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Human Alastor | F!Reader | 1930 | interracial relationship | slight racism | Family dynamic
You both couldn’t openly be together in New Orleans because your love was viewed as forbidden by society. So you two ran away, got married in secret, and now you have a baby.
It was early evening; your parents were visiting to meet your daughter. Alastor was preparing dinner in the kitchen while you sat with your parents in the living room, telling your daughter a bedtime story to lull her to sleep.
Terror filled the girl's heart as the wild wind rose about the beasts.
Suddenly, a witch appeared—dark, yet regal.
"Gifts we gave, but more you took," she snarled.
"So more, in turn, is due." In a blink, the girl was trapped inside a mirror.
You finished reading the story just as your daughter drifted off to sleep. “There. She’s asleep.”
Your mother looked distinctly displeased. “What’s with the creepy story? She’s only six months old.”
“I don’t know. It just caught my eye at the store.” You handed the picture book to your mother while your father leaned over to examine the cover as well.
Village of Shadows.
“Besides, Alice doesn’t seem to mind.”
“That’s because she doesn’t understand it, thank God.” Your mother set the book down with a sigh. “I know you’ve always had a rather dark sense of humor, love, but I do hope Alastor isn’t being unsettled by it.”
Alastor, listening from the kitchen, chuckled quietly to himself at the remark and continued preparing dinner. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest. After all, he had done far worse things than you ever had, and the two of you had long since agreed to keep his darker secrets between yourselves.
A few minutes later, once dinner was finished, he called out, “Dinner time! Food’s ready!”
“Great. Can you take your daughter upstairs first, Al?” you asked.
Alastor stepped into the living room and gently lifted the baby from your arms. “Of course, sweetheart.” He cradled Alice carefully against his chest, holding her with practiced tenderness. Turning toward your parents, he offered them a warm smile.
“You folks go ahead and start without me. I’ll join you once I’m back.”
After giving them a polite nod, he headed upstairs to your bedroom with the sleeping baby in his arms.
The moment he was gone, your father’s expression darkened. “You know,” he began seriously, “I still can’t believe you fell in love with a man like him. I kept hoping it was just some phase you’d grow out of, but then you ran off with him—and now there’s a child involved?”
“Dad, stop. Please, just be nice.” You sighed heavily, already dreading where the conversation was headed.
Meanwhile, Alastor gently laid the baby down in her crib, carefully making sure she was comfortable beneath the blankets. He lingered for a moment, watching her with a soft, affectionate expression before quietly stepping out of the nursery. He pulled the door nearly shut behind him, leaving it slightly ajar.
As he reached the top of the staircase, the conversation downstairs drifted up to him. His expression slowly grew serious. He knew your parents disapproved of him, and in truth, he couldn’t entirely blame them. Your marriage had never been accepted by much of society. Interracial relationships were still frowned upon in many circles, and your parents had always hoped you would settle down with someone more “appropriate” in the eyes of others.
Your mother gave a small nod at your father’s words. “We’re only worried about you, dear. We love you, and we want what’s best for you. But Alastor…” She hesitated delicately. “He isn’t someone suitable for you.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if he weren’t mixed,” you replied quietly as you moved toward the dining table.
From the stairs, Alastor’s jaw tightened at the remark. For a brief moment, irritation flashed across his face, but he quickly buried it beneath his usual composure. He had endured judgment his entire life; tonight would be no different. By the time he descended the stairs, his familiar charming smile had returned, masking any trace of frustration.
“Well now,” you said quickly, eager to change the subject as he entered the dining room, “what did the chef prepare for dinner tonight?”
His smile widened slightly at your attempt to lighten the mood.
“Tonight,” he announced smoothly, “I present my famous jambalaya recipe—a delightful Louisiana-inspired dish certain to tantalize your taste buds.”
With a theatrical flourish, he gestured toward the steaming pot in the center of the table. The rich aroma of spices and smoked sausage filled the room.
“Please,” he said warmly, “help yourselves.”
"You didn’t close the bedroom door, right? I want to hear her in case she wakes up.”
Alastor nodded reassuringly. “Don’t worry, darling. I left the door slightly ajar so we’ll hear her immediately if she fusses or cries.”
Satisfied, you relaxed slightly as he began serving the jambalaya, carefully spooning generous portions onto each plate.
“I do hope you all enjoy it,” he said smoothly. “I put a little extra love—and seasoning—into it just for you.”
He flashed his usual charming smile, expertly concealing any lingering irritation from the earlier conversation with your parents.
Everyone began eating, and for a few moments the room fell silent except for the soft clink of silverware and occasional murmurs of appreciation. The jambalaya was rich and flavorful, the spices warming without overwhelming. Alastor watched quietly from his seat, subtly studying everyone’s reactions as they tasted his cooking.
At last, your mother broke the silence. “So, Alastor,” she began carefully, “how are you liking Seattle?”
His smile remained pleasant, though something unreadable flickered briefly in his eyes before he answered in his usual smooth tone.
“Oh, it’s charming, isn’t it? So… quiet. And damp.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Still, the scenery is lovely if you enjoy endless greenery and overcast skies.”
He paused for a moment before adding, his voice lowering slightly with a hint of nostalgia, “Though I must admit, I do miss the spice of New Orleans.”
As he spoke, he watched your mother carefully, gauging her reaction without making it obvious.
Your mother nodded politely, though it was clear she hadn’t missed the subtle undertones in Alastor’s words. She understood he was choosing his phrasing carefully. “Yes,” she replied softly, “I suppose the weather here can feel rather dreary at times.”
Your father, meanwhile, took another generous bite of the jambalaya, seeming far more interested in the food than the tension hanging over the table. “This jambalaya is really quite good,” he admitted after swallowing. His tone carried an almost reluctant sincerity, as though he were trying to guide the evening back toward safer territory.
Alastor’s brows lifted slightly, pleasantly surprised by the compliment.
“Well now,” he said with a faint grin, “that may be the kindest thing you’ve said to me all evening.”
For a split second, an awkward silence settled over the table before your father let out a reluctant chuckle through his nose. “I’m serious,” he said, setting down his fork. “The seasoning’s excellent.”
Alastor inclined his head graciously. “Why, thank you kindly. Cooking’s always been one of my finer talents.”
You noticed some of the tension in the room begin to ease, if only slightly. Even your mother seemed a little less rigid as she took another bite. “This recipe has been in your family long?” she asked cautiously.
A quieter look crossed Alastor’s face at the question, though his smile never fully faded.
“For quite some time,” he answered. “Back home, food was one of the few things that could bring everyone together, no matter their differences.”
The comment lingered in the air longer than anyone expected.
Suddenly, faint noises drifted down from upstairs—small, restless sounds from Alice stirring in her sleep. Alastor’s head turned toward the staircase instantly, his body tensing ever so slightly at the sound. His protective instincts surfaced immediately.
“Excuse me for just a moment,” he said smoothly as he pushed back from the table with effortless grace. “I should check on our little princess. Wouldn’t want her waking up fully.”
He was already halfway to the stairs before anyone could respond.
“Be right back,” he added lightly over his shoulder.
Alastor climbed the staircase swiftly, his footsteps remarkably quiet against the wood. By the time he reached the bedroom, the house had fallen silent again except for the faint rustling coming from the crib. As he entered the nursery, his expression softened immediately.
Alice was still only half-awake, shifting restlessly in her crib with tiny sleepy noises escaping her. One small hand reached aimlessly outward, grasping for something just beyond her reach. His gaze followed the motion to the little red deer plush lying near the edge of the crib. A quiet chuckle escaped him at the sight, amused by the tiny, unconscious determination in her movements. Stepping closer, he carefully picked up the plush toy and placed it gently into her waiting hand. Almost immediately, her tiny fingers curled tightly around it.
The moment she secured the plush against herself, her fussing eased. Her breathing gradually slowed again as she settled back into the mattress, still clutching the little red deer protectively against her chest.
Alastor watched her for a long moment, his sharp features softening with unmistakable affection. The tension from downstairs seemed distant now, replaced by something quieter and far more genuine. “There we are, sweetheart,” he murmured softly. “Much better.”
When Alastor returned to the table, you looked up at him immediately. “Is she okay?”
He leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice to a soft murmur. “Perfectly fine, mon cœur,” he replied with quiet amusement. “She simply wanted her little red deer. Now she’s tucked back in and blissfully unaware of the… delightful company downstairs.” For the briefest moment, something unreadable flickered through his eyes—whether restrained irritation or dry humor, you couldn’t quite tell—before his usual composure settled back into place.
“It’s become her favorite toy lately,” you said with a small smile. At that, Alastor’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Ah, so she has taste,” he mused lightly, sounding almost smug. “How fitting.”
You gave a soft laugh. “I made it myself. Well… I’m still new to sewing, and honestly, I probably could’ve done a much better job.” The teasing expression on Alastor’s face immediately softened. A quiet admiration appeared in his eyes as he looked at you, clearly appreciating the effort and affection behind the handmade gift. “Darling,” he said gently, “handmade gifts always carry a special sort of charm.” His voice lowered warmly. “And for ma petite, perfection won’t matter nearly as much as the love stitched into it. That little deer is precious to her because it came from you.” He reached across the table and took your hand carefully in his own, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.“You’re a wonderful mother, sweetheart,” he continued softly. “Don’t be so quick to doubt yourself, hm?” Then he smiled at you—warm, sincere, and protective in a way that made the tension lingering around the dinner table momentarily disappear.
Your parents noticed the gesture immediately. Your mother and father exchanged a brief glance across the table, their expressions caught somewhere between surprise and lingering discomfort. No matter how strongly they disapproved of Alastor, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that he genuinely cared for you—and for your daughter. Still, old prejudices cast long shadows.
Your mother cleared her throat softly, eager to redirect the conversation. “So, Alastor…” His attention shifted toward her at once, his polite smile never faltering. “Yes?” he replied smoothly.
She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words with visible care. “If you don’t mind me asking… what exactly is it that you do? I mean, how do you support yourself and our daughter?”
For the briefest instant, something sharp flickered behind Alastor’s smile, though it vanished almost immediately beneath his practiced charm. He had expected this question. “I work in radio,” he answered casually. He lifted his glass and took an unhurried sip, his eyes briefly settling on your parents over the rim. “I host a rather successful show,” he continued. “It keeps me quite occupied—and fortunately, quite well-paid as well.”
Your father raised an eyebrow slightly. “Radio?” “Yes indeed.” Alastor leaned back comfortably in his chair. “Entertainment, music, local happenings… listeners seem rather fond of my voice.” His grin widened just a touch. “Can’t imagine why.”
You could tell he was deliberately keeping things vague, smoothing over details with charisma and confidence. Your mother nodded slowly, though uncertainty still lingered in her expression. “Well,” she admitted carefully, “it sounds stable, at least.” Alastor inclined his head politely. “I assure you, ma’am, your daughter and granddaughter are very well cared for.” Though his tone remained cordial, there was a subtle firmness beneath the words—a quiet warning that this was one thing he would never compromise on.
“Mmm, it can be rather demanding,” Alastor admitted, not bothering to deny how much of his time his work consumed. “But it allows me to provide a good life for you and our little one.” As he spoke, he reached for your hand again, giving it a gentle, affectionate squeeze—a quiet reminder that, despite his workaholic tendencies, his devotion to you never wavered. You understood the demands of his career better than anyone, and you had never resented him for it. It was one of the many reasons he loved you so fiercely. A softer expression crossed his face as his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured under his breath, low enough that only you could hear. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m damn grateful you’re mine.” Heat rose faintly to your cheeks at the sincerity in his voice.
Across the table, your parents watched the quiet exchange in silence. Their expressions had grown noticeably more contemplative. They still carried their reservations, but moments like this made it increasingly difficult to cling to the harsher image they had built of Alastor in their minds.
Your father finally cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Well…” He glanced between the two of you before settling his attention on Alastor again. “I’ll admit one thing.”
Alastor looked up calmly. “Oh?”
Your father rested his fork against his plate with a small sigh. “You do seem to care about my daughter.” The words sounded reluctant, almost as though he disliked admitting it aloud. “And the baby.” For the first time that evening, Alastor’s smile lost some of its performative charm and became something quieter—more genuine. “With all due respect, sir,” he replied softly, “they are the two most important people in my life.”
Your mother’s expression softened further at that, her earlier tension fading into something quieter—sympathetic, even. “You seem… quite dedicated to her,” she said gently, her gaze shifting between you and Alastor. “And to being a father.”
You glanced at Alastor, silently asking if it was alright to speak about his past. He noticed immediately. With a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gave you permission. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression calm but attentive, as if stepping aside to let you speak while still remaining present. Taking a breath, you chose your words carefully.
“Alastor didn’t really have a father growing up,” you explained carefully. “He was raised by his mother. She passed away a couple of years ago.”
A brief silence settled over the table. “That’s why…” you continued more quietly, “he cherishes what we have now. What we’ve built.”
Your father’s stern expression eased a fraction. Your mother lowered her eyes for a moment, visibly moved by the revelation. Alastor said nothing at first. Then, after a pause, he spoke—his voice still composed, but gentler than before.
“My mother was a remarkable woman,” he said simply. “She did her best with what she had. I owe her a great deal.”
A flicker of sympathy passed through your parents’ eyes as they absorbed the glimpse into Alastor’s past. The idea that he had grown up without a father of his own gave his relationship with Alice a new kind of weight—less like something performative, and more like something deeply intentional. Your father nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “You’re right,” he admitted in a quieter tone. “When you come from a place of lacking, you tend to value what you build all the more.”
Your mother followed with a gentle nod of her own, her gaze lingering on Alastor with a softened understanding. “It takes real strength,” she said carefully, “to break a cycle like that… and choose to be a better parent than what you had yourself.” The tension that had lingered earlier in the evening seemed to ease another notch.
At your earlier comment about Alice, Alastor let out a small, amused breath—almost a chuckle—his expression softening in a way that felt far more natural than his usual polished charm.
“That,” he said warmly, “is a sentiment I can wholeheartedly agree with.” His eyes brightened slightly at the thought of her. “Our little girl is, without exaggeration, one of the most charming things to ever exist. I fail to see how anyone with even a fragment of sense could look at her and feel anything less than affection.”
Despite themselves, your parents responded to the shift in tone. Your mother’s lips curved into a faint smile. “She does have a sweet little face,” she admitted, her voice gentler now. “It’s hard not to be charmed by a smile like that.”
Even your father gave a small, reluctant nod, as if conceding the point. Alastor leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the reaction unfold with quiet satisfaction—not pride in himself, but something more subtle: a rare easing of the barriers between the people at the table.
For the first time that evening, the atmosphere felt less like a confrontation and more like a family sharing the same room.
Alastor escorted your parents to the door, his usual polished charm firmly in place as he saw them out. His tone remained warm and courteous, though there was a subtle easing in his posture now that the evening was finally drawing to a close.
“Safe travels,” he said smoothly. “Do give us a call when you arrive home.” Your parents offered their goodbyes—still a little thoughtful, still a little uncertain, but no longer openly hostile—before stepping out into the night. The door clicked shut behind them. For a brief moment, silence filled the house. Then Alastor exhaled sharply through his nose, like a man releasing tension he’d been carefully containing all evening. His shoulders loosened slightly as he turned back toward you, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Well,” he said, voice lighter now, “that was…”He tilted his head, as if weighing the word.
It was a normal day at the hotel; everyone except for you was sitting around the couches in the lobby.
Angel: "Look guys, I got a pic of Alastor kissing y/n!"
"What?" Vaggie sounds surprised.
"Where?! I need to see this!" Charlie sounds more excited.
Alastor immediately looked up from his book, his expression turning into a glare.
Alastor: "What did you just say?"
Angel: "You heard me. I got you in 4K." He turns his phone to show everyone the photo.
Alastor's face twisted into a look of pure horror as he stared at the image, his sharp teeth grinding together. His entire body stiffened like a board.
Alastor: "Angel Dust." His voice was eerily calm. "Delete that. Now."
A dark aura crackled around him—static filling the air in warning. The microphone on his cane pulsed ominously with green light.
Angel: "Why? Don't you want to have a little memory of this sweet moment?" He used a teasing tone. "Vox's face looks really funny in this pic when you did that in front of him."
Charlie: "I'm more surprised Alastor isn't glitched in the photo."
Alastor's eye twitches, and he grips his staff tightly in his hand. "I said delete it, Angel."
His tone was a low, dangerous rumble, like the crackle of thunder before a storm. The static in his voice was even louder now, warping the very air around him. The lights in the lobby began to flicker—the tension in the room was palpable.
"Delete what?" At this moment you came in from a walk, pet alligator on a leash.
Alastor's attention shifted quickly from Angel to your arrival. He tried to compose himself, the tension in his body only slightly lessening.
Alastor: "Ah, y/n. Right on cue, as always."
His eyes flicked down to the pet alligator he had gifted to you a long time ago and had now grown into an impressive 20 ft before meeting your gaze again.
Alastor: "Anyway…" His eyes flicked back to Angel, narrowing as he remembered the photo.
Alastor: "I believe we were discussing something about… unwanted mementos."
A sharp glance at Angel—silent threat laced in every pixel of that stare.
"Why? What's wrong?" You look confused about what you just came back to.
Alastor exhaled through his nose, maintaining that eerily pleasant smile—though the edges of it were strained. He gestured vaguely toward Angel with his staff.
Alastor: "This one decided to take a photograph of us without permission." Static laced each word. "Nothing worth your concern, darling. I will handle it." He side-eyed Angel again—a clear warning not to elaborate further.
"Let me see that." You walk over towards Angel.
Angel held up his phone—showing you the photo of Alastor kissing your cheek.
"Aww, I remember that. Vox's face looked really funny." I'm more amused at Vox's captured expression in the background.
"Can I have a copy? But on paper?" Like Alastor, you're not really a modern person and aren't familiar with phones.
Alastor's head snapped toward you, his grin freezing in place—sharp teeth on full display. "Absolutely not."
Before Angel could even react, Alastor moved like a shadow right in front of him and SNATCHED the phone with unnatural speed. A second later, the device was crushed to pieces in his grip.
"What? Why did you do that?" You are used to him spoiling you, so the fact that he just took and denied your wish is unbelievable to you.
Alastor slowly turned his head toward you, the crushed phone still in his fist. His smile stayed perfectly intact—but it was the kind of smile that made lesser demons piss themselves.
Alastor: "My love… I am denying everyone in this room from ever seeing that photo again." A beat of silence. Then—he let the phone bits fall to the ground like garbage.
"You know what? Fine, then you can sleep in your own room tonight." You walk away towards your room. This was your version of condemning him to sleeping on the couch, since you don't really share the same room.
Alastor’s eyes widen—just for a split second. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his face before the mask snapped back into place.The lobby fell dead silent.
Without another word, Alastor straightened his coat and walked stiffly toward the stairs—not looking at anyone as he disappeared down the hall.The second he was gone, the others exhaled collectively.
Angel: "Holy shit. He actually pissed y/n off."
Vaggie rubbed her temples. Charlie bit her lip—she’d never seen Alastor get dismissed like that before.
Vaggie crossed her arms, glaring at Angel with full disapproval mode activated. "Did you really have to show off that photo? You know how he gets about… personal things."
Angel opened his mouth to protest. "What's the big deal? It's not my fault that he's so sensitive about such a little thing."
Vaggie’s glare could’ve melted steel. "Angel! He hates romantic or sentimental things being made public."
"Okay? But y/n liked it." Angel doesn't really understand what the problem is.
Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. "That’s not the point! Alastor doesn’t care if y/n liked it—he cares that it was out there for others to see."
A long pause. Then—silence from upstairs. Too quiet.
Husk finally spoke up, swirling his drink. "Y’know… I think you screwed up."
The entire lobby froze as the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps descended the stairs. Alastor appeared in seconds—his face was eerily blank, which was worse than anger. Without a word, he walked straight past everyone—and out the front door of the hotel.
Angel: "Why's he so salty? He doesn't stay in her room that often anyway... I think."
Husk: "Well, he got kicked out; that's a little different than picking and choosing where he wants to stay."
Vaggie shot Angel a withering look—equal parts "You're an idiot" and "This is your fault."
Charlie nervously fiddled with her hands, staring at the door Alastor had just stormed out of.
Husk is taking a slow sip. "Yep. He's not gonna be back tonight."
A heavy silence fell over the lobby. Even Niffty paused her cleaning to glance around.
"I'm going to check on y/n." Charlie quietly got up and headed toward your room, her steps light but purposeful. The others stayed in the lobby.
As Charlie approached your door, she hesitated for a second before knocking gently. "Y/n? It's me… Can I come in?"
"Sure." With permission Charlie carefully opened the door and stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. The room was dimly lit—you were sitting on the edge of your bed; p/a/n was at your feet like a giant scaly cat.
She approached quietly and sat beside you without saying anything at first, just offering silent support as you stroked p/a/n snout.
Charlie starts the conversation a little awkwardly. "Soooo, Alastor just left."
"He'll be back." You sound not worried at all.
Charlie smiled slightly, relieved by your certainty. Alastor always came back—no matter how dramatic his exits. "Probably… though I doubt it’ll be before sunrise."
"That's all right," I sigh. "I really wanted that photo."
"You know, Alastor always tells me it's the memory that counts, but it would be nice to keep visual memories. What if one day I can't remember it? Eternity is a long time."
Charlie’s expression softened with empathy. She hadn’t thought about it that way—Alastor was all about the feeling of memories, not the tangible proof.
"That… makes sense." A quiet moment passed before she added: "Do you think he’d ever let you keep something? Like… privately?"
"Maybe if I had my own camera. I always wanted one of these little Polaroid cameras. He would be fine with that; he just doesn't want to be on social media or television."
Charlie perked up immediately, the idea clearly appealing to her. "Ooh! That’s actually a great plan! I could even help you find one! There's got to be an antique shop in Hell that sells those."
"It's not urgent, so take your time."
Charlie nodded, already mentally filing the idea away for later. She knew Hell’s shopping scene was chaotic at best, but finding a vintage Polaroid camera wouldn’t be impossible.
"Got it! I’ll keep an eye out next time I go exploring." She stood up, stretching slightly before heading toward the door. "I should probably go see if maybe Alastor came back."
"He's full grown; you don't need to worry about him," you remind her. Charlie gave you a small, reassuring smile before quietly slipping out of the room.
You move p/a/n head off your lap and get off the bed, planning to take a bath. The bathroom filled with the soft glow of candlelight as you ran warm water into the tub. The sound of running water and gentle steam created a soothing atmosphere. The water was just the right temperature—steamy and inviting. You slipped into the tub with a contented sigh, your muscles relaxing instantly, sitting there for 15 minutes before you begin with your skin and hair care routine.
After finishing, you rinsed off in the warm water before wrapping yourself in a soft robe. Stepping back into the bedroom, you glanced at p/a/n—who had curled up on his favorite spot on the rug.The clock read late enough that sleep sounded tempting. You sat on the edge of your bed, towel-wrapping your hair as you gently dried it. Once your hair was mostly dry, you slipped into pajamas and climbed under the covers. p/a/n lifted his massive head just enough to watch you settle in… then lowered it again with a contented exhale. Within minutes… you fell asleep.
Hours later, just before dawn, a shadow slips quietly into your room… revealing Alastor. He looked slightly disheveled—his usual pristine appearance ruffled by his night out. But he didn’t say anything… just stared at you sleeping peacefully. p/a/n eyes snapped open the second he sensed a presence. His massive head lifted as he fixed his gaze on Alastor, recognizing his owner's partner; the alligator remembered him. This was the demon who had given him food as a hatchling. Alastor exhaled in relief and stepped further inside.
He moved silently toward your side of the bed. The room stayed dark… but his crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dark as he studied your sleeping face. Very gently, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear… an uncharacteristically tender gesture from the Radio Demon. p/a/n watched this display with quiet curiosity but didn’t interfere. Alastor was one of the few beings p/a/n allowed near you without protest.
Carefully as ever… Alastor slipped under the covers beside you. He curled around you with practiced familiarity, his long limbs fitting naturally against you. He didn’t wake you—just rested his chin lightly atop your head.The room settled into peaceful silence again—the tension from earlier completely dissolved.
Your nose picked up his scent. "Didn't I tell you to sleep in your own room?"
Alastor stiffened slightly at your sleepy, half-awake voice. He hadn’t expected you to speak—let alone reprimand him.
"I’m sorry." It was rare for the Radio Demon to apologize for anything—but here he was… guilty and contrite.
"At least take your coat off if you're going to sleep."
Alastor blinked, surprised you're not insisting on kicking him out. Without a word, he carefully peeled off his long coat—draping it over a nearby chair.Then he slid back under the covers, this time in just his fitted shirt and pants. The weight of him settled beside you again… warm and solid. Alastor exhaled quietly, finally relaxing completely now that he wasn’t in trouble. He shifted just enough to pull you closer—not too tight, but enough to feel your presence.
It's not finished yet, and there are a few rooms where I'm not sure what to put in.
Bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms are almost finished; they just need furnishing.
Building the roof will be a bit tricky, since you can't really build a fifth floor, but I've seen a few tricks that make it possible, so I hope it works out.
Alastor and Reader are implied to have been dating for years. Enjoy.
Alastor wasn't one for planning mediocre anniversary dates, if any. He always made sure it would be extravagant, unforgettable… and one he expected you to remember just as vividly.
And this year, he had decided to prepare something special—something certain to make the day all the more memorable.
"I see you're not taking me to another fancy restaurant this time."
I observe the scene before me: Alastor had prepared his little dining table in his room with candles and flowers; he even had his own shadow playing the piano to set the mood.
“You know I do so enjoy taking you out,” a hint of amusement in his voice. “But I thought this year we might indulge in something a touch more… intimate. Free from the delightful cacophony of lesser company.”
“Well, I’m certainly not complaining.” As I stepped closer, he pulled out a chair for me.
"You do look lovely this evening, darling." He gave a pleased hum as he pushed the chair in.
“I do hope you’ll enjoy this evening’s menu—I took the liberty of preparing it myself.” As he revealed what he had prepared, I instantly recognized his famous jambalaya among the other dishes.
And so as the evening moved on, we ate, drank, and talked; he would tell a few jokes and even invite me to a slow dance.
“I’d say this has been quite an enjoyable night—and your cooking was delicious, as always.” I give him praise.
“Ah, ah, ah—don’t be so quick to conclude the evening just yet,” he interrupted smoothly. “There’s still a little something I’d like to present to you.” He pulled out a box from behind a nearby tree, setting it carefully in front of me.
I slowly lifted the lid. Inside, a small hellish alligator hatchling blinked up at me, its eyes glinting faintly.
“How did you manage to get your hands on something like this?” I asked, recalling how little natural wildlife the Pride Ring actually had.
“Oh, I have my ways,” he replied smoothly, a note of amusement in his voice. “The Pride Ring may lack such charming creatures, but one simply has to know where to look… and who to ask.”
“I love it,” I said softly.
I carefully nudged it a little; the small reptile feels defensive and tries to nip my finger.
“I’m glad,” he hummed. “Consider it a small piece of my home… something to keep you company.”
I recall him telling me a couple stories about his hometown, New Orleans—of its wildlife and the swamps he once claimed as his favorite hunting grounds.
“And, I should also mention—it’s male,” he added with quiet amusement. “It will grow into quite the impressive beast in time.”
I am a little taken aback by this news but keep my composure, confident that I can take on this challenge in the future. “That’s not a problem—as long as you take half the responsibility.”
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