Paring: Alastor x Reader
Tags/ Warning: Establish Relationship
Summary: The sleepover continues at his house, and Alastor has to grapple with things he doesn't want to . . . like feelings. There's no use denying it anymore, not when he's in too deep, but that doesn't mean he's going to accept things too easily.
A/N: This was getting long. So I decided to cut it into three parts instead of two, but at least that means I get to spend more time on it
|Masterlist| Ao3
||Part 18- Kiss Your Fingers Forevermore² | |Part 20- Kiss Your Fingers Forevermore³|
₊˚♪ Part 18—Kiss Your Fingers Forevermore² ‧₊˚♪
1928
Alastor reads a book while you embroider.
. . . It’s quite the odd scene to be in, but Alastor watches it anyway.
These eyes of his wander away from the book he’s barely reading, and it forces him to settle his attention on you, consuming your every movement a little too greedily in his very, very, honest opinion.
There’s a certain blankness on your expression as you pierce a needle into the cloth. It contradicts the absolute shine in your eyes, highlighted by the warm crackling light from the fireplace.
Alastor makes the mistake of lingering too long.
It’s the same one—down in the basement and up in the living room with him, across from him from your spot on his couch. That same brightness lightens your eyes whenever you show him the liver of his latest present.
Alastor forces himself away from the way you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, and chooses to focus on the music instead—how absolutely greedy of you to consume this much of his attention, and how absolutely foolish of him to allow you to consume him.
The sound of the radio fills the background, a crease forming between your eyebrows . . .
The music, Alastor.
The soft sounds of the radio are supposed to be occupying his mind right now.
Alastor wipes his glasses with a cloth, if only to blur his sight enough to focus on the music. Through the hazy edges of his sight, he lingers on the way the music’s lips quirk into a tiny frown as you study the artwork at an angle.
It’s a sigh that escapes his lips, but Alastor places his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. The clean lenses make everything so clear. You’re using brown thread again today, embroidering yet another eight-note in an artwork so full of them already.
There’s a part of him that wonders what draws you to create such a thing over and over and over again. It all just boils down to wondering what goes on in that pretty, little head of yours?
And when did it start being considered ‘pretty’?
Alastor decides to count that small stack of blankets and pillows on the couch . . . again.
It gives his eyes something else to do besides watching the way your nose flares when you aren’t content with what you’ve made. It’s always been the same patterns, and he’s simply learned yet another piece of you. Alastor sees it in the way—
Blankets.
Alastor wasn’t sure which blanket you’d prefer, and that was probably the second biggest lie he’s ever told himself. It’s easy to return to that night he slept on your carpet, the feeling of your blanket pressing on his fingers still there.
Alastor clutches on your fabric far longer than necessary, never demanding . . . just . . . holding. All that just because Alastor wanted the assurance that you knew he would never raise his hand at you.
This gaze of his suddenly becomes too generous when it comes to you, and the absolute funniest thing about this is the way Alastor knows it’s not enough, not when his greed knows no bounds.
Alastor blinks for a moment, then closes the book he’s barely been reading. “I don’t have clothes for you,” he says, more to himself rather than to you. “I think I have old sleepwear if you’d prefer that.”
The mind is a traitorous thing, but it’s oh, so loyal when it comes across matters that pertain to you.
There’s this moment where it flashes a picture of you with that eternally bored expression on your face, blinking at clothes that would be too long for your body. You’d probably burn it right in front of his face if he ever presented them to you.
That gaze of yours stays on your artwork.
Alastor tries to kick your leg for the sheer audacity, but the moment his foot nears, his body betrays his plan by forcing a simple bump instead.
Still, denying him your gaze irks something deep within him—how absolutely annoying, indeed.
Alastor has always been petty, and has always been even more vain. It’s time you learned.
It’s simple to move his foot away when you try to strike back.
“I don’t need it.” You click your tongue when you can't reach him. “I was afraid something like this would happen so I simply brought clothes with me. There’s even night creams stashed inside my travel bag.”
It’s funny how Alastor could picture the scene so clearly in his head. There would be a certain satisfied smile on your face as you pick and choose any necessities.
Alastor wonders if you bothered to fold the clothes inside, or if you just stuffed everything that could fit and called it a day. It’s a little annoying how much he wants an answer to his question.
Alastor decides . . .
Well.
Alastor decides it’s appropriate to jump from his chair, and crash on the couch with you. It’s easy to return your smile when you laugh at him, that bright sound escaping because of him.
“Of course you bought a bag. How absolutely thorough of you,” he says, taking up as much space as possibly by placing his feet on your lap. “And where have you been keeping said bag? I don’t allow you upstairs.”
There’s a part of him that waits . . . that stalls for a moment longer, bracing himself for a push that will never seem to come. Instead, you allow his legs to take up space that rightfully belongs to you, giving it permission to simply exist in your presence even if it downright invades it.
Just like this—just one more night of this.
It could be like this every night.
You and him.
Him and you.
Alastor could keep you around for the rest of his life, and that just happens to be his truth.
You glance at him from the edge of your vision. “It’s in the basement,” you say, tugging at the hem of his pants as you play with it. “I’ve mentioned this to you already. Don’t you remember?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh . . . well, I was lying anyway,” you say, the laugh that spills out of your lips crinkle your eyes. “I was afraid you’d say no, and when the time came, I’d be without any clothes. I sneaked it in a few months ago.”
Something unpleasant surges up his spine, and its conflict that churns his stomach.
It seems Alastor has made himself known to you, enough for him to be this predictable in your eyes.
It doesn’t sit right, knowing that someone else holds pieces of him, yet at the end of the day, it’s you . . . simply . . . you. If anyone were to collect pieces of himself, it might as well be you.
All of these pieces he’s unknowingly given you is a small price to pay, especially when he too owns pieces of you in his mind, and there’s absolutely nothing that will stop him from selfishly grasping for more.
To be known is to be learned, and to be learned it to be known. Alastor has been revealing himself to you just as much as you’ve been revealing yourself to him.
It’s an equal exchange.
Alastor reaches out to poke the crinkle in your eye, even if it bored a line he’s unwilling to cross.
There’s a dam that threatens to crumble, but the leaks of affection are already seeping out. If Alastor crosses that line . . . If Alastor allows this dam inside of him to break . . . it’ll only sweep you away from his grasp.
And he will lose you because of his own doing.
There’s a part of him that wonders if you could ever be content with this—just this tiny piece he’s willing to give.
It’s all he has, but it’s also everything, and it’s yours if you could ever accept such a tiny thing.
“I could still kick you out.” Alastor brushes a thumb over your eye, just to watch that crinkle slowly appear. “Then you wouldn’t need that bag.”
There’s this moment where you frown, the edge of your lips turning so deep that he almost wants to look away.
Instead, Alastor pushes his fingers on the edge of your lips, forcing a smile just so he doesn’t have to look at that insulting frown. It’s a little irking to think you would regard him in that way, as if in your mind, kicking you out was something he was capable of doing to you.
Sometimes, you really are a heartless woman.
“Al,” you say, still trying to frown despite the fingers pushing on your lips. “It would take me hours to even walk to the city.”
Alastor pushes your lips even higher, fighting the frown you’re so intent on showing him. “Calm down,” he says, flicking your nose just to be annoying. “I’m not going to kick you out. You must think of me as someone who goes back on their word. I’m a little offended, honestly.”
You roll your eyes all the way to the side. “Do you expect an apology from me?”
“You don’t have enough of a heart to mean any apology, so it’s useless.” Alastor says, but points at that bright smile on his face. “But there’s no use for a frown like that.”
It’s easy to see how you force a bright smile, but longer it stays on your face, the more genuine it becomes. “Is this much better then?”
. . . Fuck.
That could very well break what little restraint Alastor owns.
Still, he catches himself before anything could truly slip out, yet that softness still manages to seep out when he says, “Indeed.”
Alastor has always taken whatever he’s wanted, pursued it with a focus that border on obsession. It didn’t matter who or what it took, not as long as he obtained whatever he desire, and it seems what he wants now is this—a quiet night for the rest of his life, bellies full from the dinner he prepared and the faint scent of dish soap lingering on your skin.
But some things aren’t possible.
As prideful as Alastor was, even he had to accept this.
It’s simple to force that smile to remain when you push his legs off your lap, but you lean just a little closer to glance at the book he’s barely even reading. “What’s that?”
Alastor leans closer without really meaning to . . . and could he still claim ignorance when he presses closer just a little more?
“The receptionist at the station lent it to me,” he says, smiling at the sight he finds himself staring at. From this angle, he could see the way your eyelashes flutter a little. “I think she’s a little partial to me.”
“I see.” Your smile turns just a little gentler. It’s times like this where Alastor wonders what you’re thinking about. “Is it any good?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Perhaps if he paid more attention to the words, he’d be able to give you a proper answer.
There’s a moment where you glance away with a shy smile on your lips. “Will you read it to me?”
Alastor leans even closer towards you, that smile of his widening just a little higher when you stay just where you are. “What will you give me in return?”
Still . . . Alastor doesn’t make it easy, for that just wouldn’t be how he is with you.
There’s a crick in his neck when Alastor opens his eyes.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this—Alastor wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on this chair, but he’s here anyway, a fucking crick on his neck.
Alastor doesn’t even remember falling asleep, one moment he was talking to you, and in between the comfortable lulls of silence, Alastor closed his eyes for far too long.
It’s simple to still for a moment, watching the flickers of firelight illuminate the skin of your cheeks.
Those eyes of yours are still asleep, and that’s probably for the best. It would almost be impossible for Alastor to forgive himself if he allowed you to see just how close to unraveling he is.
The clock tells him all he needs to know. There’s still time to go up to his room and sleep on a proper bed instead of this simple chair.
. . . Alastor places a cigar between his lips instead.
There’s this moment where he reaches for the lighter on the table, but Alastor chooses to fold his hand over his stomach instead.
Just one spark—one tiny spark— could light the damn thing, filling Alastor with a rush of warmth that he’s been twitching for, and isn’t that just the most annoying metaphor in his life right now.
The life Alastor wants is at the very tip of his finger, and just one, tiny spark could fill him with warmth, but the cigar will eventually fizzle away, and Alastor will be left with nothing but the ashes. So how could that really be the life he wanted?
“Are you going to smoke?” Your soft voice is barely a whisper, but Alastor hears you anyway.
“No,” he says, dropping the cigar onto the table. “I’m not.”
You’re staring at him from the cocoon of your blanket, watching every flicker that could possibly pass through his expression.
It’s simple to allow that gaze of yours to wander over his smile, but Alastor still refuses to give you anything but that constant and wide smile.
As much as he tries to resist—and it honestly wasn’t much, but at least there was an effort—Alastor’s eyes slot in your direction.
There’s a strand of hair sticking to your skin, and it’s simple to tuck it away when you catch him staring.
It doesn’t seem to bother you that Alastor holds your gaze just as much as you hold his. It doesn’t seem to bother him as well, and that’s how Alastor know he’s well and truly fucked.
You reach a hand towards the floor, picking up the blanket pooling around his feet. “I took the effort to wrap one around you,” you say, offering it towards him with the constant bored expression. Still, there’s a little smile on your lips. “Don’t put my effort into waste.”
Alastor clutches the other end of the blanket, keeping his hold on it. It’s easy to watch you keep your hold on the blanket as well. For as long as you both wanted, you and him are connected.
“I’m a little excited,” you say. “To think I’d be eating breakfast here.”
Alastor laughs right at your face, allowing the mocking sound echo around the walls of his home. “There isn’t much to be excited about,” he says, waving his hands. “Especially when you’ll be washing all my dishes. Perhaps, I might just use thrice as much today.”
“How about a little exception?” You pull on the blanket, tugging at him at the same time. “Use less dishes.”
Alastor tugs back at you. “Absolutely not.”
There’s this moment where you frown, and it doesn’t last long enough for Alastor to reach out and force it away. “You are absolutely too cruel to me.”
“The absolute cruelest!” Alastor raises his hand to raise the blanket over your head. It’s a smile that rises on his lips when your hold remains. “How absolute cruel of me to allow you to stay in my house and eat my food and sleep on my couch.”
It’s a snort that escapes when you tug on the blanket—
Fuck.
Alastor hears the ease when he laughs with you. It’s all there—the teasing, the wanting.
It’s simple to take this moment to breath . . . to exist with you, to listen to the way his breath mixes with yours. For one shining moment, you’re tangled with another’s eyes. It’s the truth that almost bubbles out of his lips, but it never quite spills over.
The moment passes, and it has to pass because that’s how all this do. No matter how much Alastor wishes to hold on to every moment, to every second, to every smile, he still releases his hold on the blanket first.
There’s this brief flash of disappointment in those eyes of yours. It’s enough for Alastor to find himself reaching out once more, but your grip loosens on the blanket, polling between his feet again.
Alastor closes his eyes instead, pressing his face into the cushion of his chair. “Good night.”
“Okay,” you say, whispering. “Good night.”
One day, this would all go away, and you would be nothing but a good dream.
A/N: So when I started this on January, I had a schedule to keep. Every Wednesday. Anyway, that's blown to shot. I'm in my last two weeks. So just a little more of your patience . . . and maybe a little more of your comments? Heheheheeh.
Those things really make my day. And it becomes just the absolute highlight of my whole month. Anyway, any thoughts on Human Al and his feelings? He's already kneed deep in them!!!! He's falling. He's in loooooovvveeee. Gosh, I hope the pacing of his feelings make sense to his character and the story
Also If you enjoyed this, why not buy me some caffeine? I have a KoFi now, but no pressure. And more caffeine in my system means I have more energy to write!
Taglist: @jaguarguard @amandjslpz @deerest-darling @painstakingly-juno
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