Summary: You're sick and your cannibalistic serial killer husband is taking care of you.
Type: Romantic, Headcanon.
Warning: Cannibalism? Dark humor…Yandere?
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The fever enveloped you like a heavy, sticky, suffocating blanket.
Your whole body ached, from your eyelids to your knees. And yet, the greatest annoyance wasn't that… but the fact that Alastor had been trying to wake you for ten minutes with a stubbornness that even the dead couldn't ignore.
First, it was his fingers, gently brushing your cheek. Then, kisses on your forehead. Next, his sweet voice, that honeyed voice that could convince a saint to sin.
"My love… it's time to get up…"
Your only attempt at a response was to bury yourself deeper in the sheets like a pill bug. He sighed, resigned, and rested his forehead against yours, feeling the heat radiating from you.
"…it's not normal," he whispered, uneasy.
----------
The house was unusually quiet when he finally decided to let you sleep.He didn't like silence. Not the silence that came from you, at least.
So he went down to the kitchen, constantly glancing back every five seconds, as if afraid you'd vanish if he went too far. The kitchen was spotless, perfectly tidy. His knives, gleaming and sharp, lined up like soldiers in a row.
"Well, my dear friends…" he murmured, stroking the blade of the largest one. "Today we're not going to use them for fun. Today we're going to cook something… normal."
The knife gleamed in the light.
"Yes, I know," Alastor laughed, as if the tool had protested. "It's boring. But she's sick. And I… want her comforted."
He opened the refrigerator. A whole chicken awaited him. He picked it up carefully, as if it were something sacred.
"Mild broth, nothing fancy…" he repeated. Nothing to remind him of what I do when he's not looking.
As I worked, the sound of the knife striking the wooden board filled the kitchen. It was a precise, rhythmic, even beautiful sound.
The sharp, clean, perfect cut… the kind of cut only a seasoned killer could achieve. If anyone else heard it, they'd think I was cutting a person.
You, unfortunately, were familiar enough to know that such precision didn't come from chopping vegetables.
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Twenty minutes later, he came upstairs with the tray.
He opened the bedroom door with his elbow, careful not to spill anything.
"My love… I brought breakfast…"
But before he could approach, he decided to open the curtains to let in more light.
Big mistake.
"Owwww ALASTOR, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? CLOSE THE CURTAINS!" you protested, squirming as if the sun were acid.
He let out a delicious, dark laugh. He placed the tray on the nightstand and got under the covers with you.
The heat of your body hit him instantly.
"You're burning up, mon amour," he whispered, brushing his nose against your cheek. "This isn't just tiredness."
He tried to pull the covers off your head, and you made a noise you didn't know you could make.
"Nooo… I don't want to…"
"Love, are you okay?" “Are you sick?” he asked, and this time his voice wasn’t playful but genuinely worried. “You never sleep this much…”
When he finally saw your face, he froze.
Your eyes were glassy.
Your skin, red.
Your lips, dry.
Fever.
And a lot of it.
His expression changed slowly, like a shadow creeping across his face.
“Oh, mon amour…” he whispered, stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not sick, Alastor…” you tried.
He smiled, tilting his head as if you were adorable for lying.
“Yes, you are,” he replied. “You’re hot, weak… and very grumpy.”
“I’m NOT grumpy,” you growled.
He laughed.
"My darling, when you're sick, you have the personality of a wet gremlin."
He kissed your forehead and tucked another blanket over you, then another. Then a third, ignoring your complaints. By the time you were done, you looked like a human burrito.
"I'm going to get something that will make you feel better," he said as he stood up. "Don't move."
----------
When he returned, he was carrying a large tray of soup that smelled… incredibly good.
“You made… regular soup?” you asked suspiciously.
“Yes, dear,” he replied. “Regular.
With regular ingredients.
Processed in socially acceptable ways.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“Everything I say sounds suspicious,” he laughed, sitting down beside you.
He gently helped you sit up, supporting your back as if you might break.He took a spoonful of soup, blew softly on it, and brought it to your lips.
You tasted it. Warm, smooth, comforting.
Perfect.
“See?” he said proudly. “Nothing strange.”
“Are you sure…?”
He smiled, that dangerous smile, the one that sent shivers down your spine and calmed you at the same time.
“I was going to add ‘a special touch’…” he confessed with a low chuckle. “A dash of my private stash… But I decided that, since you’re sick, you should probably stick to food that doesn’t involve… people.”
“ALASTOR!”
“It was a joke, mon amour.”
“A real joke or a cannibal’s joke?”
“A cannibal’s joke,” he admitted.
He fed you slowly, with infinite patience. His cold fingers wiped your lips whenever a little spilled. His eyes watched you as if you were the most delicate work of art he had ever seen.
When you finished, he laid you back down, arranging the sheets with the same care he would use to arrange… a valuable corpse. He climbed into bed with you and pulled you close to his chest.
“Mon amour…” he whispered near your ear. You're the only person I'd stop hunting for without a second thought.
"Is that… romantic?"
"It's extremely romantic," he said, stroking your hair. "I want to feed on you in another way."
You punched him gently in the chest, coughing and laughing. He hugged you tighter.
"Rest," he murmured. "My favorite little knife needs to recover."
"I'm not your little knife…"
"To me, you are," he said, kissing your forehead again. "You're the only thing I wouldn't destroy… and the only thing I'd die to protect."
And as your eyes closed, you heard his soft voice, one last sentence before he fell asleep beside you:
Can’t get over how obvious it is that Alastor has a strong favoritism for Vox
He kills overlords without rhyme or reason, but he leaves alive the one who is actually a thorn in his side. Vox does a whole shibari musical number on him and Alastor calls him a creep… for putting his hands on people’s shoulders. He doesn’t remember the name nor the face of a guy he supposedly fought twenty times, but he remembers Vox’s compliments from 70-ish years ago word for word. He wipes his hands after touching other people but he grabs Vox and even pulls him close. He can’t stand physical touch but he, the big bad Radio Demon, used to bear it for him when they were friends. He claims Vox is the one who needs him, the only one who was impacted by their falling out, then he creates a whole plan that verges on him knowing Vox down to his mannerisms. He calls Vox obsessed, but he poses for Voxtech cameras, finds any occasion to piss off Vox. He calls Vox every name in the book, but he puts no real conditions on his deal with him, because apparently he still trusts him to not take things too far even after 70 years of fighting.
Like don’t get me wrong, Vox is a creep! But he’s definitely Alastor’s favorite creep. I think that the only one who really saw this was Valentino.
And the funniest part is that Vox could see it too so easily if only he wasn’t so self absorbed and stuck in his own pain
the problem with autism is sometimes you want to do something (brave) but you need someone to gently walk you through each step so you know what will happen. and people don’t like doing that
every time i see this post i think of that person who posted on reddit that they wanted to go to subway for the first time but they were scared they would say the wrong thing so someone gave them step by step instructions for the entire process and what all the choices would be and when they would ask what question and i just think
someone will
someone out there will see you and say "yes. the world is scary. but let me hold your hand and show you how to do it anyways"
everyone needs that someone, and everyone can be that someone
The subreddit r/explainlikeimscared is a surprisingly good resource for this. People are always very kind and thorough from what I've seen, and I spend a decent amount of time there giving walkthroughs and answering questions when I know the process.
guys there's a new yaoi team up in marvel rivals steve and bucky bang each other right and that deals a shockwave of damage to the enemy team its insane like thats just the power of gay love guys what else can i say.
Obi-Wan wears like 53 layer of robes so everyone assumes he’s kinda soft especially compared to his ‘in the prime of his youth’ former Padawan but then one day he goes shirtless to spar and he’s shredded, he has an 8 pack. Clones and Jedi alike are choking on drinks and tripping into walls. Ahsoka is covering her eyes and screaming because that’s basically her grandpa. Anakin has to throw a robe over Obi-Wan like The Birth of Venus.
