cup your ass, and he squeezed, your flesh spilling in between the gaps of his fingers. “To help me relax.”

“I’ll give you what you want, mon amour.” You whispered, resting your head against his warm neck. “I’ll give you anything.”

At that, Alastor groaned, a low, needy sound that sent viscous trails of pleasure down to your core. “Would you really give me anything, ma belle?”

You began to quicken your pace, despite your legs screaming at you to stop and slow down. You nodded, breathlessly laughing as your lungs tried to catch up with you and your husband’s escapade. “You know I would, Al.”

You could’ve sworn you heard him whine in your ear softly at your declaration of love, his hands going back to your hips to guide you to an even quicker pace. You practically sobbed at your spouse’s desired speed, and you clung onto him for dear life. 

“Let’s try for a child, darling.” He pleaded, his breath hot on your neck. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Your stomach flipped at his words; did he really mean it?

“I do. Fuck, (Name), I really do.” Alastor’s hips had a mind of their own as they pounded into you, his nails digging into your skin as he tried to control the tempo your body had. You hadn’t even realized that you said your thoughts out loud, but you were so glad you did.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. Whenever you’d feel yourself growing needy for your husband, you didn’t immediately go to him to satiate it; you knew how he felt about topics like that. Your walls were molded in the shape of your fingers, not his, and before, you were totally fine with that. But with every time he indulges in your urges, you couldn’t help but want to beg for more from him. 

You don’t, though; you have at least some self-restraint.

“(Name),” Alastor’s voice snapped you out of your hazed out trance. “(Name), I’m close—”

“Don’t stop.” You whispered, harsh yet yearning, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for some sort of stability. “For the love of everything that is holy, Alastor, do not stop.”

Your husband laughed at the irony of it all, but obliged your demand. “Whatever makes my wife happy.” 

His rhythm was almost bruising, but damnit did it feel absolutely bewildering. Alastor knew you like the back of his hand, from your desired speed to your certain turn-ons. 

One of his hands moved upwards to your nape, carefully and slowly, as he drank up your fucked out expression, lips curled in bliss as you could barely keep your eyes open. He reeled you in for a kiss from his grip on the back of your neck, his brows twitching as he felt himself do the same thing inside of you.

It didn’t matter how many times Alastor would tell you that you made him such a degenerate, suddenly needing your touch 24/7; it will never be enough. You would never know just how much he meant it. 

He loved how needy you would get because of his voice or his gaze alone. He loved how he would catch you staring at him from across the room as if you were a lovesick fool, a teenager experiencing their first crush. And he most especially loved just how dumb you’d always be on his cock.

When you unintentionally began to grind with him still buried inside you, he unraveled before you, moans and soft sighs traveling from his mouth to yours as he painted your walls white. Alastor’s glasses fogged up the more deep breaths he took, but at that point, he didn’t care.

A small smile graced his lips when you so harshly fucked his cum deeper into you, your own whines vibrating in his mouth. It was clear that you wanted this as much as he did.

Finally, his hips stilled inside you, and with a wet pop, Alastor parted from the kiss, his chest heaving alongside yours. He grinned as you, with shaky hands, removed his glasses from his face, and placed it on yourself. You squinted your eyes at how terrible you forgot his eyesight to be, and as a remedy, you moved it lower down your nose bridge. 

“You’re so gorgeous, (Name).” He whispered, his hands massaging the possible bruises he’d inflicted on your hips. You scoffed at his words, your fingers mindlessly tracing his collarbone. “You’re just saying that.”

“But why would I feel the need to lie if it isn’t even necessary?” He kissed your neck gently, and you giggled when it tickled. “I don’t need my glasses to see your beauty.”

“Oh, you,” you tilted your head to rest against his. “Always knowing what to say.” 

You two stayed like that, breathing patterns matching with each other relatively quickly. It wasn’t long until you realized just how early in the morning it was, and you knit your brows together. “What time is it?”

“If I were to guess, it’s probably a quarter past 3.” Your husband replied, his eyes narrowing with his difficulty to see. 

“Alastor!” You exclaimed, a shot of adrenaline coursing through your blood flow. “We have an event to go to tomorrow!”

“Oh, no!” He feigned surprise, gasping dramatically. “What ever will we do?” When you rolled your eyes at him with a faint smile, he chuckled. “I’ll draw us a bath.”

“Alastor, it’s 3 in the morning—”

“And we shouldn’t sleep dirty. I still haven’t freshened up, per your request.” He reminded you, making you take a deep breath. “Alright, then,” you conceded, yawning as he shifted himself to sit down at the edge of the bed, his hands gripping your bottom. He still didn’t want to leave your warmth.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he stood up. “You know you can pull out now, right?”

“I know.” He beamed, kissing your cheek. “I just don’t want to.”

Delightful Debauchery

[CH.1: When Tainted Souls Meet.]

Human! Alastor x Human! Fem! Reader

[Word Count: 2,844 ]

[Content Warnings: This Ch. is SFW, however, the story will delve into NSFW, So minors are still asked to NOT INTERACT. This story will eventually focus on exploring sex as well as darker themes revolving around Alastor being a serial killer (gore/blood/death). But for this Ch. there isn’t much to warn about!]

Once you allow blood to spill on your hands it’ll become a stain you’ll never wash away. No matter how clean your skin may appear, the etching of your sin will forever follow you. Permeating layers of flesh and seeping into your very soul.

You know you’re damned to an eternity in Hell. It’s something you have come to terms with rather quickly. So, you thought, might as well spend the time you have left on earth however you please. You’ve already sealed your fate, now it’s time to enjoy life amongst the living whilst it lasts.

The sky was clear, allowing the sun to beat down without anything obscuring its rays. Your skin felt sticky as heat weighed heavily in the thick and muggy air. You stood on an unshaded sidewalk, your eyes following the brick and wooden exterior of the building in front of you. A sign outside read in golden lettering ‘Crescent City Radio Station, WWNO 999 on your AM dial!’.

By now you must’ve read that sign a million times, your brain lagging trying to process that you were actually here. The folder you brought with you was being used as a fan, desperately trying to cool yourself off. The mix of the humid heat and anxiety had you teetering on overstimulation.

“C’mon, don’t clam up* now.” You quickened your fanning as the air you created lightly blew your hair back. “You came all this way...”

You continued muttering to yourself as you willed your feet to move from the sidewalk. Taking hesitant steps, you approached the building's front. Your eyes following the ornate etching on the front window. The interior curtains were closed, allowing no sneak peeks inside.

Your gloved fingers twitch over the door handle. After taking one last breath you force your signature smile, a tool you used often. Opening the door, you slowly entered as your eyes swept over the lobby space. The cooler air of the building soothed you as your shoulders relaxed. You stood in the middle of the lobby with curious eyes. Soft music played from a gramophone behind the front desk. The ceiling was high and the space was clean. Arguably, one of the fancier places you’ve seen as of recent.

So enthralled by the interior, you hadn’t noticed the set of eyes burning holes into you as you approached the front desk. As you turned and settled your eyes forward you flinched back as you were met with a cloud of smoke being blown at you. The receptionists' annoyed stare was accompanied by an insincere smile as she ashed her cigarette into the nearby ashtray. “Hm? Oh no I’m still here, love. Mhm, yeah.” She spoke into the phone that was wedged against her ear with her shoulder. “Just a drab dame* waltzed in so it’s nothing important.”

You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching up as your eyes narrowed down on the seated women. But the receptionist seemed to pay no mind as she belted out a haughty laugh at whatever was said on the other end of the phone. Clearing your throat, you stepped up to the front desk and settled your gloved hands atop the shiny wooden surface. “Excuse me-” you hesitated as the receptionist's sharp glare shot back up to you. “This is actually something important, if you wouldn't mind?” Not like it's your job or anything, you thought to yourself.

You watched as her stare twisted into a sneer directed up to you. “One second, Val.” With a big huff she would drop the phone from her ear and press the mic end against her chest to ‘mute’ it. “Ugh, what do you want? I’m kind of busy here.”

Your gaze remained narrowed but you managed to bring back your smile, albeit tense. “Terribly busy, I can see.”

“Tch. Listen, girlie-“ The phone still in her hand was lifted to point up at you. “Whoever you’re here to see doesn’t have time to talk with fans no matter how important you think it is-“

You interrupted her with a laugh, “Hah! No- I’m not a fan- well, I’m not not a fan-“ you paused trying to stop yourself from tripping over your own words. The rude interaction caught you off guard, with your nerves already being high. “I’m here to discuss the possibility of employment.”

“The station isn’t looking to hire, hun.” The woman stretched her shoulders back with a scoff. “Not to mention all the high pillows* are very busy-“

You glanced past her to the clock on the wall. “Actually, it’s noon.” Your eyes met the womens once more as you softened your expression to match your faux-smile. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Heartfelt specifically. Based on his broadcasting schedule he should be taking a coffee break right now-“ you saw the concerned and disgusted look on the receptionist's face as she slowly stubbed her cigarette out. “Or so I’ve heard, uhm. Just- Please, at least ask him.”

“Not a fan, huh?” She looked you up and down as she set the phone down on the counter without hanging it up. “If it’s that egg* then I could care less if he's busy or not. So, sure. Especially if it means you'll leave me alone.” She said with a small shrug as she rolled her chair over to an intercom. Bringing the speaker to her ear as she pressed Alastors call button. Waiting only a moment for it to be picked up before she was smirking into the mic, “Mr. Heartfelt~, you have someone here for a meeting with you.”

You bounced nervously on your heels as you tried to listen in on whatever answer she was given. The receptionist's eyes flickered over to you as she held a toothy grin and hummed into the speaker. “Mhmm.” She lifted her free hand up to inspect her nails, idly. “Yeah, no you didn't have this on your calendar, mhm.” You cringed a bit and tried to reach out to her but she just continued speaking into the intercom. “Oh no, she made it very clear she was in fact not a fan.” She gave you a mocking thumbs up.

Your mouth opened in horror as the woman before you barked out a snobby laugh like a small purse dog. Unconsciously, your fingers tensed on the paper folder you were holding. Your head begins to race with anxiety at the fact this wretched woman might have just ruined your first impression.

But you will yourself to take a deep breath as the receptionist hangs the intercom and rolls back to her original spot. Her dark slender fingers picking the phone back up as she waves you off and gestures to the hall at her left. “Fourth door.” Was all she said before turning her attention back to her phone conversation. Despite your annoyance you offered a thank you. To which she groaned in response, “Ugh, dry up*.”

As the receptionist spun in her chair to completely turn her back to you, your smile fell flat. If I do get hired then she’s going to be a problem, you weighed your options as you slowly stepped around the front and down the hall you were directed to.

Anxiety won the battle against annoyance as you felt it's nauseating grip settle back in your chest. You found yourself in front of the fourth door quicker than you would've liked as you nervously inspected it. A beautiful dark wood with a golden plate reading Alastors name. For a moment, as you heard the receptionist bark out another laugh in the lobby, you debated on just leaving. But you thought, what do I have to lose?

Gently knocking your knuckles on the door, you leaned forward to listen for a reply. A muffled ‘Come in.’ was given and you flinched as if you didn’t expect him to answer. Your gloved hands fussed with your clothes and hair. Once you felt somewhat put together you settled your hand on the handle and slowly pushed the door open. Taking a single step over the threshold your eyes glanced across the office that the door opened into. Your smile shining as you began your practiced speech, “I apologize Mr. Heartfelt. I know I’m interrupting your busy schedule- and I must thank you for even giving me a chance to speak with you.” Your words were laced with perfectly crafted faux-confidence. But silence fell between you two as soon as your eyes met Alastors. An ominous chill seemed to fill the already cool office as you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. A feeling consumed both you and Alastor at that very moment, weighing heavy in the air like the humidity outside. But you couldn’t quite put your finger on it- it was an odd queasy feeling that slipped down your throat and settled in your stomach like a hard pill to swallow.

But the instinctual warning you felt in your gut was pushed to the side when you really took in Alastors appearance. Because, by God, everyone knew Alastor for his charming voice and radio persona. But to find out he had the looks to match? Now that had your brain nearly short circuiting. Your eyes ran over him unabashedly. Tan hands, long arms, broad shoulders and a proud chest. Fitted button up beneath a red vest with a perfect black bowtie and rounded glasses that rested atop the bridge of his nose. Though, what really caught your eye was his hair, cut in a style you had never seen before. If you looked closely, between the dark strands you could see the beginning of grays peppering throughout. Really the only physical indication of his age. You had to assume he must be in his forties and yet the man before didn’t look a day over thirty.

Alastor sat behind a large wooden desk with his hands folded together in front of him. His eyes caught yours, forcing your wandering gaze into tense eye contact. Stunned, you watched his eyes crinkle as his neutral smile grew into a grin. The sight of your wide eyes and lightly tinted cheeks was enough to distract him from his own instinctual unease.

You watched as his eyes slowly raked down to your toes before rushing back up. Clearing his throat he pushed his glasses up as he sent a wide smile to you. “Oh, no worries about that, dear. You caught me at a perfect time.” You knew that. “Please, sit.” He gestured a hand to the chair in front of his desk. Keeping his eyes trained on you as you seated yourself. He paid attention to your movements, how you sat and the expression you gave him. “I know Velvette said you were here to inquire about a job? I hope you weren’t misinformed- but we aren’t currently hiring.”

With your ankles crossed you sat with a straight back. Hands fiddling with the edge of the folder as it lay in your lap, your only outward cue of nervousness. “Oh, no, I am aware the radio station wasn’t advertising for workers.” Alastors elbows rested on his desk with clasped hands. His eyes staring into your own with what felt like never-waning intensity. As you swallowed audibly, you swore you saw his smile widen.

“And yet you are still here.” He said amused as his eyes narrowed. He was intrigued and so even though he had no intent on hiring you, he let you continue. “Why is that, Mrs-?”

“Miss.” You corrected before giving your name. “And it’s truly an honor to be meeting you, Mr. Heartfelt-”

He rose a single hand up to stop you, “The pleasure is all mine, dear. But please, Alastor is fine.” He leaned back into his chair as you heard it creak. His eyes darted down to the folder in your hands. “But as you were saying?”

Your eyes shot down to the folder he was staring at. “Oh, yes, well-“ Gently, you slid the folder across the desk towards him. “I’m a writer- researcher- journalist. Whatever you may need I promise I can provide.” As Alastor picked up the folder and opened it you cringed inwardly. Seeing how crinkled it was now from your constant nervous handling of it.

“This is..” His eyes read reports and details about certain events he has already reported on. Scripts for news readings that happened recently, many of which having details he himself hadn’t gotten. But what had his eyes widening was the last bulk of paper all reporting on the string of serial murders that Louisiana has faced within the decade or so.

“It’s my work. As you can see I take my work seriously and I’m able to get details you won’t find anywhere else.”

“How long have you lived here?” There were testimonies from people within the local community, names he recognized. Yet, he didn’t recognize you.

“I arrived here last week.” You lied through your teeth.

His eyes shot up to you as one long finger pointed against your papers. “This was all done within a week?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded as you began to internally panic. Was the lie too obvious? Usually you're better at this. “For the most part at least. The end which focuses on the Bayou Butcher has been more so a hobby of mine prior to moving here. So some research on that was done previously, I’ll admit.”

You didn’t notice the way his jaw clenched at your words. “Dangerous don’t you think? A sweet belle like you chasing after a killer.”

You laughed, earning a surprised look from Alastor. “I appreciate the concern but I can handle myself.”

His smile grew into a smirk as he stifled a mocking laugh. “I’m sure you can, darling, I’m sure you can...” He sighed deeply as he held the folder up to feign reading it more intently. One hand adjusting his glasses as he hummed. “But against a killer like this? Overestimating in one’s own abilities often leads to an early demise.”

“Underestimating in others will lead to worse.” You replied without skipping a beat.

Quick witted girl, he thought to himself. Such a young thing coming here with such a devastatingly good eye for this. Too bad, too bad.

“Your work is impressive, I’d be a fool to deny that.” He slowly stood from his seat as he slid the closed folder back to you.

You stood up abruptly to match him as you took your folder. “So does that mean-?”

“You’re hired? Heavens no!” He laughed as he rounded the desk and approached you. The height difference between you and him became alarmingly apparent as he stood beside you. Bending at the waist to ghost a hand on the small of your back as he gently ushered your frozen form towards his office door. “I did tell you we aren’t hiring, dear.”

“What- no, wait, Mr. Heartfelt-“ You pushed his hand away from your back and planted your feet. “But you said it was impressive. You read all the details I got- things you never got.”

His lip twitched at the attack to his own work. A bit of malice tainting the sweetness in his tone. “Come back when you have something actually worthwhile, darling. Cause that fancy writing? Ain’t nothin’ special.” For a moment you caught his transatlantic accent drop.

“Worth- WORTHWHILE?! I have connected deaths that the fuzz* haven’t even connected!”

“You’re theorizing. Nothing you have is substantial.”

“What are you expecting?? The killer's identity?” You asked, bewildered by his disregard towards you and your work.

A fire filled those beautiful eyes that looked up at him and he could feel their heat igniting something in him. Lifting one of his hands to rest his fingers over his grinning lips. A poor attempt to hide his amusement. “Yes, actually, that would be something worth my time.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll find the killer's identity. Then you’ll hire me, right?”

He straightened his back, caught off guard. But, who was he to push away a game he was certain he’d win? “Hah! Sure, why not-” He tensed as you yanked your glove off and extended a hand up to him. He raised a brow at it as if he had never seen one before.

“Shake on it. If I come back with honest to God proof of the Butchers identity. You have to hire me.” You narrowed your eyes up to him. “Deal?”

Oh, how fun. His hand took yours, completely enveloping it. “Deal.”

Let the game begin.

And without another word he watched you march out of his office, huffing and puffing. He trailed slowly behind to watch you leave through the front doors. A soft chuckle left him as he leaned against the front desk counter.

When he heard Velvette snicker with him he flinched and snapped his gaze down to her.

“Did you hire the dumb dora*?”

“No-“

“Looks like you wanted to~”

He squinted with a strained smile. “Go home, Velvette. You don’t actually work here.”

1920s Slang Used*

*Clam Up: To become silent suddenly.

*Dame: A woman.

*High Pillow: Person at the top, in charge.

*Egg: A man.

*Dry Up: Shut up, get lost.

*Fuzz: Police.

*Dumb Dora: A foolishly simple or dumb woman.

Credit where credits due!

Art Deco Banners: @/saradika

MDNI Banner: @/cafekitsune

Yellow Star Banner: @/cafekitsune

Tags:

@6esiree

│Prologue│

│Human! Alastor x Reader│

Ⓢⓨⓝⓞⓟⓢⓘⓢ: (Y/n), forced to be confined by societal standards, wishes for someone to understand them. Everywhere they look, it seems as though the people they once knew have abandoned them. It's not until they are introduced to a well-known radio host that they realize their true potential.

Ⓝⓞⓣⓔⓢ: The reader is indicated to be biologically female as they will face certain challenges throughout this story due to the time period. Characters set in this will refer to the reader as she, but for the most part, it will be gender neutral. This is written to be platonic but will remain ambiguous. There may be inaccuracies to the time frame. This series may and will contain things such as sexism, classism, gender dysphoria, bullying, mentions of religion, and gore. Please read at your own risk.

〣Next Part〣

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A comfortable atmosphere bustles throughout the small diner as the sun barely begins to peek above the dazzling diversity of New Orleans. 'Leave A Little for Me' lulls about the establishment as the few patrons settled for their breakfast chat away about their own little worlds. The grill behind the counter sizzles and pops with use, an aroma of breakfast foods gnawing at any hungry stomachs that walk through the waxen double doors.

A woman, dressed in pale blush, walks out from the back with the swing of her hips and trays held skillfully above her pinned back hair. She settles plates in front of customers with a dashing smile, responding with polite and charming words as they thank her for the meal, before her gaze shifts towards a booth near the windows.

Another youthful lady settles there, a focused revelation upon their face as they lean over scattered papers on the table. The tip of a pen is wedged between their teeth, and they bite at it in thought. Swinging their leg over the other, an exasperated sigh escapes as they suddenly look up at the tin roof.

The waitress quickly strides over, coffee pot in hand. The woman lets her polished grin fall into a small smile, a gentle look in her eyes. Without a word of consent, she fills the ceramic mug long forgotten at the edge of the booth.

"Thanks, Ma." The lady, who's eyes remain upward, mutters gruffly.

"You look like you need it," the waitress chuckles, amusement crossing her expression as she watches her daughter guzzle from the steaming cup. "I will never understand how you can just drink it straight, (Y/n). You truly are an enigma."

"It helps me focus," (Y/n) states. "Especially when things don't make sense."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," (Y/n)'s mom assures, but frowns when she realizes her encouragement doesn't affect the distraught mood her child is faced with. She turns her head to the bar, noting that her co-worker was reading a magazine as the traffic coming through has died down, before setting herself across the table. "What is the matter, my sweet?"

"It was hard enough getting into the major I wanted, but now I have to worry about a suitable job too," (Y/n) grumbles.

"What happened with the secretory position at the bank?"

"Lack of experience... It's either that, or I have too big ideas for anyone's liking."

"You'll find something soon enough," the older woman persuades as she takes (Y/n)'s gloved hands into her calloused own. "The perfect job is bound to pop up before summer break comes."

"I hope your optimism comes into fruition," they say with a titter. They glance to the large clock tacked to the wall beside the island, before collecting their things with a stand. "I should head out before I'm late for class. Thank you for the coffee, ma."

"Don't forget that my first shift at Mimzy's is tonight!" Their mother calls, "It's gonna be a bit of a time crunch to get used to, so I would prefer it if you met me there after your extracurricular activities. I want to walk home with you."

"You don't have to be so paranoid," (Y/n) replies as they stand by the door. "After my studies, I'm going out with Joanne for a late lunch. I'll head over once we finish our gallivanting."

"You can never be too sure, dear. The news is heating up with all kinds of stories about that serial killer. I just want you to be safe!"

The bell above the entrance rings, a chiming announcement that a customer walked in. The cook desultorily straightens herself from her torpor, a curt welcome grousing from her lips.

"I'll see you later, Ma!" (Y/n) comments over their shoulder, but not before making brief eye contact with hickory brown. Round glasses, placed on the curvature of the man's sharp nose, reflects the gleam from the sun's light. He gestures his black-clothed hand to the entry he held open, a raffish grin on his face.

"After you, mademoiselle," He cheerfully asserts.

"Thank you," (Y/n) politely curtsies before rushing out into the streets of Louisiana.

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(Y/n)'s temple pulsates with an ache as they stir the soup in front of them with disinterest. The warmth of the spring now settled into an orange hue on their skin, drawing out the time until nightfall came. Tapping the toe of their heel against the Mandala patterned floor, their eyes gaze up at Joanne.

Joanne was a high-class type of girl, with distinguished parents and a father that ran a well-known Men's Club in town. Daffodil hair curled around her ears and tickled rosy cheeks as she ate away at her salad. Gorgeous blue peek up at (Y/n), and with a giggle, she hides her mouth with the black clothed napkin that was folded nicely by her plate.

All the eligible boys were swoon by her meek personality, always gifting her lavish things with money they earned. (Y/n) can always tell that she adores the attention, even when she claims that none of them strike her fancy. Sometimes, (Y/n) wishes their life can be as simple and carefree as Joanne's; that they can embrace their femineity instead of their intelligence. That is not how they were designed though.

"Have you changed your mind about the dance?" Joanne softly asks, pink tinted lips rising into a smile.

"No," (Y/n) responds after a long pause, "My mind has been on other things."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" She exclaims with puffed cheeks. "Why don't you go with Donald?"

"The guy who pulls my hair in history? No thanks."

"He just does that cause he likes you," Joanne laughs, "You two were meant for each other!"

"I don't see any of your suitors pulling your hair," (Y/n) gripes, "Don't tell me such stupid nonsense, Ann."

A look of hurt flashes across Joanne's face, and (Y/n) considers apologizing before she runs to tell her mother. It wouldn't be the first time (Y/n)'s pragmatism got them into trouble. Joanne's mother was a snooty woman and always tried to whip (Y/n) into their place in society since they were young. Since both Joanne and (Y/n)'s fathers worked on the road for the majority of their childhood, both of their mothers came together to help one another before Joanne's father found his passion for business. Though Joanne's family has long since moved from the quaint Neiborhood (Y/n) and their mother still resides in, Joanne always reaches out to 'catch up' with her friend since diapers.

"I'm worried for you," Joanne remarks in a dull tone as she leans back in her seat, "Your mom and I aren't always going to be there for you. Your mother shouldn't bear the responsibility of looking after you forever, and soon enough, I'm going to get married and have a family! You always talk so pessimistically about love; you never give anyone a chance! If you keep up with that attitude, you are going to end up alone!"

A screech emits from (Y/n)'s chair as they push away from the table. Abhorrence filters through every thought they wanted to say in that moment, a scowl present on their face. "And what if love is not something I'm aiming for? Have you ever thought about that?"

"And you think some silly dream is? You are a lady, (Y/n). Start acting like one," Joanne spits.

Thrusting their hand into their bag, (Y/n) throws down a few dollars on the tawny surface. "Pay my meal for me, would you? I've lost my appetite."

Swiftly pulling their coat over their shoulders, and without so much as another glimpse towards Joanne, (Y/n) stomps their way to the front. Judgmental leering warms the back of their head from the ongoing patrons they pass, with societal conjectures whispered among them. (Y/n) wishes they could declare that they were used to being seen as a freak, but the pang in their heart was hard to deny.

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The buzzing of cicadas disturbs the thick despondency that hung over (Y/n) as they trudged their feet over the concrete pavement. Though yellow-hued streetlamps and distant sounds of laughter embraced the night with sweet carol, the weight of the day wore heavy on (Y/n)'s shoulders. The keister that they wore on their side swung limply as hot air blew past, and the sweat that collected on their forehead felt consciously sticky.

In a fit of frustration, (Y/n) didn't think to take a trolley over to Mimzy's. They were so engrossed by Joanne's behavior, needing time to collect their thoughts. Granted, (Y/n) did comprehend that their tongue could be snippy without second thought, but did that give their friend the right to dismiss all that they've worked for?

Ever since (Y/n) was young, they perceived that their way of thinking was far different from the others their age. While the adolescent girls that they grew with obsessed over dolls and new dresses, (Y/n) found the extortionary power of the mind. Every day, whether it would be tuning in on the latest news of horrific disasters on the radio or reading recent articles of crimes that happened within their very own city, they would journal each observation and theory that came about their wit.

(Y/n)'s mother was always a benign supporter, providing perception in their once childish dreams. Though their mother never castigates them now for pursuing what some may see as impossible, an underlying fraught tone catches in the optimism she provides.

"Why don't you become an author?" (Y/n)'s mother once persuaded as they sat to eat breakfast together one early morning, "Or a teacher! I'm sure you can put your journalism skills to use in those professions!"

(Y/n) knows their mom means well; She was the only person (Y/n) could openly talk to, and she would listen without conviction towards any words that spewed from their dreamy wonder. However, their mother did not understand the consistent resilience that they fought with every day, that it wasn't some phase that will burn out with age. (Y/n) knows what they want; they just wish sometimes that another being would appreciate that too.

A sigh of relief escapes (Y/n) as the establishment's spendthrift sign comes into view as they round the corner. The word Mimzy flickers with life, but there was no cars or pedestrians that showed if it was so. Though (Y/n) has never experienced what goes on within this club, their mother remembers fondly of the days she spent rendezvousing about with boys and her gal pals. Though, at that time, she wasn't married with a child and the night spot wasn't named Mimzy.

Only a few short years ago, did the name rebrand and (Y/n)'s mom rekindled a lost relationship with a lady she had a fondness for long ago. It wasn't shortly before the friendship blossomed once again did their mother get offered a job; she was ecstatic. (Y/n) couldn't be prouder of their mom, for she too in a way, fought for her right in the world. Not so long ago in the gossip vine of the town was (Y/n)'s mother ridiculed for working as a married woman. Some even went as far as to patronize the diner their mother works the early morning hours at, threatening to boycott if the enterprise supported such scandalous practices. However, nothing came from the situation besides nasty rumors and empty threats, as an anonymous word got out that (Y/n)'s father hasn't been seen for some time. Though there is no documentation that (Y/n)'s parents ever divorced, there was also no valid proof that their father supported the family, hence why the issue was dropped.

It was hard growing up without both parents being present consistently, and for their father's absence being a key factor on the shunning of both their mother and them. He came by every now and again when he was able to take a break from the road, but (Y/n) couldn't really orate that he made a big impact in the few memories they shared. It had been two years since his last visit. (Y/n) recalls him being a very traditional man, who put the Bible and social formalities before anything else. They always stuck to their mother's shadow whenever he was around, never really choosing to interact with him. Their mother, however, would grow a sense of urgency and remain steadfast on her feet to every beck and call that came from that man. (Y/n) always hated seeing the overwhelming dread that hung over their mother when he was around.

Grabbing the handle, (Y/n) was quite surprised to find the door unlocked. Jazz carries about the ostentatious display, but they saw no one hanging about the scenery. Following the orange luminescence that lean against the plush wallpaper, (Y/n) is led to a round counter with a large chalk menu hanging above it. Black cushioned stools line the exterior, contrasting from the red tables set on the other side of the establishment, and a jukebox is arranged in the corner where anyone can interact with it. As (Y/n) looks at their whereabouts in modest fascination, their heels clack against a wooden surface. They are quick to turn around, only to find they had stepped onto the dance floor centered in the room.

(Y/n) never went dancing before. Though everyone sought to learn for entertainment, even their own mother, they opted to stick to their own self. The mere thought of being surrounded by strangers under the strobe lights that circled about the deck gave (Y/n) languid anxiety. Many stories of love and bliss came from places like this; it made (Y/n) think back on Joanne's sternness of finding a social outlet and meeting a suitable man to be courted by. It's always been hard for (Y/n) to make friends, and with that, romance never crossed their mind.

"Sorry suga, but we ain't opened just yet!" A feminine voice evinces from behind. A short, plump woman in a bright pink flapper dress grins at (Y/n), her platinum bob cut bouncing as she walks. (Y/n) felt a sudden vulnerability of being under dressed, still sporting the same wear they've been in since they left the house.

"My mother told me to meet her here," (Y/n) breathes out, "Tonight's her first shift."

The woman's brows furrow as she ogles the person in front of her, before recognition washes over her face. "You must be Lorraine's girl! My, you are the spitting image of her!"

"That's me..." (Y/n) replies with a confining smile, "I apologize if I came in too early, the door was open."

"Not a problem at all, deary! I leave that door open a few minutes early anyway for... special guests." A small blush crosses the woman's face as she looks away to compose herself, "Make yourself comfortable! Your ma and the other gals are getting ready in the back! If you need anything, be sure to call for dear ol' aunty Mimzy!"

(Y/n) gives their thanks before the petite lady ushers herself away to prepare for opening. They decide to take up space in the far corner away from the dance floor, the table beginning to be covered with assignments and books. (Y/n) occupies themselves with their work, too engrossed to notice the oncoming crowd beginning to fill the place. Live performers took up the music as the night carried on, and congenial chatter joins into a pleasant hum. The atmosphere was quixotically pleasant to (Y/n)'s revelation, and they found themselves humming along with the songs they remembered as they wrote away.

"I hope this doesn't come off as pushy, but I couldn't help but to wonder why a lovely specimen such as yourself is all by her lonesome?" A voice articulates in a teasing tone, "It almost seems that you want to be hidden away!"

(Y/n)'s grip tightens on the pencil in their hand, and they look up with a glare. The man who spoke, sported in a red vest and black slacks, registers a simper as they make eye contact. The familiar brown hue twinkles with amusement as (Y/n) straightens in their seat. (Y/n) recognizes this man to be the one who held the door open for them at the diner earlier today.

"Alastor. Charmed to meet you!"

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│The Stag & the Heron│

│Human! Alastor x Reader│

Ⓢⓨⓝⓞⓟⓢⓘⓢ: (Y/n), forced to be confined by societal standards, wishes for someone to understand them. Everywhere they look, it seems as though the people they once knew have abandoned them. It's not until they are introduced to a well-known radio host that they realize their true potential.

Ⓝⓞⓣⓔⓢ: The reader is indicated to be biologically female as they will face certain challenges throughout this story due to the time period. Characters set in this will refer to the reader as she, but for the most part, it will be gender neutral. This is written to be platonic but will remain ambiguous. There may be inaccuracies to the time frame. This series may and will contain things such as sexism, classism, gender dysphoria, bullying, mentions of religion, and gore. Please read at your own risk.

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━━━━━━━━━━━━━☻━━━━━━━━━━━━━

〣 │Prologue│〣

〣 │Chapter One│〣

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│Chapter One│

│Human! Alastor x Reader│

Ⓢⓨⓝⓞⓟⓢⓘⓢ: Alastor offers (Y/n) a job, and though they are hesitant, they accept.

Ⓝⓞⓣⓔⓢ: The reader is indicated to be biologically female as they will face certain challenges throughout this story due to the time period. Characters set in this will refer to the reader as she, but for the most part, it will be gender neutral. This is written to be platonic but will remain ambiguous. There may be inaccuracies to the time frame. This series may and will contain things such as sexism, classism, gender dysphoria, bullying, mentions of religion, and gore. Please read at your own risk.

〣Previous Part 〣

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"Alastor. Charmed to meet you! I must say, this is an awful lot of stuff you have here. Mind if I ask what you are doing?" The man speaks with glee.

(Y/n) notes a shine in his eyes they couldn't quite decipher, and a feeling of uncertainty washes over them. Very few people have shown interest towards them willingly, as the locals have made sure to blacklist them due to their unorthodox behavior, and (Y/n) mentally barricades themself for where this interaction will lead to. Surely, it won't end well.

"Just working on an assignment," (Y/n) replies, cautiously watching as the man permits himself to sit at the table.

"One for learning then! What does one such as yourself want to be?" Alastor hums, looking over the covered surface with curiosity.

"I'm currently enrolled for journalism. Nothing too grand..."

"I see, I see. Do tell about this fascination you have with the Bayou Killer then? Surely, the college doesn't speak of such things in a mere literacy class," Alastor casually remarks as he takes up one of the cut-out articles that (Y/n) made notes on in his hand, "My, what interesting theories you have! Do you really think this murderer has a vendetta against ill-willed men?"

"That's none of your concern," (Y/n) snaps as they tear their work away from the stranger's hold. The man's smile twitches slightly, his stare intensifying on them for a moment. (Y/n) would've been intimated if it weren't for the immediate regret they felt pull at their heart. Alastor's arms fall into his lap, and the grin he wore before falls as he leans back. Were they truly so standoffish as Joanne claims?

"I apologize..." (Y/n) sighs out, "That was rude of me, and though I cannot excuse my terrible behavior, it's been an off day for me. Please pardon my actions."

"That's quite alright, my dear. I've had a few days in the ditch myself, but my mother always told me that if you want something to happen, act as if you already have it," Alastor reflects with the wiggle of his finger. "Nothing a little music can't help either! Instead of working one's finger to the bone, why don't you come dance with me?"

"That's very kind of you, but you wouldn't want to dance with me."

"Nonsense! If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have asked."

"If you want to go home with a broken toe, then by all means."

"How farcical of you," Alastor laughs, "I'd like to see you try!"

Alastor's temperament returns back to a mirthful one such as before, an ever-growing smile etched on his lips and waggish gleam casting from his eyes. His slim fingers tap against the glass he brought with him from the bar, sipping from the alcoholic beverage periodically as his gaze drifts over to the bustling scene of the dancefloor. (Y/n) watches too, as pretty girls with short furling dresses and babydoll curls gather with their friends to dance with boys who bought them one to many drinks. The laughter that bounces throughout the building suddenly becomes too much for (Y/n), and though Alastor sat just beside them, a staggering loneliness weighs heavy on them.

"Please don't let me keep you," (Y/n) mutters, returning their focus back on the papers laid out in front of them. Not like they had the motivation to work now, but it was the only thing that would keep their mind from wandering too far. Scribbling away once more, (Y/n) couldn't help but to be curious of a soft creaking coming closer to their side, and peek over to see Alastor's watchful regard reading over their writing. "What are you doing?"

"Mere curiosity is all, sweet. You need it in my line of work, but I suppose you would understand where I'm coming from, wouldn't you?"

"It's not my job to be curious, I just simply am."

"Is that so?" Alastor asks with a raise of his brow, "I would've assumed a clever woman such as yourself would have a high standing occupation to go with her wit."

"And that would be a first for me being called clever instead of imprudent," (Y/n) laughs, "Sadly, your assumption is mistaken. I guess people just don't see anything else besides my gender. I can't be smart like a man nor curious like a man can. How lucky for you."

"I could care less," Alastor answers, "All that matters is that I see potential, a potential I can guide."

"What could I possibly give you that won't bite you in retaliation?"

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" He grins somewhat diabolically, "What could society possibly say about you that would bring down the best radio host in city? Trust me, you aren't the only one who's name escapes disquieting tongues. From one interesting person to another, I persist that we join forces. Come work with me at that radio station."

"You come off awfully fast. I don't even know you!"

"You can't race time, but you can be quick with it! You need a job, do you not?"

"I'll think about it," (Y/n) remarks, "I'm still in school after all. I will have to see when and if my schedule permits it. You cannot control time either, you know?"

"I understand completely, my dear! Take all the time you need. My radio isn't going anywhere if I can help it!"

"There you are!" The familiar sound of (Y/n)'s mother calls out over the live music. The fringes of their mother's dress shine under the fluorescents like gold as she walks over to the table, an ecstatic red painted smile expressing how she felt. She looked absolutely stunning, (Y/n) thought. Her aging has always been graceful, like that of fine silk, and a small sense of pride fills them as they think back on Mimzy's praise. (Y/n) never saw themself as beautiful, always opting to hide away from attention as much as they could, but the similarities they had with their mother was something they always liked. "I was worried that you didn't show up."

"I would never disobey you, Ma." (Y/n) comments as their mother sits across from Alastor.

"I see you've made a friend!" Their mom's eyes twinkle as her attentiveness casts over to the man, "I'm Lorraine, (Y/n)'s mother. Pleasure to meet you!"

"The pleasure is all mine!" Alastor greets, "I must say, what an excellent performance you put on earlier! I suppose talent runs in the family?"

(Y/n)'s mother surveys him quizzically, pursing her lips in thought, before her eyes brighten.

"Did (Y/n) let you read her writings? Marvelous, isn't it? I don't know where she got her smarts from, but it surely wasn't me! I have to say though, she normally doesn't get along quick with strangers. What did you do to be so special?"

(Y/n)'s cheeks heat slightly as their mother peeks at them, a smirk on her face. They quickly collect their papers with a pout, glaring from the eulogize words their mom practically sang. "Don't call yourself dumb, Ma. You are anything but," (Y/n) grumbles, "The only reason Mister Alastor here read anything is because he allowed himself to without permission."

"You wound me!" Alastor cries, clasping his suit where his heart should be, "Your work merely fascinates me is all. I offered them a job, you know?"

"Really?" Lorraine exclaims with a gasp, "Oh, (Y/n)! That's wonderful! What will she be doing?"

"Helping me write manuscripts for my broadcast. If she says yes, that is."

"You must say yes, sweetheart! This is a miracle to you from God!" (Y/n)'s mother pleads as she take her child's hands in hers. "It may not be exactly what you want, but you've been given a chance."

"I've been called many things in my life, but God is a first." Alastor bombinates with a tilt of his head.

"Oh! My apologize, Mister Alastor!" their mom remarks, "Thank you for seeing good in my daughter!"

"Why do I feel like I don't have a choice here?" (Y/n) mutters, watching the two adults go back and forth in chatter. Their mother, charismatic as ever, goes off on a tangent about (Y/n)'s greatest strengths that could be useful in the workplace. Her face beams with absolute gratitude and support; it makes (Y/n) feel off about their previous cumbersome comments. Alastor nods along with their mother's insistent information, his head leaning casually against his closed fist.

A sense of mystery surrounds this man, (Y/n) notes cautiously. Though his demeaner was nothing short of friendly, his eyes held unknown intent. The edge of his smile quirks slightly as he continues listening to their mother, but the tapping of his foot shows a sense of urgency. (Y/n) continues observing the stranger, even when his eyes connect with theirs.

All their life, no one besides their mother showed such fervent interest in their activities. On many occasions, they were told that their insistence on bountiful knowledge would only lead them to be fruitless. No one in this city would've told this man good things about their progressive exertion, and it only made (Y/n) want to build up their walls even higher. Their mother wasn't oblivious to people's intentions and wickedness, however. She's had her fair share of snakes, and she knows when to spot one, even with her honey-like spirit. It caused a sense of unsureness within (Y/n)'s own perception; were the things that they heeded true, or was there an underlining of their insecurities seeping through? If their mother didn't raise any alarm of what she thought of Alastor, why should they?

"Can I help you with something?" Alastor calmly asks as his stare bores into (Y/n)'s.

"I was just wondering..." (Y/n) declares, "When would you like me to start?"

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(Y/n) vigorously taps their pencil against the desk, eyes glued to the hands ticking by on the clock above the professor's head. Time surely was testing (Y/n)'s patience today, as their history teacher had brought her lecture to a closing a few minutes ago, and opted the students to work on anything that needed to get done before it was officially time to leave. (Y/n), diligent as ever, made sure to be on top of their class assignments. There was really no reason for them to stay in class; however, the anxiety that bubbled underneath their skin prompted them to linger a little longer.

Very few students remain in the room, most taking the free time as a way of escape from their responsibilities. Though some moil over their own homework in silence, others gathered together leisurely in gossip. The boisterous laughter buzzed uncomfortably in (Y/n)'s ears like that of an unreachable itch, but the loudness of their own head distracted them more so.

With persistent persuasion from their mother after the encounter with Alastor, (Y/n) requested to start at the station the beginning of the upcoming week. The weekend went by before they could even process what they had accepted, and now that the afternoon of their first shift has presented itself in a cloudy manner, (Y/n)'s doubt sprouted in a messy briar of potency. But, the distraction of their own loathing couldn't even be dealt with in peace.

A sharp pain warms the back of (Y/n)'s head with great vehemence, as a strand of their hair is tugged on in an arbitrary manner. The audible hiss that escapes through their teeth causes an eruption of cackles behind them. (Y/n) swiftly turns to the obnoxious noise, icy vexation carrying their stare. Donald Raslo, a boy with slick auburn locks and a smile that would gain any clueless woman's trust, eyes (Y/n) with a look they could only describe as vile. His teeth tug at his bottom lip mischievously, hazel orbs casting over their body. An involuntary shutter of disgust travels down their spine as their fellow classmate reaches over to grab at their hair again.

"Don't touch me," (Y/n) growls in absolute rancor.

"I'm surprised you haven't just shaved it all off yet," Donald simply replies with a maniacal grin. "You know, since you want to be a man so bad."

"You are pathetic," (Y/n) responds coolly as they turn back in their seat to quickly gather their things. Another agonizing pull forces their head back as Donald watches from behind his thin-framed glasses.

"It's all just fun and games!" Donald chuckles, as if his insults were anything but cruel, "You get defensive so quickly. Relax a little, doll."

"What do you want?" (Y/n) bluntly asks, jerking the strand away that Donald curled with his finger.

"I was wondering if you would go to the dance with me. I've wanted to ask for a while now."

A scowl morphs onto (Y/n)'s face, and they rise from their sit. Anger boils throughout their body, their nails involuntarily digging at their palms. Without another word to the boy, (Y/n) excuses themself to their teacher, and flounces out of the room. The heels on their feet become unbearably heavy as they stalk throughout the halls, visibly shaking as the distant feeling of Donald's hand through their hair burns at their scalp. (Y/n) wanted to scrub their head raw as their discomfort taunts them.

The world around them spins, and tears catch at the edge of their eyes. Deep huffs of air exhale from (Y/n) as they try to calm down. They despised themself for letting such childish behavior bring them into such a vulnerable state, but the tightness in their chest was excruciating.

Sometimes, they wished that they weren't so different.

The smell of freshly bloomed marigolds ground (Y/n) back to reality as they push open an exit door of the school. The sky basks in a slate blue, caressing the earth in a rare coolness of spring. The wetness on their cheeks startles them; they hadn't realized they were crying. Wiping their cheeks with the sleeve of their overcoat, they settle themself on the pavement steps gliding down into town. They stare blankly ahead, a fixed frown on their face.

(Y/n) never let the bullying affect them too much, convincing themself that the others were too callow for their own good. They taught themself at a very young age to stifle their insecurities, and eventually, people would just leave you alone. (Y/n) isn't an emotionless robot, however. As hardened as they try to appear, wounds that are consistently probed at never truly heal.

"(Y/n)?"Joanne, small and quiet in tone, carefully settles herself down by them, sun hat in her petite white-gloved hands. Her eyebrows arch together in worry and a deep frown sits on her usually cheerful face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," (Y/n) remarks as their eyes remain ahead. They subtly wipe at their cheeks again, letting out a deep sigh. "What do you need?"

"I wanted to apologize, for what I said to you before. It was very unbecoming of me. I'm sorry."

"Water under the bridge, Ann..."

"Good," Joanne says after a moment, "I couldn't live with my best friend being upset with me."

"I'm not petty by any means. The most I would've done is never talk to you again," (Y/n) snorts.

"You call that not being petty?" Joanne laughs, "You and I have different morals on what that looks like then! Seriously though, are we alright?"

"We will be, (Y/n) replies, "There's still a lot I have to think on."

"I understand... I heard that Donald asked you to the dance. You rejected him."

"I'm guessing he told you that. I'm still not accepting his offer, if that is why you are truly out here."

"I won't pressure you into dating someone you don't like. I know my fair share in that," Joanne reflects as she pinches at the fabric of her skirt delicately, "Will you at least think about going still? Even if you go alone, I'll be happy that you're there."

"You know I don't do good at socializing," (Y/n) answers, "It's best if I just stick to myself."

"Could I maybe convince you over coffee? The cafe should still be open."

"I won't be able to today. I have plans already," (Y/n) acknowledges as they stand. Casting their gaze over to the girl, a smirk cracks onto their solemn expression. "I might take you up on the offer at a later date though. Our last get-together ended kind of sour, after all."

"Sure, but why the sudden leave?" Joanne questions as she stands herself.

"I got a job."

"Oh, (Y/n)! That's wonderful!" Joanne exclaims as she races to hug her friend. "Mind if I ask where?"

"A local radio station," (Y/n) simply remarks, rigidly patting Joanne on the back. Their friend pulls away soon after, hands firmly holding their shoulders and a big grin on her face.

"How long have been working there? Is that why you haven't been around?"

"Not exactly... I've been helping my Mom with her new job after my classes. That's where I met my boss actually; I start today."

"You'll have to tell me all of the details later! Promise you will!"

"I promise... Can you let me go now?"

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Wheels squeal to life as the bus (Y/n) took to the far edge of town starts up again. The ground beneath them rumbles as the trolley continues back to civilization, and (Y/n) begins to venture across the street where the treeline of the marsh begins.

A dirt road trails off into the forest, a black tin mailbox posted alongside it. Glancing at the scrapped piece of paper in their hands, (Y/n) read over the address Alastor hastily wrote down for them a few days before, and confirm this was the driveway to the radio station.

Leaves, thick like smoke, hover over (Y/n) in shadowed agglomerations, and sweat begins to bead across their forehead as the coolness of the day begins to heat up once more. The muggy atmosphere felt almost suffocating, but they continued onwards with tenacious intent. Though anxiety still roared within their heart in fast palpitations, they'd be damned to show up late.

The forest rang with muffled silence, the chirping of crickets seeming to echo but a distance. (Y/n) follows along the wooden fence that barricaded the road from the woodland's depths, and soon enough, a scrupulous house and rustic barn are revealed as the narrow path opens up into a field.

As (Y/n) walks up to the porch, confusion entwines in their thoughts as they quickly notice how vacant this station seemed to be. They knock on the screen door and wait a few moments with furrowed brows.

Where was everybody?

"There you are, dear!" The charismatic voice of Alastor discloses his presence, his never-changing smile lining his pearly whites with thin lines. "I hope your travels gave you no trouble."

"Your station is a long ways from the city. I almost thought I got off at the wrong place. Where are the others?" (Y/n) asks curiously as they walk down to meet him.

"The others?" Alastor questions.

"Surely you don't do everything yourself? Where are your other employees?"

"I don't need a whole group to do tasks I'm perfectly capable of doing myself," Alastor comments as he leads (Y/n) towards the barn with his hand on their upper back. "I will say though, I'm ecstatic to see how you work. I sure do hope you do not disappoint me."

"Me either..." (Y/n) mutters, malaise injecting itself once again into their nerves.

As they enter, (Y/n) notices rather quickly that this isn't a typical barn house, but instead, it has been renovated in Alastor's image. The area was spacious and quaint, organized in a way that aligned with Alastor's schedule. Sound panels lined the wall, a table adjacent to them equipped with a microphone and headphones. Paper cabinets were stationed in the far corner and a cork board pinned with different notes and articles hung above them. A lounge area was arranged near the center, couches patterned with red and black circling a low rising coffee table. Along with the dim bulb lanterns that dropped from the ceiling, the atmosphere was quite cozy.

"This isn't what I was expecting," (Y/n) honestly reports, watching as Alastor casually sits on one of the sofas. "I was imagining a more... Claustrophobic environment to say the least."

"Oh, Heaven's no. I need my space to work," Alastor replies with a soft scoff. (Y/n) felt somewhat small compared to Alastor, his confidence burning like a rapid flame to wind. His knowledge on the world, though ostensibly coming off as arrogant at times, seemed to be too far-reached for the likes of (Y/n). However, a small spark of aspiration lit their need to learn, and a smaller part of them also hoped that Alastor would be patient in his teachings. Yet, (Y/n) also couldn't help but to remain cautious of this man's intentions. His ambitions towards them still remain unclear, and that caused an uncomfortable grip of fear on their heart.

"I'm still not fully sure on why you were insistent that I work for you. What can I do that someone else can't? You said it yourself you can manage perfectly fine on your own. I'm just curious on why," (Y/n) says, hesitantly walking further inside with their bag strap in a deathly grip.

"I've told you before," Alastor remarks in a deep timbered hum, his eye blown out and unwavering as he stares at them. "I want to experiment with your mind. See your ticks and how it responds to certain circumstances. I did my research more than you realize, sweet."

"You purposely sought me out because of gossip? You do realize you are feeding into a media man's stereotype, yes?"

"I never said I believed it! It is my job and passion, however, to create my own hypotheses. If it makes you feel any better, I do find that brain of yours quite fascinating so far."

"I don't really know what to say to that..."

"Let's make a deal then, shall we?" Alastor compels, "I'll let you cover any topic your heart desires while you work under me, and with the condition that you can leave at any time, I get to observe and test you in any way I please."

"And what makes you think I won't walk out of here right now? How can I guarantee you won't use anything against me?" (Y/n) tests with a grimace, hating the slight amusement they found in this position. They took pride in the work they do, knowing that every advantage they can access to achieve the truth should never be taken for granted. On the other hand, they despised needless societal gossip. Being on the receiving end of undeserved hate, they fully understand the need for veracity. Though, they don't fully commend Alastor at this point, the opportunity to disassemble the lies built in New Orleans overweighed any possible hesitations.

"You can't guarantee anything and I won't say if I will or if I won't. I know you won't walk away though," Alastor chuckles, "You are just like me; you won't turn down the possibility of destroying another."

"Is that so?" (Y/n) hisses out, a tempestuous glare keeping up with the puckish one their new boss held with them. "What do we start on first then?"

"Sit, dear." Alastor's smile widens as he gestures to the other couch, "We have much to discuss."

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