content: smut, fluff, aftercare, sex pollen, masturbation (both), slight handjob, p in v, clueless ryland
summary: after an accidental chemical mix, you and ryland start to weird... so much so that it's the only thing you can think about.
a/n: this one might be really bad tbh.. I honestly had a lot of trouble with this one.. not sure why, but have mercy
Things had been going great after you found that Taumoeba killed the Astrophage that was killing the sun. You, Rocky, and Ryland had worked long and hard, figuring out how exactly it killed Astrophage, and how to breed it.
And you figured it out. So, now it was just you and Ryland again. You sent Rocky off with his own farm of Taumeboa, and you and Ryland had your own.
You are Ryland were currently working on breeding even more Taumeboa.
It was pretty easy. You just had to introduce a bit of it to nitrogen, kill off the non-resistant cells, and then breed the remaining ones. Pretty simple.
The two of you were sat in the lab, the rhythmic hum of the Hail Mary’s being the only sound between you. Ryland was carefully adjusting the nitrogen levels in a containment jar, while you were wiping down the metal workbench with a heavy-duty isopropyl alcohol pad to prep the next batch of petri dishes.
"Okay, nitrogen introduction complete," Ryland muttered, tapping the glass. "Now we just wait for the non-resistant cells to die."
He leaned over to pass you the glass vial, but his fingers, slick from working under the warm lab lights, slipped.
The vial dropped, shattering right into the small puddle of wet cleaning alcohol on your workbench.
"Wait, don't touch it!" you warned, but it was already too late.
The glass didn't just contain Taumoeba. There were trace, unwashed specs of active Astrophage still stuck to the inner rim. The moment the microscopic organisms flooded into the puddle harsh alcohol, a bizarre chemical chain reaction took off. The Astrophage began violently dissolving in the solvent, releasing raw, volatile alien proteins. The aggressive Taumoeba cells tried to consume that sudden flash of frantic energy, but the alcohol immediately attacked their lipid membranes.
Instead of staying a liquid puddle, the mixture hissed. A sudden, flash-drying crystallization occurred right before your eyes.
A cloud of fine, shimmering yellow powder puffed upward, caught instantly by the lab's intake vents.
"What the fuck-" Ryland started, coughing slightly as the fine dust filled the air between you.
You coughed, waving your hands as the powder filled your lungs.
It took about 20 seconds for the powder to disappear. Then it was gone.
"Okay... that.. certainly happened." He mumbled, grabbing a dry hand towel out of the cabinet above him before wiping the lab table down.
"Yeah.. let's try to be careful next time?" You teased softly.
"Shut up, it was an accident." He rolled his eyes.
"I'm messing with you, Ry."
The two of you cleaned up the mess and decided that you'd done enough for the night. You closed up all the petri dishes into the Xenonite containers that Rocky had given you.
"You wanna sleep?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, I was planning on it.." You nodded.
The two of you had been taking turns sleeping. The both of you were slightly paranoid that the ship would spontaneously explode if you both slept at the same time.
"Okay, go ahead. I'll be out here reading or something."
You nodded and then the two of you went your separate ways.
⪻────★────⪼
It was only 30 minutes into your sleep that you woke up sweating.
Your body was hot, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the ships temperature. You lifted your hand, feeling it with trembling fingers. You weren't warm, but your body was tingling with something you'd never felt before. Something intense.
You pushed the sheets off of your body, sitting up in your bed. As you did so, you realized how sensitive your skin was. The slight brush of your shirt on your chest making you shiver.
What the fuck is happening to me? You thought.
You sat there for a moment. Taking in the way your body felt. That was when you realized the deep pooling heat that was settling in your stomach.
You shifted your legs slightly, just trying to get comfortable, but you couldn't help but gasp and let out a whine.
Okay something was definitely wrong with you. Maybe you were like.. ovulating very intensely? Maybe you were having a wet dream that you didn't realize.?
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying hard to push away the thoughts that were beginning to fill your mind. It didn't work at all. You shifted again, and all that follows was the hitch of your breath and an electric shiver down your spine.
This was too fast. Too intense.
There was absolutely no way this was ovulation or a wet dream. What was it though? You weren't sick.
You carefully pushed yourself to the end of your bed, trying so hard to ignore the burning of your sensitive skin. You felt the cold floor against your feet, feeling the difference in the temperatures.
That's when it hit you.
A sudden image of the lab incident flashed through your mind. The chemical reaction must've caused some type of weird airborne byproduct.
You sighed. This couldn't be real. That was what you thought until you felt another wave of heat pulse through your core, forcing a moan out of you.
You were being completely taken over by an alien sex pollen.
You whined softly, covering your face with your hands as you tried pushing everything away. You laid back down, body twitching as you did so. You would go back to sleep. Everything would be fine when you woke up.
But you were so, so wrong. You couldn't even sit still for 30 seconds.
You sighed and gave in. Hopefully you could give yourself some relief. You slid your hand under your sweatpants, then past your underwear. Your fingers were trembling, and you were absolutely dripping wet.
You lightly pressed your fingers to your swollen clit, letting out a moan as you did so. You circled your the bundle of nerves, biting your lip to silence yourself. You did that for a small moment before moving your fingers down to your entrance.
You slowly pushed them in.. you fucked them into yourself once.. twice.. a third time.. and then white hot pleasure crashed over you.
You moaned softly. You had cum in under a minute.
This was torture.
You sst there, panting softly as you frowned. It was still unbearable.
You needed to do something about this.. and clearly masturbation wasn't the answer, nor was sleeping.
You tried thinking about what to do, but to your surprise, the only thing that came to mind was Ryland.
You'd had a crush on him for a while, sure, but you'd never thought this deeply about him. Visions of him you had never in your 12+ years on this ship had thought about.
But then you realized... if you were feeling an effect from the powder.. so was he. He was right beside you. He would be going through the same exact thing.
You took a deep breath before swinging your legs off your bed, standing up. You legs were shaking horrendously.
You had to grip onto the side of the wall just to keep yourself up, but eventually you made it to the door.
You quickly pressed the buttons on the door panel, and it hissed open softly.
The sight that met your eyes was absolutely shocking.
Ryland was pressed against a wall, head tilted back with one knee propped up, and the other laying flat on the floor. His jeans were pulled half down his thigh and he had one hand buried in his underwear, clearly trying to rub his problems away.
His free hand was gripping his hair as he softly whimpered. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him.
"Pleasepleaseplease go away-" He choked out, a tear falling from his eye.
Oh he was absolutely fucked.
You didn't have to think about what you were about to do. Your body was screaming with heat, and the sight of him almost completely unraveled right in front of you overode every shred of hesitation you had.
You took a single step forward and his head snapped in your direction. His hand stopped, but he didn't pull it away. He was probably unable to. He stared at you for only a second before looking away. He was both embarrassed, but also scared his feelings would become even more unbearable if he kept looking at you.
"I- I'm sorry- I tried to get away from the dormitory room but I couldn't breathe- I-" He stuttered, eyes shut as he laid his head back. "I don't know what's wrong with me-" He said.
You didn't answer immediately, you just walked over to him and dropped to your knees beside him. He opened his eyes, looking at you.. shocked at your proximity.
"D-dont get too close- I-"
You shook your head, thighs shifting softly. You reached out, hands shaking. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist. He tensed, a soft sound coming from his. You pulled his hand out of his boxers gently.
"It hurts so bad-" He whined.
You nodded. "I know.." You said and pulled his hand, pressing it to your chest. Your heart was pounding intensely beneath your clothes.
"Y-you-"
You cut him off. "It was the powder, Ry.."
He met your eyes again, tilting his head. "T-the powder?"
You nodded. "The mixture caused this.. weird- unbearable feeling." You said, shifting your thighs again. "And doing it yourself is.. not going to fix it I'm afraid."
He was shocked. He hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "N..No we can't- I.. I'm not gonna make you have sex with me just b-"
You cut him off yet again, your hand slipping beneath his boxers.
"S-shit" He moaned softly as you wrapped your fingers around his hard, twitching cock.
You began flicking your wrist, thumb rubbing his tip, just overall making him see stars. He was an absolute whimpering mess in only seconds, but he grabbed into your hand the second he saw you shifting helplessly against the heel of your foot.
"S-Stop-" He whined.
Your heart stopped, but you complied, slowing your hand.
"A-Are you sure you want to d-do this?" He asked.
"M-hmm," you nodded, still shifting your hips. "There's nothing else t-that's gonna fix this."
He sighed, nodding. "Okay.. but le-ts do it the right way.." He said, pulling your hand from his boxers.
He lifted his hips and slid his boxers and jeans down, kicking them off when they were by his ankles. He nodded towards you, and you only took seconds to follow.
Once you were both bare from the waist down, he waved you closer. "Come here.." He said.
Of course, you immediately moved closer, and it was only moments before he pulled you onto his lap.
You shivered, his cock was right between the two of you, pressed into his stomach and leaking with precum.
"Ry-" you whispered, his hands gripping your hips.
"I know, sweetheart hold on.." He said, lifting you with a tight grip on the backs of your thighs.
Very very slowly, he pulled you in and positioned you on his cock. Both of you let out a moan, his head falling back on the wall as yours found place on his shoulder.
He slowly sank into you, twitching as he tried not to fuck up into you.
"Ryland, why are you holding back? You know this is just as unbearable for me as it is for yo-"
You didn't even finish your sentence before he began bouncing you on him. You whimpered, gripping tightly onto his shirt.
He was fucking up into you all while you were bouncing on him and it made your eyes roll back every. single. time.
It was only a minute when you were moaning his name repeatedly and clenching around him.
"Fuck- I'm gonna cum-" He whined.
You nodded, legs tightening around his hips as you moaned into his ear. You both came at once, panting relentlessly.
You sat there for a moment. It still wasn't gone.
The brief rush of the release should have cooled the agonizing fire in your skin, but the heavy, radiating warmth under your flesh flared right back up a mere second later.
Your chest heaved, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against Ryland’s as you remained straddled securely in his lap.
Beneath you, Ryland let out a low, shattered groan, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. His large hands were still locked onto your hips with a trembling grip, his fingers twitching against your skin.
He wasn't softening. In fact, as another wave of the heat hit him, you felt him instantly twitch and harden right back up inside you.
"Oh god," Ryland choked out, his voice a rough, broken whisper against your neck. He shifted his hips upward in an involuntary, desperate jerk, a gasp escaping his lips as the friction hit him all over again. "It... it didn't fix it. It's starting again."
You whined, your head rolling back as your own compromised body eagerly melted right back into the heat. The absolute exhaustion of the first round was completely overridden completely.
"Here let's-" He sat up straighter, only to move to he could lay you back onto the floor.. meaning he had to pull out.
As he did, both of you whimpered from the loss of contact, but it didn't last long. The second you were comfortably laying on your back with your legs around his waist, he inched back inside you.
His hips twitched again, but he still needed to make sure you were okay. So he held himself back despite the burning urge. "You doing okay, sweetheart?"
You nodded, looking up at him. He let out a soft exhale and then tilted his head down, kissing your jaw, and neck before starting up his pace again.
With this new position, he was hitting that spongy spot every single time without fail. He was filling you up justtttt right.
Your hands slid around under his shirt, your nails digging into the back of your skin. You were 100% leaving marks on his back, but that only made him want to fuck you harder.
As you moaned in response to his quicker thrusts, he spoke, "I- It's okay, honey. Don't worry- I'm gonna make it go away I promise.." He said.
You whimpered in return, and came on the spot. God his sweet talking just made everything so much deeper.
He followed only a few seconds later, but he didn't stop. He remained thrusting into you, his legs shaking, but he knew the heat wouldn't stop with just two orgasms.
"Ry-!" You whined, leaving crescent shapes in his shoulders as your heels dug into his lower back.
"I know, I kno-w- I'm gonna make it all better." He assured you, his fingers twitching from where they were holding him up beside your head.
The two of you came a total of five times before the excruciating heat finally left your system.
All you could feel was the sweat and leftover release between your legs that hadn't been repeatedly fucked into you.
He panted softly before pulling out and rolling onto the floor beside you. He pulled you into his chest, your body molding perfectly with his.
Now that the heat was gone, you were shivering softly against the cold floor.
"C'mon.. let's get cleaned up, okay?" He said, but you just let out a soft, weak whimper as your legs trembled.
He smiled softly and sat up, only to crouch down and pick you up, despite the shake in his own legs. He carried your half naked body to the sleeping cot, lying you down in it before walking off.
He came back with a wet rag and a bottle of water. He handed you the bottle, told you to drink, and began to clean up the mess between your legs.
He was very gentle about it, making sure not to touch anything sensitive without saying anything first.
Once he was finally done cleaning both you and him off, he tucked you into your bed and went over to his. You frowned.
"What're you doing..?" You asked.
"Going to sleep?" He said.
"Why are you over there.."
"Oh I just.. figured you.." He paused. "You.. had to do that against your will... it was either that or suffering."
"Ryland.."
"Am I wrong?" He asked.
"Okay sure it was against my will.. but that doesn't mean I didn't like it.. or that..." You hesitated, "..or that I don't like you."
He tilted his head at you. "You.. like me?"
"Is it not obvious?"
"No.."
"Wow men really are clueless. I've literally been flirting with you since we woke up from our comas."
"Oh." He said, ashamed that he hadn't noticed. He walked back over to your bed. "I'm sorry.. I.. I had a vision.. of the past." He admitted.
"Okay? How is this relevant?"
"I'm getting there, relax," he said. "I saw.. you. It was a month before the launch. You were.. dancing in the lounge and I just was thinking.. I wish she was mine."
You were shocked. You took his hand. "Ry... why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought you wouldn't believe me..." He said.
You shook your head. "You men are so silly." You said, pulling him into the bed.
He fumbled forward, but quickly crawled into the tiny bed beside you.
Once he was settled in, he couldn't keep his eyes off you.
"Hey" You said.
"Hi."
You smiled, moving to fix his crooked glasses, but he pushed your hand away and pulled you in by your neck, kissing you.
You froze, but soon melted into the kiss, hands sliding up to his face.
You kissed for what felt like years until he pulled back.
"I'm really dumb." He breathed against you lips, foreheads touching. He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears. "I spent all this time.. worried about if you actually liked me.. That I didn't notice the obvious signs."
"Better late than never, Ry."
He hummed in agreement. "You're right."
You sighed, settling into his chest. shivering still, but that was changed when he wrapped his arms around you.
Content: Mentions of blood, slightly descriptive scene of stitching a wound, P in V, fingering, smut with a PLOT.
Summary: Alastor owns the readers soul, yet he never takes advantage of it. She comes to the hotel to speak to him, only to find him in his room stitching his own wound with shaky hands.
Word count: 10.2k
⪻────𖤓────⪼
In her previous life, Y/N was a WWI nurse who grew tired of the relentless, unwelcome jests from the soldiers under her care. Eventually, her patience finally snapped. She began "treating" her most inappropriate patients with lethal injections of carbolic acid. The resulting wave of agonizing organ failure went unnoticed in the chaos of war for a time, but her grim work eventually caught up with her, securing her a permanent station in Hell.
When she descended into the flickering, red depths of the Pit, she didn't recoil in horror. Instead, she found herself captivated by her new reflection, a demonic form that felt far more honest than her human image. Without a hint of fear, she stepped into her new life, finding an immediate job at Rosie’s Emporium. In the heart of Cannibal Town, her steady hands and lack of a moral compass made her a perfect fit for the brutality of the neighborhood.
It was within the polished walls of the Emporium that she caught the eye of Alastor. The Radio Demon was instantly captivated by her, and within weeks, he held the leash to her soul. Yet, to the surprise of many, he never used his power with cruelty. Instead, he treated her soul like a rare, precious heirloom, preferring her willing company to forced servitude.
He could treat her exactly like Husk if he wanted, but he chose not to. Instead, he only asked her to visit him for the occasional favor, yet even then, she always had the right to say no it.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
It was a typical Thursday, and following their routine, Y/N arrived at the Hazbin Hotel to visit Alastor. She passed by the chaos of the hotel lobby, moving with the practiced grace of a nurse through a hospital. When she entered his room, she found him slumped in his armchair, his shadow hovering anxiously nearby. Even the fearsome Radio Demon looked human in that moment, his fingers fumbling with a needle as he attempted to stitch a jagged wound across his chest. It was a rare sight of vulnerability that he quickly tried to mask with a strained grin.
Alastor’s head snapped toward the door, his wide, permanent grin tightening as the jazz filtering from his bedside radio gave a sharp, melodic stutter.
"Ah! Y/N, my dear! I’m afraid you haven’t picked the best moment for a social call," he chirped, his voice crackling with a layer of static that betrayed his strain. Despite his bravado, his composure was clearly fraying.
He turned back to the jagged tear in his chest, but his long, dark claws lacked their usual steadiness. The needle slipped from his grasp, clinking sharply against the floorboards. A small testament to a rare moment of weakness.
"Oh, it's quite alright, Al. Would you like some help?" she asked, her voice dipping into the calm, clinical tone of her past life. She tilted her head, watching his shadow flicker with agitation as she stepped into his personal space without a hint of fear. Kneeling with practiced ease, she plucked the fallen needle from the floorboards.
She didn't wait for an invitation, she knew the pride of the Radio Demon was a fragile thing, but her hands were those of a woman who had stitched thousands of men back together amidst falling mortar shells. She looked up at him, the silver needle held between her fingers, silently daring him to refuse her expertise.
"Hm… well, I suppose I could use a bit of assistance," he hummed, his voice crackling with a static-heavy sigh. It was a rare, low admission for the Radio Demon, and he finally leaned back into the red velvet of his armchair, his hands dropping to his sides in a gesture of surrender.
As she moved closer, the air around him smelled of copper and whiskey. He watched her with curious intensity, his permanent grin softening in her gaze. For a man who owned her soul, he seemed remarkably content to let her take the lead, his shadow settling into a watchful, protective stillness behind them.
Eventually, she dragged a stool from beside his dresser, the legs scraping against the floorboards as she positioned herself directly in front of him. Sitting down, she leaned in close, her eyes narrowing with professional scrutiny as she assessed the damage. The wound was jagged, pulsing with a faint heat that would have intimidated anyone else.
"Did you even attempt to clean it?" she asked, her voice dry with the unimpressed tone of a seasoned field nurse.
Alastor let out a sharp, crackling bark of a laugh, the sound distorted by the static of his radio-like voice. "Why, of course I didn't, my dear! What do I look like? A man with nothing better to do than fret over a bit of spilled ink?" He leaned back, his grin widening as he watched her, seemingly more amused by her bedside manner than concerned by the hole in his chest.
She rolled her eyes with the practiced patience of her past. "Washcloth, please?" she requested, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Alastor let out a sharp sigh, clearly unaccustomed to taking orders in his own quarters, but he snapped his fingers with a crisp crack. In an instant, a clean cloth materialized in her hand.
"Thank you," she murmured, already reaching for the open bottle of whiskey on his dresser. She doused the rag, the sharp scent of alcohol cutting through the heavy smell of copper.
As she pressed the soaked cloth against the jagged edges of the wound, Alastor’s grin flickered, his radio violently stuttering in the corner.
Alastor remained still as she worked, his eyes tracking the rhythmic movement of her hands with a predatory yet fascinated focus. The usual static hum of his presence settled into a low, purring vibration.
Despite the sting of the whiskey, he didn't offer a single protest. Instead, he seemed to lean into the pain, savoring the rare sensation of being cared for, or perhaps just the idea of someone being so unafraid of his broken edges.
"You're… better at this than I thought you'd be," he finally remarked, the sharp edges of his voice softening into something almost genuine. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, as he spoke again, "Perhaps I should hire you as my personal nurse. It certainly beats the alternative of rotting away in this hotel, doesn't it?"
She hummed thoughtfully, the sound a low in the quiet room. "Well, I was a nurse in my mortal life, you know," she remarked, her voice carrying a weight that didn't match the carnage of Hell.
Alastor’s eyebrows shot up, a crackle of static flickering through the air like a short-circuit. He was rarely caught off guard, but the image of her in a crisp white uniform, tending to the dying, seemed to fascinate him. His head tilted at a sharp, inquisitive angle, his eyes gleaming with a new curiosity.
"A nurse, you say? Now that is a twist I never saw coming!" Alastor leaned forward, the static in the air crackling. "Tell me, dear, how did such a noble profession land you in the fiery pits? Surely they don't damn you for simply changing bloody bandages."
She didn't look up from her work, her hands steady as she prepared the next stitch. "Just because I was a nurse doesn't mean I was innocent," she murmured. "Those soldiers… they used to speak so dirty to me. They thought because I was there to heal them, I belonged to them."
She paused, the memory of the sterile hospital smell and the crude words flickering in her mind. "Eventually, I simply had enough. I stopped healing the ones who couldn't keep their tongues behind their teeth."
Alastor’s eyes widened, the radio dials in his pupils spinning with delight. "Oh? And how exactly did you… retire them?"
"I injected carbolic acid into their wounds," she hummed, the detachment in her voice making the words all the more chilling.
Alastor let out a deep, resonant chuckle that vibrated through the radio, a sound of genuine professional appreciation. "Oh, how deliciously vindictive of you!" he purred.
The praise was cut short by a sharp hiss as she sunk the needle back into his skin to pull the first stitch tight. Behind him, his shadow lashed out, coiling like a territorial viper against the wallpaper in response to the pain.
He didn't pull away, though. His crimson eyes were now fixed on her with a newfound respect. "To use the very tools of healing to deliver such a rhythmic, internal ruin… you really are a woman of remarkable taste, my dear."
He placed his hand against her leg. The warmth of his hand against her calf was an unexpected contrast to his usually cold presence. It was a grounding weight, possessive and steady, even as his fingers tensed against her skin with every pull of the thread.
"Hold still…" she murmured, her focus never wavering from the jagged tear.
Alastor chuckled again, a low, rhythmic sound that sent a burst of static through the quiet room. "I must say… that story was quite the surprise," he admitted, his voice dropping into a smoother, more intimate frequency. He gave another sharp hiss as the needle pierced a particularly sensitive spot, and his grip on her leg tightened instinctively, pulling her slightly closer to his chair.
"To think, a little doll like you was hiding such a sharp past," he continued, his eyes glowing with a dark, appreciative light. "It makes our little arrangement all the more… satisfying, don't you think?"
She finished the final stitch with a sharp, clean knot and reached for a pair of scissors on the dresser. "I suppose it does," she replied as she snipped the thread, glancing up at him. "There you go.." She said, placing the scissors back on the dresser.
"Perfect, my darling. I appreciate it," he said, the static in his voice smoothing out into a satisfied purr. He didn't pull his hand away from her leg, instead he let his thumb brush against the fabric of her dress for a lingering moment before he finally sat up straight.
He tilted his head at a sharp angle, his eyes pulsing with a soft crimson glow. "I don't believe I have anything else on the agenda for you today… so, how about a change of scenery? We could pay a visit to the local Sinners' café for a cup of tea? My treat, of course!"
The invitation was phrased as a suggestion, but the way his shadow danced excitedly against the wall suggested he was already expecting her "yes." It was a rare offer of public companionship from the Radio Demon, one that moved their relationship beyond the walls of the hotel and into the chaotic streets of Pentagram City..
"Sounds delightful," she hummed, standing from the stool. As she stood, the loss of his hand's weight on her leg felt cold, but Alastor was quick to fill the space, rising behind her like his shadow did to him. He offered his arm, his grin widening until it crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Despite her slight hesitation, she looped her arm through his. "Lead the way," she said, and he did, stepping out of the hotel with the confidence of a man who ran the world.
The walk to the café was an exercise in theatricality. Sinners scrambled out of their path, sensing the Radio Demon’s presence before they even saw him. Alastor, for his part, seemed delighted by the attention, all while keeping Y/N tucked firmly at his side.
When they finally reached the café, a charmingly macabre establishment with wrought-iron chairs and blood-red awnings, he pulled out a chair for her with practiced, old-world charm.
"Thanks," she hummed, smoothing her dress as she settled into the metal chair.
"My pleasure, dear," Alastor replied, his voice a smooth, melodic crackle. He sat across from her, leaning back casually, though his eyes never once drifted from her face. He rested his chin on the back of his hand, observing her with a thoughtful stillness that made the air around them hum.
The silence was broken by the arrival of a scrawny, multi-eyed waiter. The poor soul was a mess of nerves, his knees knocked together in sheer terror at the sight of the Radio Demon, yet he couldn't stop stealing flustered glances at her. He fumbled with his notepad, his hands shaking so violently the pen nearly slipped.
"W-welcome… what can I… may I get for you… Sir? And for the… the lovely lady?" he stuttered, his face flushing a deep pink.
Alastor’s grin sharpened, a low hum vibrating from his chest as he noticed the waiter’s lingering gaze on her. "A pot of your finest Earl Grey for the lady," Alastor chimed, his voice dripping with a polite, yet terrifying edge. "And for me… well, surprise me. But do try to be quick, friend. We wouldn't want your shaking to spoil the tea, would we?"
The waiter didn’t need to be told twice. He vanished in a blur of panicked motion. Alastor let out a rhythmic hum, the sound vibrating through the table. "My, my… these sinners certainly are a jumpy lot at my presence, aren't they?" he mused, his tone dripping with innocence.
Within seconds, the waiter scurried back, his hands trembling as he set the tea service down with a frantic clatter before bolting once more. Y/N didn't even flinch. She simply reached for her cup, the porcelain steady in her grip as she took a calm, measured sip. "They absolutely are," she agreed, her voice as cool as the morning mist over the trenches of war.
Alastor chuckled, a deep, crackling sound that seemed to resonate from the very air around them. He watched her over the rim of his own cup, clearly captivated by her. In a realm where his mere presence caused most to stumble over their own feet, her casual indifference to the chaos he radiated was intriguing.
"You don't seem particularly intimidated, my dear," he noted, leaning forward. His gaze searched her face as if trying to solve a mystery. "Most would be trembling in their boots at the mere sight of me. Yet here you sit, as calm as if we were having Sunday brunch in the local park! Tell me, what is it that makes you so remarkably… unfazed?"
"Well, dear… you might look all tall, dark, and creepy," she mused, setting her teacup down with a delicate click as she crossed her legs with effortlessness. She met his glowing gaze with calmness. "But beneath all that static and shadow, you really are just a gentleman."
Alastor’s grin froze for a split second, a sharp, loud pop of static echoing through the air as his eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. It was a rare thing to see the Radio Demon caught off guard, his usual persona momentarily flickering.
"A gentleman!" he repeated, a distorted chuckle bubbling up from his chest. The shadows behind him danced with an amused energy. "My, my, what a delightfully dangerous thing to say! Most here would call me a monster, a tyrant, or even a nightmare incarnate… yet you see a man of etiquette? How peculiar."
She simply hummed, offering a small shrug that signaled her mind was made up. To her, the terrifying Overlord was a man of manners, and she wasn't easily swayed by his theatrics. They spent the next hour in a rare, easy rhythm, the clink of porcelain and the low hum of conversation filling the air.
Finally, Alastor stood, smoothing the front of his coat with the snap of his wrists. "Well, dear, I suppose we should be on our separate ways, shall we?" he asked, though he lingered by the table, his shadow swaying expectantly. He paused, his head tilting with a flicker of genuine interest. "Unless… you’d like to come provide a bit more company for me this evening?"
It was a rare invitation into his private world, but she remained as professional as ever. "Unfortunately, I have business to attend to," she hummed, standing to face him.
Alastor’s grin twitched, a momentary flash of disappointment. He wasn't used to being told "no," yet the rejection seemed to only improve his fascination with her. "Business? How mysterious!" he chirped as he took her hand and pressed a lingering, charming kiss to her knuckles. "Very well! I shall count the minutes until our next Thursday visit, my talented little nurse."
⪻────𖤓────⪼
True to their arrangement, the following Thursday found Y/N strolling through the hotel lobby, softly humming a jaunty jazz tune Alastor had played during their tea the previous week. She made her way to his room, her movements possessed with calm efficiency.
When she stepped inside, Alastor was there, lounging in his armchair with one leg draped lazily over the other. He swirled a glass of whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. The moment she crossed the threshold, his head snapped toward her with that signature, bone-chilling sharpness.
"You're back," he stated, his voice a low, crackling frequency. He didn't move a muscle, merely watching her over the rim of his glass with the calculating gaze of a cat weighing its options.
"Like you said I'd be," she hummed in return, showing no more fear of the Radio Demon than she had the week before. She sank into the armchair opposite him, meeting his intense stare with a look that was part-caregiver, part-equal. "I assume you haven't been picking at your stitches, Al?"
"Why, of course not! I’ve been a model patient," he hummed, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggested he’d at least been tempted.
"Good!" she chirped, standing up and closing the distance between them. She didn't hesitate, perching herself right on the velvet armrest of his chair. From this height, her proximity forced a rare moment of stillness from him. "Mind if I take a look?" she asked, her hands already reaching out with authority.
Alastor’s grin tightened as his shadow stretched out across the floor, mimicking his inward tension. He leaned back, tilting his chin up to give her better access, his eyes fixed on her face as she invaded his personal space. "By all means, my dear," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, static-laced purr. "The stage is yours."
She hummed softly, her fingers nimble as she unbuttoned his dress shirt to reveal the scarred skin beneath. She leaned in close, her cool fingertips tracing the line of the stitches with professional care. The wound had closed significantly, the jagged edges now held together by her steady handiwork. "Looks alright…" she murmured, satisfied, before pulling away to give him back his space.
Alastor remained unnervingly still as she retreated, the fabric of his shirt hanging open. He didn't immediately move to button it back up. Instead, he watched her with a look of intense, quiet fascination. "Just alright?" he echoed, his voice a low crackle. "I was hoping for 'spontaneous,' considering the talent of the woman who tended to it."
She hummed, a soft but firm dismissal of his flattery. "Hush now. You know exactly what I was intendenting."
She stood up, smoothing her dress out and preparing to leave despite having spent barely ten minutes in the room. "I'm afraid I must leave early today," she added, her tone shifting to one of professional necessity.
Alastor’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, his shadow flickering with a sharp edge of disappointment. "Leaving so soon? Our hour is barely begun!"
"Rosie has me working double shifts," she explained, already heading for the door. With the tensions between Heaven and Hell escalating, the demand for "processed inventory" at the Emporium was skyrocketing, and Rosie needed her most efficient hands on deck. The chaos of the coming conflict meant more business, more bodies, and far less time for leisurely whiskey and conversations.
"I'll be back next Thursday, as always," she called out over her shoulder, the door clicking shut behind her.
But "as always" was quickly swallowed by the frantic hunger of Cannibal Town. She didn't show up for a whole three weeks. Rosie was a demanding mentor, and as the conflict with Heaven loomed, the shop was crowded with panicked sinners and regulars. By the time the third Thursday rolled around, she was so exhausted that she collapsed into her own bed at the Emporium, the scheduled visit to the hotel completely slipping from her mind.
Alastor was many things. A monster, a tyrant, a creature of chaos, but above all, he was a man of pride. The silence of those three missing Thursdays echoed through the hotel corridors like a deafening static. He spent those evenings pacing his room, his shadow lashing out at the furniture in a silent, jagged tantrum. He was furious that he had been forgotten, yet, for the first time in his afterlife, he didn't retaliate.
He had watched her from the shadows of Cannibal Town, seeing the way her shoulders slumped under the weight of Rosie’s demands and the darkening circles beneath her eyes. He could have manifested her into his room, demanded her presence, or reminded her that he quite literally owned her soul, but he found himself hesitating. He actually cared for her well-being more than he’d ever care to admit to anyone, especially himself.
Due to her absence, Alastor hadn’t left his wing of the building in days. The usual jaunty jazz that echoed from his room had been replaced by a low, dissonant hum of white noise that set everyone on edge.
Then, to his surprise the lobby doors creaked open on the following Saturday.
Y/N didn't enter with her usual grace. She stumbled, her breath coming in ragged hitches as she navigated the stairs. She had spent the last three weeks buried in the labor of the Emporium, but her current state wasn't due to exhaustion. A deep, jagged gash ran down her arm, the edges of the wound glowing with a faint, flickering blue light, the unmistakable reminisce of a VoxTek electrified blade. Vox, desperate to strike at Alastor’s few remaining nerves, had sent an employee to attack her in the chaos of the shop.
She reached Alastor's door and didn't wait for an invitation before pushing it open. The sight inside stopped her cold. Alastor was slumped in his armchair, looking like a ghost himself. His hair was slightly disheveled, and dark, bruised bags hung beneath his eyes, suggesting he hadn't slept since she last walked out that door.
As the door swung wide, Alastor’s head snapped toward her. He had been prepared to deliver a scathing remark about her three-week disappearance, his ego bruised by her silence, but the moment his eyes landed on her blood-soaked sleeve, the resentment vanished, replaced by a violent, surging concern.
He was out of his chair before the door had even fully opened, manifesting in front of her in a blur of shadows. He didn't ask where she’d been, he didn't care about her excuses. He reached out, his claws hovering inches from the wound, his entire frame trembling with a suppressed rage.
"Who?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a distorted, demonic bass that made the hotel windows rattle in their frames. The radio dials in his eyes spun frantically, glowing a deep crimson. "Tell me which pathetic, short-sighted soul thought they could put their hands on you, Y/N."
“I… I don’t know exactly who,” she murmured, her voice tight as she clutched her arm. “I just know it was one of Vox’s employees…”
She felt a rare prickle of fear. While she usually treated Alastor with an almost teasing indifference, the raw energy radiating off him was heavy enough to make even the devil himself shiver. The room’s jazz had flatlined into a low, menacing drone, and his shadows were coiling around the furniture restlessly. Alastor’s grin remained, but it had turned into something sharp and brittle.
"Vox," he repeated, the name crackling with a heavy layer of anger. For a split second, it looked as though he might simply vanish into the shadows to fight back, his grip tightening on his microphone cane until the wood groaned. But then, he looked at her again, at the way she was swaying slightly, the blood still seeping through her fingers. The glow in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sharp, focused concern. He forced a rattling breath through his teeth, deliberately pulling his shadows back until they were nothing more than a smudge on the floor.
He let out a soft sigh, the static in the air finally settling into a low, rhythmic hum. "Sit," he directed, his tone leaving no room for argument. She complied, sinking into the velvet of his armchair as he immediately began to tend to the wound.
With surprising dexterity, Alastor mirrored the very techniques she had used on him, cleaning the gash with practiced care before starting on the stitches. He remained silent for a long moment, his focus entirely on the needle and thread, until the quiet was broken by the sharp crackle of his voice.
"You didn't visit like you were supposed to," he stated, his voice a low hum that lacked its usual theatrical flair. He finally looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with a look that was less about the broken promise and more about the three weeks of silence that had clearly gnawed at him. "I was beginning to think our little arrangement had lost its... charm for you."
"I'm sorry... I was just so busy. I got so tired that I forgot," she admitted, her voice carrying a rare, genuine softness that cut through the thick aid in the room. "It wasn't because of you, Alastor."
He let out a long sigh that seemed to deflate his rigid posture. "I haven't slept," he confessed, the admission sounding strange and vulnerable coming from one of the most feared entities in the Pentagram.
She looked at him and nodded slowly. Without hesitation, she reached out with her free hand, her thumb gently tracing the dark, heavy bags beneath his eyes. "I can tell..." she murmured, her instincts softening into something more intimate.
Alastor went still at the contact, his wide, permanent grin tightening as a soft crackle of static rippled through the air. For a man who usually recoiled from touch, he didn't pull away. Instead, he seemed to melt under the gentle pressure of her thumb. His eyes half-closed, the glowing in his eyes dimming to a soft, flickering red as he let out a jagged breath, finally allowing the heavy mask of the Overlord to slip in the quiet of his room.
"I'm sorry for leaving you for so long..." she whispered again, her voice thick with regret as she continued to stroke his cheek.
Alastor let out a distorted hum, the sound vibrating through her fingertips. He finally set the needle down, his work finished, and leaned his forehead against hers. "A rare apology from a woman who usually only offers orders," he murmured, his voice dropping to a smooth, intimate frequency that lacked any of its usual theatrics. "Do try not to make a habit of it, my dear. The silence in this room is far too loud when you aren't here to fill it."
She nodded, and a heavy, lingering silence settled between them, broken only by the faint, rhythmic hum of the radio.
"I have a question..." she started, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes, my dear?" he asked, his head tilting with a flicker of genuine curiosity.
She took a breath, meeting his glowing gaze. "You have control over my soul... you could make me do anything. But you don't use that power to its fullest. Why is that?"
Alastor went still, the radio in the room softening into a smooth, velvet purr. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into her touch, his expression unreadable.
"A soul is a delicate thing, my dear," he finally replied, his voice dropping to a frequency so low it felt like a caress. "Any Overlord can pull a string and make a puppet dance, but there is no fun in forced company. Where is the entertainment in a smile that isn't earned, or a conversation that is merely a requirement of a contract?"
He reached up, his clawed fingers gently covering her hand where it still rested against his cheek. "I find you far more intriguing when you're allowed to roam free."
She hummed, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "So you do enjoy my company?" she asked, her eyes locking onto his with a gaze that seemed to peel back his layers.
"I suppose I do," he admitted, the tone in his voice softening into something almost melodic.
But her clinical instincts never stayed dormant for long. Her mind flickered back to her original purpose for her visits. "And how is your chest wound?" she asked, her tone shifting back to that of a concerned nurse.
At that, Alastor’s eyes widened. The room’s jazz gave a sudden, dissonant screech. During those long, empty weeks of her absence, he had grown restless, bored in a way that was dangerous for a demon of his temperament. He had downed whiskey like a man trying to drown out silence, and in those intoxicated, lonely hours, he and his shadows had mindlessly plucked at the very stitches she had so carefully placed... letting the jagged wound tear right back open.
Her face dropped, replaced by the stern, unmistakable look of a mother deeply disappointed in a child who knew better. The warmth was gone, replaced by a sharp, focused glare that seemed to cut right through his bravado.
"Let me see," she commanded, her voice dropping into that low, dangerous tone she used when a patient was being particularly difficult.
She didn't wait for permission. Standing up, she placed her hands on his shoulders and firmly pushed him back down into the velvet cushions of his armchair. With the practiced efficiency of a seasoned nurse, she moved to straddle his lap, settling her weight firmly against him to get an unyielding view of the damage.
The sudden, intimate contact caught him completely off guard. As she sat, a sharp, involuntary bleat escaped his throat, a high-pitched, vocal slip that betrayed his intimidating nature. Alastor froze, his permanent grin twitching as his face flushed a deeper crimson, the shadow in the room moving into a embarrassed scrambled.
His long, clawed fingers hovered near her waist, unsure whether to reclaim his personal space or pull her closer, as she began to unbutton his shirt. He was the most feared Overlord in Hell, yet here he was, reduced to a flustered, bleating mess under the gaze of a woman who wasn't afraid to treat him like a disobedient schoolboy.
As she moved his clothing out of the way, her eyes were met with a bloody mess. The stitches were shredded, and the wound was gaping open, raw and angry once again. She let out a long, weary sigh.
"Did you do that?" she asked, her voice flat and clearly irritated.
Alastor shifted under her weight, his gaze darting momentarily to the corner of the room where his shadow was trying to look small and inconspicuous. The usual clever remark died in his throat. "It... may have been a result of a rather restless evening," he murmured, his voice crackling with a sheepish, low-frequency hum.
"Alastor... you fucking idiot," she sighed, the irritation in her voice giving way to a tired maternal exasperation.
Alastor suddenly felt remarkably small beneath her. As she sat on his lap, ignoring his terrifying aura to focus on his foolishness, a strange, long-buried sensation stirred within him. It was a grounded, firm sort of discipline he hadn't felt in decades. One that reminded him vividly of his mother’s stern but loving hand back in New Orleans, long before she had died.
He went still, his wide grin softening into something almost bashful as he leaned back into the chair. He didn't try to claw back his dignity, instead, he watched her with a quiet, submissive fascination, his eyes wide and unblinking.
"I suppose I've been a rather... troublesome patient in your absence," he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft crackle. He looked up at her, the shadows at his feet settling into a patient, waiting silence. "I don't suppose the nurse has it in her heart to forgive a bit of... intoxicated restlessness?"
She grumbled, a low sound of lingering annoyance that finally dissolved into another sigh. "It's... it's fine," she muttered, though her tone suggested he was lucky she was so patient. She reached for the bottle of whiskey and the rag, noting they hadn't moved an inch from their spot since her last visit.
Alastor watched her with a quiet intensity. The scene felt strangely domestic. She sat firmly on his lap, her movements practiced and sure as she dabbed the rag with the alcohol. When she pressed it against his raw skin, he let out a sharp hiss, his hands instinctively gripping the velvet armrests, but he didn't pull away.
There was a peculiar peace in the way she worked, her brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on mending him once more. To anyone else, he was a monster to be feared, but to her, he was simply a stubborn man who couldn't be trusted to look after himself. He leaned his head back, his eyes half-lidded as he savored the sting of the antiseptic and the grounding weight of her presence, feeling more at home in this moment than he had in weeks.
Five minutes later, she pulled the final knot tight, the efficiency of her past life once again bringing order to the mess he’d made. "Please, Alastor... don't do that again. You're going to scar yourself beyond repair, and I can't keep fixing what you choose to break," she said, her voice dropping to a weary, soft warning as her irritation finally bled out into exhaustion and concern.
She moved to stand, but before she could even shift her weight, his hands snapped to her waist like a trap.
His grip was sudden, his claws digging slightly into the fabric of her dress with a possessive force. The radio in the room didn't just crackle, it surged into a heavy, suffocating roar that made the shadows on the walls lash out. He didn't look up, his head remaining bowed, but the air around them began to vibrate with a terrifying, low-frequency hum.
"Don't," he rasped. The word wasn't a request. It was a command that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. He finally looked up, his eyes no longer glowing with charm, but burning like two dying stars, hungry, hollow, and dangerously intense. "You’ve been gone for twenty two days, Y/N. Twenty two days of that wretched, hollow silence."
He pulled her inches closer, his face tilting up toward hers, his grin now wide and serrated. "You don't get to simply mend me and vanish again. I won't allow it."
Her breath hitched as she met his gaze, the air thinning under the heavy, suffocating scent of him. She didn't struggle. Instead, she settled back into the cradle of his lap, her hands shaking slightly as she blindly set the medical supplies back onto the dresser. She remained pinned there, trapped by the sudden, overwhelming gravity of his presence.
The silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic thrumming deep within Alastor’s chest. He didn't just hold her, he enveloped her. One hand stayed crushed against the small of her back, while the other slid upward, his long, dark claws tracing the pulse point at her throat before tangling firmly into her hair. He pulled her flush against him, forcing her to feel the jagged heat radiating from his newly stitched skin.
"Sorry..." she finally whispered. Her voice was small, cracked, and carried a trace of a tremor she couldn't hide. It was the first time she had ever sounded truly frightened of him.
At the sound of her fear, the room smoothed into a low, possessive purr. Alastor leaned in, his face inches from hers, his nose brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was half-caress, half-claim.
"Do you have any idea how much I loathe being ignored, my darling?" he murmured, his voice a smooth, velvet frequency that vibrated against her skin. He tilted her head back, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip with a slow, agonizing pressure. "Three weeks is a very long time to be left alone with one's own thoughts. I found them... remarkably disturbing without your voice to drown them out."
He pulled her even closer, his grip shifting until his fingers were tangled deeper in her hair, forcing her to look into the flickering crimson of his eyes. "Don't ever assume your 'business' is more important than your presence here. Am I understood?"
The fear that had initially gripped her began to melt, replaced by a sudden thrum of eagerness. She could feel the heat of his breath against her lips, the scent of bitter scent of whiskey drenching her senses. "Yes, sir..." she breathed, the submissive title slipping out as she leaned into his touch, her eyes wide and searching for the next move.
Alastor’s grin didn't widen, instead, it softened into something far more predatory. The "sir" seemed to send a fresh surge of static through him, the shadows on the walls dancing in a frantic, jagged celebration. He let his hand slide from her hair to cup her jaw, his thumb dragging across her bottom lip once more.
"How perfect," he whispered, his voice descending into a low, guttural growl that resonated in her very marrow. He shifted her on his lap, pulling her body so tightly against his that she could feel the jagged rhythm of his demonic heart. "I believe I've been far too patient with you, my dear. You’ve spent three weeks tending to the needs of common sinners, but tonight... tonight you will learn exactly what it means to belong to me."
She nodded, her chest heaving as her breathing grew far heavier than when she had first entered the room. The scent of him was dizzying, and the heat radiating from him was a sharp contrast to the cold life she had left behind. His lips were a mere whisper away, ghosting against hers with every shallow breath she took, yet he remained perfectly still, teasing her with a proximity that was both a promise and a torment.
Alastor was a master of suspense, and he seemed to be savoring the way her heartbeat thundered against his own. He didn't close the gap. He simply watched her, his eyes wide and glowing with a predatory delight. He was waiting for her to break, to finally reach for what he had been waiting for during those long, lonely weeks of silence.
The silence stretched between them, thick enough to touch, as she fought the urge to close the final inch. Her heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that he seemed to savor with every shallow breath.
"Alastor..." she finally whispered. The name was a fragile plea, soft and weighted with a hesitation he hadn't seen from her before. Even now, with her blood still staining her sleeves and her body draped over his lap, she remained perfectly still. She was the nurse who followed rules, the soul who understood the weight of her contract. She wouldn't dare cross that gap without his instruction.
His head tilted. He loved this, the tension, the absolute control, and the way she looked at him with an eagerness that mirrored his own hidden hunger. He didn't kiss her. Instead, he let his hand slide from her waist to the back of her neck, his claws grazing her skin as he tilted her head back just a fraction more.
"Yes, my darling?" he hummed, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly against her lips, teasing the very surface of her skin. "You have my absolute, undivided attention. What is it that you're so carefully waiting for?"
"Please... don't act like you don't know," she breathed, the words breaking as a desperate plea. She was done with the games, done with the distance. She just wanted him to finally cross that agonizingly small gap and kiss her.
Alastor let out a low, crackling chuckle, a sound that was pure dark satisfaction. "How could I possibly resist such a heartfelt request?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a smooth, velvety frequency that vibrated against her lips.
He didn't make her wait another second. His hand behind her head tightened, pulling her forward as he finally crashed his lips against hers. It wasn't a charming kiss. It was hungry, possessive, and thick with the weight of his power. The shadows in the room surged, the radio in the corner exploding into a jubilant, frantic swing tune as he finally claimed the nurse who had spent so long mending his broken edges.
The moment their lips met, the room exploded into static. Not the usual chaotic crackle of Alastor’s power, but something deeper, hungrier. His grip on her tightened, claws pressing just enough to leave indents in her skin as he dragged her hips down against his with a single, deliberate motion. The friction between them was immediate, electric, pulling a ragged gasp from her throat that he swallowed greedily.
His tongue slid against hers, tasting the sharp remnants of whiskey and something darker, something distinctly him. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was claiming, devouring, the kind of kiss that left bruises and blurred the line between pleasure and pain. She arched into him, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he ground her against the now hard line of his arousal, the movement rough enough to make her whimper.
Alastor broke the kiss only to trail his teeth along her jaw, his breath hot and staticky against her skin. "You feel that, darling?" he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement as he rolled his hips up again, dragging another broken sound from her lips. "That’s what three weeks of silence gets you."
The shadows in the room writhed, twisting into sinuous shapes that mirrored the way his hands moved over her, possessive, demanding. One claw traced the line of her throat, down to the collar of her dress, before hooking into the fabric and pulling. The tear of cloth was obscenely loud in the sudden hush of the room, the cool air hitting her exposed skin a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth as he latched onto the curve of her shoulder, biting just hard enough to walk the edge of pain.
She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he dragged her hips down again, the friction maddening. "Alastor-"
"Ah-ah," he tsked, his grin sharp against her skin as he nipped at her collarbone. "No interruptions, my dear. Not when I’ve been so patient." His hands slid down to grip her thighs, squeezing just shy of bruising as he lifted her slightly, just enough to reposition her, to press her harder against the growing bulge in his slacks.
His laugh was a low, crackling sound, vibrating through her ribs as he leaned back to watch her face. "Oh, you like that, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with static. "My perfect little nurse, so composed, so professional," He punctuated each word with a roll of his hips, the movement calculated, relentless. "reduced to this. A pathetic little mess."
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t think beyond the heat pooling low in her stomach, the way his claws pricked at her skin through the fabric of her dress. Every movement was deliberate, designed to unravel her. The slow grind of his hips, the way his breath hitched against her ear, the way his shadow coiled around her wrist like a shackle, holding her in place as he worked her closer and closer to the edge.
She bit her lip, her fingers tightening in his hair, something she never would’ve dared do before, but he only groaned, low and approving, his grin widening until it crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, yes, my darling," he purred, his voice dropping into that smooth, velvety frequency that made her knees weak. "That’s it. Show me how much you’ve missed me."
And she had. God, she had. Three weeks without his voice, his touch, his laughter. She leaned into him, pressing closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps as his hands roamed, possessive and demanding. His claws caught on the torn edges of her dress, ripping it further with a sharp, deliberate tug, exposing the curve of her breast to the cool air.
He didn’t hesitate. His mouth was on her skin in an instant, hot and hungry, his teeth grazing her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp again. The sound was swallowed by the sudden, discordant burst of jazz from the radio in the corner, the notes twisting and warping under the weight of his pleasure, his need.
Alastor’s fingers tightened around her waist as she arched into his mouth, a ragged moan escaping her lips. The radio’s music pulsed in time with the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat. His tongue flicked over her skin, sending shivers down her spine, before he pulled back just enough to watch her face again.
The moment Alastor pulled back to study her face, his grin widened, sharp, predatory at the sight of her flushed cheeks and parted lips. Her pulse throbbed visibly at her throat, a rhythm he traced with the tip of one claw, savoring the way she shuddered beneath his touch.
"Oh, how delicious you look unraveling," he murmured, his voice a crackling purr that vibrated against her skin. His fingers slid from her throat to the ruined fabric of her dress, tugging it further until the garment hung in tatters, barely clinging to her shoulders. "Tell me, darling... did you dream of this while you were away? Of me tearing you apart like this?"
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, not when his hand slipped between them, his claws ghosting over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitched, sharp and audible, and Alastor laughed, low and delighted.
"Speechless?" He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering just long enough to feel her tremble. "How very unlike you." His fingers curled, dragging the hem of her dress up inch by agonizing inch. "Let’s fix that."
His claws traced the delicate lace of her underwear, the fabric damp beneath his fingertips. A sharp hum vibrated in his chest as he pressed his palm flush against her, the heat radiating through the thin material. "My, my," he murmured against her pulse point, his grin widening at the way her hips jerked involuntarily. "You're dripping, darling. All for little old me?"
She dug her nails into his back, her breath coming in ragged bursts as his fingers flexed, applying just enough pressure to make her thighs tremble. The radio screeched into a frenzied big band number, horns blaring in time with the desperate roll of her hips.
His laugh was a distorted melody against her skin as he finally hooked a claw into the lace and ripped the fabric tearing with a sound that sent a shudder down her spine. The cool air hit her exposed flesh, but before she could even gasp, his fingers were on her. They weren't teasing, weren't coaxing, just taking, his touch as relentless as the static humming through the room.
Alastor didn’t tease. His fingers slid into her with a sharp, practiced precision that stole the breath from her lungs. The stretch burned, his claws careful but unyielding, curling just to drag a broken cry from her throat. The radio’s music stuttered into a discordant wail, snapping under the weight of her pleasure.
"There we are, darling," he purred, his voice thick, his grin pressed against the fluttering pulse in her neck. His fingers moved with a rhythm that was anything but gentle. They were deep, relentless strokes that left her clawing at his shoulders, her hips jerking against his hand. "Look at you, dear. Falling apart on my fingers like some common sinner."
She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t do anything but gasp as his thumb found her clit, rubbing rough, punishing circles that had her seeing stars. The room spun, the shadows on the walls writhing in time with the frantic roll of her hips. His laugh vibrated through her ribs, dark and delighted, as her thighs trembled around his wrist.
She arched against him, her breath ragged, her fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw thin lines of blood from his skin. The sensation of his fingers inside her was electric, maddening, but it wasn’t enough. Not when she could feel the hard press of him against her thigh, not when the heat of his body absorbed through the ruined fabric of her dress. She wanted him.
"Alastor-' she gasped, her voice breaking around his name. Her hips jerked against his fingers, but she fought the rising tide of pleasure, refusing to let it rise. "I don't- I don't want to-"
Alastor's grin didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened, the dials in his pupils spinning with amusement as his fingers curled deeper, dragging another choked sound from her throat. "Don't want to what, darling?" he hummed, static licking at each syllable. "Don't want to finish? Or don't want to admit how badly you need me buried inside you?"
The words sent a shudder through her. She shook her head, nails scraping down his chest where she'd ripped his buttons loose earlier. His chuckle vibrated against her skin, fingers stilling just enough to make her hips jerk forward in protest.
"Ah-ah," he tsked, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. His free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the frantic flutter of her pulse. "You'll have to say it properly, my pretty little nurse. Use those words I know you've got tucked away."
The sob that escaped her was half-frustration, half-surrender. "Fuck your- your stupid games," she gasped, arching against him as his thumb circled her clit again, too light now, just shy of what she needed. "Just- please.."
Alastor's grin twisted into something wicked, his fingers stilling inside her again. "Oh? Please what, darling?" he cooed, his voice dripping with mock innocence. His thumb circled her clit lazily, the touch deliberately not enough, and she whimpered, her nails biting into his shoulders. "Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want."
She swallowed hard, her breath coming in ragged bursts as his fingers flexed, pressing deeper for one torturous second before withdrawing completely. The sudden emptiness wrenched a broken noise from her throat, her hips chasing his touch instinctively.
"Fuck- Alastor," she gasped, her voice raw. His claws traced her inner thigh, teasingly close but never touching where she needed him most. Pride shattered under the weight of her need, her head falling forward as she finally surrendered. "Please- I want you to fuck me. Properly."
He let out a low, crackling hum of approval, his pupils dilating until the dials in his eyes spun wildly. "Now that," he murmured, dragging his free hand down to grip her hips, "was definitely worth the wait."
With a sharp jerk, he yanked her forward, pressing her flush against the hard line of his arousal. The friction drew a gasp from her lips, her thighs trembling as his claws dug into her skin. His grin widened at her reaction, his free hand snapping to tear open the buttons of his trousers with a single, impatient motion.
The moment Alastor freed himself, her breath hitched, not at the sight of him, though he was certainly impressive, but at the way his claws flexed against her hips, pressing just shy of breaking skin. His grip was possessive, holding her still as he dragged the head of his cock through her slick folds, teasing without mercy.
The first press of him inside her was electric. A slow, deliberate stretch that burned in the best way. Alastor didn't rush, didn't ease her into it. He simply held her gaze, his grin sharpening as she gasped, her nails digging into his skin.
"There we are," he purred, his voice thick with lust as he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. The sensation of being so utterly filled stole her breath, her thighs trembling around him as she adjusted. His claws tightened on her hips, the sharp points pressing just enough to remind her who was in control.
Then he moved.
No gentle rocking, no tentative thrusts. Alastor pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back into her with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the sudden screech of violins from the radio, the music warping under the weight of the scene.
"Perfect," he groaned, his head falling back as he set a brutal pace, each thrust punching a ragged noise from her throat. His grip on her hips was like iron, fingers bruising as he dragged her down to meet every snap of his hips. The room blurred around them, the shadows twisting into frenzied shapes that mirrored the way his body moved against hers, possessive, relentless.
The radio's melody fractured into jagged bursts of static as Alastor's thrusts grew erratic. His breath hitched against her collarbone, claws flexing against her skin as he dragged her impossibly closer. "Look at me," he demanded, voice crackling with a barely restrained tone. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back until their eyes met. Hers blown wide, his dials spinning wildly.
She obeyed, her vision swimming with the sight of him. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up her spine, her nails carving crescent moons into his shoulders as she fought to keep her focus. "You- ah- you're fucking insufferable," she gasped, the words dissolving into a moan as he angled his hips just so, hitting that spot that made her see stars.
His laugh was a reckless, unhinged sound. He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "And yet," he purred, his teeth grazing her pulse, "here you are, begging for more." His hips snapped forward, punctuating the taunt with a thrust so deep she arched off the chair with a choked cry.
She gasped, her thighs trembling where they bracketed his hips, the friction of fabric and skin and the unrelenting press of him inside her leaving her dizzy. Every movement was calculated. The way his claws skimmed her ribs just shy of drawing blood, the static-laced growl vibrating against her throat when she dug her nails into his back. He wanted the marks, the proof of her desperation etched into his skin as indelibly as his name on her soul.
"Alastor-" His name tore from her lips as he twisted a hand into her hair, yanking her head back again to expose the column of her throat. His tongue traced the fluttering pulse there, savoring the way her breath hitched before his teeth sank down, not enough to break skin, but enough to wring a ragged moan from her chest. The sound seemed to unravel him. His rhythm faltered for the first time, his hips stuttering as he pressed his forehead against her collarbone with a shuddering exhale.
The pause lasted only a heartbeat before his grin returned, sharper than ever. "Oh, darling," he crooned, dragging his lips along her jaw until their mouths brushed, sharing the same ragged breath. "Did you really think I'd let you finish that easily?" His thumb found her clit again, rubbing slow, torturous circles as he withdrew almost completely, leaving her clenching around nothing, desperate and gasping.
Her thighs clenched around empty air, a ragged whimper escaping her as he hovered just barely inside her. The bastard had the audacity to chuckle. Dark, staticky, and unbearably pleased as his thumb continued its lazy circles, never quite pressing hard enough.
Her nails raked down his chest, drawing thin ribbons of shadow that curled into the air like smoke. "I hate you." she hissed, her hips jerking forward in a futile attempt to chase the friction he'd denied her.
Alastor's grin was a razor's edge. "And yet you're still here," he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cradle her jaw, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip. The static in his voice thickened, pulsing in time with the erratic sound spilling from the radio. "Tell me, darling.. what's the magic word?"
Her vision blurred with frustration, her thighs trembling where they bracketed his hips. The teasing press of his thumb against her clit, the emptiness where she needed him most. It was unbearable. Every instinct screamed to claw at him, to force him to give her what she wanted, but the shadows pinning her wrists held firm.
"Please," she gasped, the word ragged with surrender. "Alastor- please, just-"
His pupils dilated, dials spinning wildly as his grin stretched impossibly wider. "Just what, darling?" His voice was a trap, fingers flexing against her jaw. "Be specific."
"Let me cum… please," she gasped, the words fracturing against his lips as his thumb pressed harder against her, still teasing, yet still denying. The plea hung between them, raw and desperate, her thighs shaking.
Alastor's grin sharpened, a crackling hum vibrating from his chest as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "There it is," he purred, the static in his voice thickening until it buzzed against her skin. His free hand slid down to grip her hip, claws pricking just enough to make her jerk. "But ask properly, darling. Tell me exactly what you want."
Her nails dug into him, her body arching uselessly against his restraint. The shadows coiled tighter around her wrists, pinning her in place as effectively as his taunts. "Fuck me," she choked out, though the effect was ruined by the way her hips twitched toward him, begging for friction.
Alastor laughed. A burst of distortion that made the radio screech in harmony. "Oh, I intend to," he murmured, dragging the head of his cock through her slickness again, slowly. "But not until you say it." His teeth grazed her pulse, his tongue soothing the sting as his thumb circled her with infuriating precision. "Who do you want, darling?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Her pride hung with the ache between her thighs, but the latter won, crushing her resistance as effectively as his shadowy restraints. "You," she gasped, her voice breaking. "I want- you, Alastor. Please."
"Such a good girl," Alastor purred, the words dripping with satisfaction as her plea finally dissolved the last of her resistance. His grin stretched impossibly wider, shadows writhing in delight as he rewarded her broken admission with a single, punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. The radio screeched in time with her gasp, the sound warping into a distorted melody of pleasure and surrender.
Alastor’s hips stuttered against hers, his rhythm fracturing into erratic thrusts as her walls clenched around him, tight, desperate, perfect. The radio’s melody warped into a screeching crescendo, drowning out her keening cry as his teeth sank into the junction of her neck and shoulder, marking her in time with his release. Heat flooded her, spilling over with each pulse of his cock, the excess dripping down her thighs as he ground himself deep, milking every last drop into her.
"Yeah, there's my good girl," he rasped, the words distorted by breathlessness, his grin wild against her skin. His claws dug into her hips, holding her flush against him as he rocked lazily, prolonging the after math of both their releases. The shadow binding her wrists finally loosened, slithering away like smoke as she collapsed against his chest, her fingers trembling against his collarbone.
Alastor exhaled. A ragged sound that fluttered the loose strands of her hair as she lay boneless against him. His claws trailed idle patterns down her spine, possessive even in the aftermath. The radio's screech had faded to a low, satisfied hum, its dials spinning lazily like the slow blink of a sated predator.
After a long pause of silence...
"Stay," Alastor murmured against her temple, the word crackling with softness, his claws stilling against her back.
She let out a breathless chuckle, her fingers curling weakly against his chest. "I'm not going anywhere, Al," she murmured, her voice still shaky.
His shadow pulsed, a ripple of dark satisfaction, before settling like a living blanket of protection under them both.
Alastor hummed, the sound vibrating through her bones where they were pressed together. "Good," he purred, his claws resuming their idle path along her spine. "Because I wasn't asking."
⪻────𖤓────⪼
A/N: I've been working on this detailing for dayssssss, and I'm honestly surprised I made it this.. I really tried to add more detailing than I did in my last two. I hope you like ittt! Please tell me if I made ANY mistakes anywhere. Feel free to give me more ideas in my asks darlings 🤍
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, crying, kisses, use of pet names, TW: mentions of throwing up
summary: just ryland being your only anchor when you get a fever in the middle of space.
a/n: hey my loves! I felt like i needed to put some fluff in between all the smut I've been posting.. (there's much more to come,) this was not proof read and I am currently half asleep so have mercy. feel free to leave requests in my asks!
Today was just like any other day on the Hail Mary. It was surprisingly quiet, only the sounds of Ryland and Rocky fidgetting with various objects was heard. That was until you woke up, letting out a sharp cough.. then a thump, and then the sound of gagging.
This caught both of their attention.
The two of them headed to the dormitory as if you were literally dying. Which you felt like you were.
As they walked into the room, the only thing visible was you violently throwing up whatever space dinner Mary had given you earlier into a bucket.
"(Surname) is leaky. Making terrible sound." Rocky said, rolling over to you in his xenonite ball.
Ryland crouched down to your level, pressing his hand to your back. "I see that, pal."
"What is wrong? Question." Rocky asked curiously.
You shook your head, lifting it from the bucket. "I feel like shit. That's what's wrong."
Ryland exhaled a soft laugh, thumb rubbing against your shoulder. "Yeah, that tracks." He nodded.
Rocky gently bumped into your knee, shifting his torso towards you. "Leaky from mouth cause pain? Question." He said, tilting himself as if it would help him understand. He finally came to a conclusion: "Humans very fragile. Statement."
Ryland laughed again, shaking his head softly. "Not exactly fragile.. she's just.. having a temporary malfunction." He said, standing from where he was crouched so he could grab something.
He reached up into a cabinet, grabbing a small cloth and then putting some water from a left over water pouch onto it. He crouched back down beside you, pressing the cold cloth to your forehead.
You sighed. It felt amazing. You were absolutely burning up.
"You look miserable." He said.
"Thanks." You replied.
"Hold this while I go get a thermometer, okay?" He asked, taking your wrist to press your fingers gently into the cloth.
You obliged, holding it against your head as you closed your eyes.
"Human body is stupid. Statement." Rocky said, his ball pressing against your side.
"Tell me about it, Rock."
Just as Rocky was about to continue, Ryland returned. He pressed the trigger, causing a thin red laser to point towards your forehead. It took about 15 seconds for it to register your temperature.
Ryland sighed. "Yep.. 38C⁰. That's like... 100.4." He sighed.
Rocky let out a soft sound. "Temperature is too high for human. Human may die!" He exclaimed.
Ryland laughed. "She's not gonna die, Rocky. She has a fever."
"No understand."
"I'll explain it later, bud." He said, standing up once again.
You groaned softly, pressing your head into your knees.
Ryland frowned. "Hey, you're gonna be fine. We'll take care of you. Not sure if Rocky can do much but he will certainly make the effort."
You shook your head. "Just let me die." You said.
Another sound was heard from Rocky's sphere. "No! Human can not die! Grace and Rocky help (Surname)"
"Yeah, what he said." Grace walked across the room, rummaging for an emergency kit. There he found a small packet of over the counter fever reducers.
He brought that and the water pouch to you. He crouched down once again. You didn't look up though. He sighed, sliding his hand onto your chin, making you look up at him.
"You're gonna be fine. Here, take these." He said, handing you the small packet and the pouch. You took the fever reducers and swallowed them.
"Into bed you go." He said, pointing at you.
⪻────★────⪼
Later that evening, Rocky was fast asleep against your cot. He was "watching you sleep" but just ended up falling asleep himself. You moaned softly, looking towards the laboratory light in the distance.
You still felt terrible. You were absolutely drenched in sweat.
"Ryland..?" You called out.
It was only seconds before he was by your side.
"Yeah?" He asked, brushing his hair back.
"Can you get me some water?" You asked, pushing yourself up into a sitting position.
"Of course." He nodded, moving across the room. He grabbed one and brought it over to you as quickly as possible.
You took it, downing it easily.
You pulled it away from your lips and looked at him, forehead glistening. "I feel so horrible, Ry." You said with a frown. Everything hurt. The slight movement of your eyes, the tense muscles in your body, and most importantly your head.
"I know you do.." He nodded, moving closer so he could brush a damp strand of hair out of your face.
You bit your lip, chin quivering softly as you tried to hold in your tears, but you couldn't.
His expression faltered to an almost panicked one. "Hey.. It's okay.." He murmured softly, wrapping his arms around you. He rubbed your back gently.
You took a shaky inhale, and then breathed out, letting yourself cry now.
"You're gonna be okay, sweetheart. I promise." He said.
Sweetheart... Your heart fluttered but you brushed it away. Your breath hitched as you breathed in to speak again. "I.. I can't-"
"Can't what?" He asked, pulling back gently to look at you.
"I just- I feel so terrible.. and.. I'm in space so there's hardly anything to do about it. It sucks." You said softly.
"I know, honey." He said, kissing your temple.
This was the most touch ever between the two of you. And he was calling you pet names. Of course.. at your most vulnerable times.
"I'm sorry.. " You said, wiping your tears from your face. "You probably have better things to do and I'm just.. being dramatic."
"Hey. Don't say that. You're sick.. it's okay to be frustrated." He brushed the back of your head. "Plus. Your feelings are far more important than anything else right now. We don't get into business for at least another three months." He said.
You sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest.
"You wanna go back to sleep?" He asked, his hands moving to your cheeks so he could tilt your head up.
You nodded, shivering slightly.
He frowned. It was only seconds before he climbed in beside you. It was a shock, but you scooted over.
"C'mere." He said, holding his arms out.
You moved closer, pressing yourself into his chest.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, but then he looked down at you.
"You know I've missed you while you were sleeping." He admitted.
You looked up, right into his eyes. "Yeah?"
He nodded. "Rocky is a talkative pain in my ass, love him regardless, but geez." He said.
You giggled softly. "I know."
He smiled almost immediately as he heard your laugh. "There she is.. there's that laugh I missed." He said.
Your heart fluttered. God why was he like this.
He always made subtle comments, soft flirting, etc. Yet he never acted on it. You figured this was just like any other time... especially since you were sick with a more than likely contagious fever. But you were proven wrong.
He grabbed your chin gently and pulled your lips to his. He kissed you, but you pulled back almost immediately.
"Ry-" You stuttered.
"I'm sorry- Was that to far?" He asked.
"I.. no.. but..I don't want you to get sick-"
He let out a breath of relief.
"Oh thank god. I thought I was being rejected for a second. That would've been... so awkward for us." He said. "But anyway. Does it look like I care if I get sick or not?" He asked, tilting his head.
"N..no.." you answered.
"That's right, sweetheart." He paused. "And if you haven't been able to tell.. I'm completely in love with you." He said, pressing him lips to yours again.
The two of you kissed for what felt like hours. You only stopped when he pulled back.
"I uh.. I love you too, Ry."
He grinned sleepily, his glasses falling off his face.
You smiled, despite feeling pretty bad, and you gently rested your head against his chest.
pairing: professor!ryland grace x grad student fem!reader
word count: 4.5k
content: smut w a plot, oral (m receiving), fingerfucking, use of pet names, softdom!ryland yet also kinda subby!ryland, p in v!!!!!!, unprotected sex, and college professor x grad student AU
summary: dr. grace prides himself on being a rule-abiding professor, but human biology is a cruel master. when his favorite grad student, you, hits her breaking point over her review, ryland's instinct to comfort her completely overrides his ethics... but it doesn't end there.
a/n: hello my loves!!! this took me so much time lol.. and it was not proof read so feel free to correct anything. lots of microbiology stuff in here that may or may not be wrong!! also some of this was written while I was half asleep so please have mercy on me... literally while writing it I felt like it was so dragged on and detailed. but I hope you enjoy!! 🙂↕️🤍
"Alright you guys! Welcome back, hope you all had a lovely weekend, but it's time to get back to business." Dr. Grace exclaimed. Always so ecstatic for a Monday morning lecture.
"Your midterm exams are in approximately..." He paused, checking his computer screen for the date, September 19th, "seventeen days, which means you have about two weeks left of review and lectures from me. So let's get started."
He turned to the massive whiteboard behind him, grabbing a green marker out of a tray with ease.
"Today we will be reviewing two things... Number one:" he paused for dramatic effect, "the absolute weird, yet fairly interesting, freaks of the microscopic world.... extremophiles!" He turned back with an excited grin as he scanned the lecture hall.
The hall was fairly empty.. this was a very difficult class, so not many people took it. There were maybe 30 people around you, all in the center rows.. and they all seemed to be just as interested for Dr. Grace's class as you, but you knew they weren't.
"Remember the lesson from... early August, I believe? The one about the creatures (extremophiles) who see a boiling hydrothermal vent or... a solid block of ice and thinks 'Yeah.... this is home. time to breed!' Yeah, we're gonna review those freaks."
He turned back to his white board. "But! That's only half of the misery for today. Second on the agenda, we will be reviewing.. cellular respiration in anaerobic conditions... Or as I like to call it: What organisms do to generate energy when the universe decides to deny them oxygen."
He turned back around, putting the markers cap on with a soft pop! He scanned the rows again. Majority of the class was quiet, other than the soft clicking of other students taking notes. You, however remained perfectly engrossed in what Dr. Grace had to say. His eyes grazed the room until they met yours where he found you paying attention, as always. He winked and gave you a smile before looking away.
He grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk, reading from his list of review questions.
"Alright! Who can tell me what happens when you take an organism that usually lives in a crazy hot volcanic environment, and you put it in a averagely normal temperature petri disc? What happens to its cellular membrane? Does it A. Dissolve, B. Freeze, or C. Just get severely pissed off?"
The classroom remained silent. You knew the answer.. of course you did. Dr. Grace had been reviewing with you for quite some time after you asked him to tutor you. He had you come by his office at least once a week so he could make sure you were keeping up with everything.
You remained quiet, seeing if anyone would answer. No one did.
Before you could raise your hand, he spoke again.
"Come on, guys. There's like a 33.3333333% chance you get it right if you simply just guess." He sighed. "If you guys don't participate, I'm not going to know what you need improvement on."
Still... Silence.
Finally, after an awkward 30 seconds, you raised your hand and spoke when he gave you a small nod.
"Well, Dr. Grace, the cell membrane would freeze.. or just lock up. Generally for an organism like that, it would have a ether-linked lipid monolayer that needs the extreme to survive. If you dropped it into something that is just average temp, the membrane would completely shut down... which would stop all nutrients from passing in and out of the cell." You explained.
He grinned as you spoke. Now leaning against his desk, his cheek pressed into his palm.
"Excellent explanation," he said as he stood up straight, applauding you.
"You see class, this is exactly the type of dedication you need to have! Be like her, my favorite future scientist."
You smiled softly, holding his gaze as he praised you for something you went over only days ago.
The rest of the class was full of review and awkward silence until the hour finally ticked away.
The entire class hurried to pack their bags and escape the everlasting tension, however you hung back, taking your precious time.
"Don't forget to bring your best active motivated brains tomorrow! I need to see more energy!!!!" Your professor exclaimed.
You finished packing your books into you bag and slung your bag over your shoulder. You approach Dr. Grace's Desk. He was already typing away at his computer as always, yet he looked up the moment he took a deep breath, your perfume filling his nostrils.
He smiled up at you. "Great job today, you truly are my best student," He said, then sighed. "Hey, listen, you know how much I enjoy tutoring you, but we're gonna have to put in on hold for a bit, mkay honey? I've got a lot of students who really need some extra review."
You paused for a moment. Honey? He'd never called you that before... and it certainly shocked you. You felt heat creep up your neck, but you shook it off.
"Uh.. yeah that's fine, Dr. Grace.. No worries" You said, shifting your weight.
"Wonderful. If you need help, just let me know, okay? Just because I've got other students to tutor doesn't mean I'm gonna let my star student get confused," he replied, tilting his head. "But I doubt you'll need anything. You're my top student, you know that."
You smiled at him, still slightly stuck on the fact he had called you honey. "Yeah, Thanks Dr. Grace... I'll see you tomorrow?"
He nodded, his head tilting back towards his computer. He was quiet..., but you ignored it.
⪻────★────⪼
As the week went by, you attended Dr. Grace's lectures just as you normally would. However, once you got to week two of review, all the subjects became blurred.
You were extremely stressed out.
Midterms were in only 9 days.
But... you couldn't bother Dr. Grace. He told you he had other students to worry about.. and you didn't want to get into his way.
You were sat on your campus bed, flipping through the microbiology book he'd given you. You scanned the pages, looking through his handwriting notes, doodles, opinions.. You sighed. Everything just kept mixing together.
You decided you needed a breather. You got out of your bed, grabbed your coat and headed out of your dormitory.
You walked through the campus grounds until you made it to your favorite coffee shop, The Petrova Pot.
You pushed the door open, the sound of the bell ringing following suite.
You walked to the counter, smiling at the barista as you ordered your coffee. A plain ol' vanilla latte. Just something simply.
They had your coffee out in only seconds, and then you headed to the back of the cafe, a more secluded area that had a few dining tables. You began making you way towards your favorite spot in the corner when you noticed it was taken.
And it was taken by Dr. Grace.
You smiled.
You walked over to him, sitting across from him and his laptop.
"Good evening, Dr. Grace."
He froze, and looked up. As his eyes met yours, a smile spread across his face.
"Well hello there.. funny seeing you here," he said as he shut his laptop. "What's my star student doing getting coffee so late?" He asked, genuinely curious.
You hummed in response. "Oh I just needed a breather... I've been a little stressed about the exam lately." You said. Dancing around the fact that literally everything was squishing together into a confusing jumbled mess of microbiology.
He frowned. "How come? You've been doing so well in class.."
You sighed. His face was so cute. He looked genuinely upset for you.
What? Did you just call you teacher cute?
You snapped yourself out of your gaze and got back to the conversation at hand.
"Everything is just.. merging together," you admitted, "I can't... I don't know."
He nodded. "Science does that to you.." he thought for a moment, checking his watch. "I don't have any tutoring sessions for at least another... 3 hours. Wanna come by my office for some help?" He asked.
You, of course, perked up immediately. You nodded. "Yes please, Dr. Grace."
He chuckled softly, grabbing his laptop bag that was hung from the back of the chair. He slid his laptop inside and stood up.
"Come on then," He said with a smile, his glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose.
You stood, grabbing your coffee before following him to the exit of the cafe.
⪻────★────⪼
The walk to your professors office was mostly quiet. Except for the many times he saw a bird in the distance that was interesting to him. He would say some nerdy fact he somehow knew, and you'd follow with a laugh or a smile and nod.
The two of you walked through the campus hallway until you got to his door. He fished through his pocket until he found his key, pushing it into the lock and twisting the door open.
"After you," He said, holding the door open.
"Thank you." You said with a smile, walking inside his office. You were familiar with it. You'd had many tutoring sessions here before, but something felt very different today.
He shut the door behind the two of you, locking it.. as he usually did. He slid into the rolling chair behind his desk, you in the soft chair across from him.
He pressed his elbows to his desk, resting his chin in one palm. Making eye contact with you.
You held each others gaze for a while until he looked away, clearing his throat. He scanned his desk as if he was looking for something.
"So uh.. what was it you needed help with?" He asked, looking at you again.
"Oh uhm... it's a lot..., but recently I've been missing up the exponential growth rate formula with the logistic growth rate formula.. Which is crazy because they're pretty different, but.. whatever" you shrugged.
He nodded, listening intently. He spun his chair around and opened his file cabinet where he had paperwork, notebook paper, and various worksheets. He slid out a piece of notebook paper and a worksheet titled "Exponential Growth Rate vs. Logistic Growth Rate."
"Well, my dear, you're in luck." He grinned, sliding the papers in front of you.
Dear... He had called you that before, but this time.. something sounded different. Either that or you were completely and utterly delusional, but let's stick with the first option.
Your mind began to fill with thoughts upon thoughts. So much so that you completely toned out his entire explanation on what you were trying to get help on.
You were staring flat down at the papers in front of you, zoned out. That was until your head was tilted up by a hand on your chin.
"Something on your mind?"
You froze.
Your face grew pink immediately as you began to try and stutter through an explanation as to why you had just completely ignored everything that came out of his mouth.
"I- uhm- sorry I'm just- Tired." You said, swallowing as you made eye contact with him.
"Are you sure?"
You nodded. "Uh.. yeah let's just.. get back to the formulas."
He sighed, his hand falling from your face. You almost let out a sigh from the loss of contact, but you managed to keep it in.
The two of you worked on a few problems before he let you try on your own, him tending to a few emails on his computer. The worksheet was.... very confusing. Just a bunch of graphs and you had to label them. Just lots of tedious stuff. Eventually you got to a problem on the back. You did it over and over and over again, but the answer you got was never an answer that was on the list.
You groaned, laying your head down on the table. "This is so irritating." You mumbled.
You heard his chair spin in your direction. "Hey, come on now. Don't get upset sweetheart, it's okay."
You groaned again. This time not out of frustration... well.. not completely. He kept calling you names. Making your face flush every single time.
You sighed and looked up. He was now beside you, crouched down on his knee.
"Hey, look at me.." He said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.
You looked down at him, moving your chair to the side so it was facing him.
He slid his hand up your leg, resting it on your knee, rubbing gently. "It's okay, honey.. I know it's frustrating." He said.
You swallowed. You could feel your face heating up. But not just your face. His palm on your leg felt like it was burning through the fabric of your jeans. You sat there, looking down at him. Heart race increasing by the second. You didn't dare speak.
He held your gaze, his hand now rubbing up and down from your knee to your thigh.
"C'mon, talk to me."
God what were you to do. He was right there. His face closest it had probably ever been, and he was staring at you in such a.. caring way. But you could tell there was something more.
You took a deep breath, your lips parting as you did. His eyes darted down for a split second. So fast you would've missed it by the blink of an eye, but you didnt.
"Dr. Grace." you said, voice trembling in the slightest.
"Listen to me.." He murmured, "You are so incredibly smart.. You've been pushing yourself so hard lately. Just breathe and tell me what you're struggling wi-"
You cut him off. You pulled him into a kiss, your grip strong on the collar of his suit.
At first, he was shocked. Then he kissed you back. But after a few seconds, he pulled away, standing from his knees. Pushing himself away from you.
"I- I'm sorry. I- We can't-" He stuttered, pushing his back into a wall.
Your heart rate increased once again. You thought about getting up. Leaving and never returning to his class again. However that clearly wasn't the right choice. You could feel it in your gut.
You stood. Walking until you were right in front of him. His panicked eyes met yours.
"Please.. we can't-" He said quietly. He looked like he was going to cry.
"Dr. Grace.. I will leave. But only if you tell me you want me to."
His lips parted. He tried to speak but nothing came out. He was shocked.
You stood there. Waiting for him to say anything at all.
After what felt like ages, he finally spoke again.
"I can't do that.." He said. He was clearly scared. Not because of you, not because of how he felt towards you, but for his career.
But obviously some things were more important than others.
"Don't go. Please don't go." He said, staring directly into your eyes.
You remained silent. Just to see if he'd change his mind. He could've. He looked absolutely terrified, yet also full of so much desire.
"Please. I want you so badly."
"Okay." You nodded.
With that, he stepped forward, sliding one arm around your waist and one hand to your cheek, pulling you into another kiss like the last. Except this one was initiated by him.
Both of your hands slid around his neck, your fingers tangling in his dirty blonde hair.
The two of you kissed for what felt like hours until he finally broke away, but only to tilt his head down so he could kiss your neck.
You gasped softly, feeling his breath beneath your jaw. He began to push you backwards gently until your body hit his desk.
Before you could protest anything, he crouched down slightly, but only for a second so that he could wrap his hands around the backs of your thighs. He hoisted you up onto his desk, his lips never leaving your skin.
"Please." kiss "Let me show you" kiss "how badly" kiss "I need you." He said. He pulled back to look at you. "Please.. I know how insane I've been driving you. I was doing it on purpose.. I... I need to make it up to you."
The sound of him practically begging to please you drove you even more insane than the subtle touches, the pet names, etc.
You nodded. "Okay.."
He let out a breath of relief before kissing you again. His hands slid to the back hem of your shirt, tugging at it. You pulled back, but only long enough to pull your shirt off.
"So pretty.." He whispered between kisses. His hands sliding up your waist, kneading at your skin. One hand slid behind your back, unhooking the clasp of your bra. It felt between the two of you.
His hands almost instantly moved up, but they only hovered. He pulled back slightly.
"Can I..?"
"Are you seriously asking me that right now, Dr. Grace."
"Are you seriously still calling me by my surname?"
"I-" You began.
He pressed his finger to your lips. "Ah. Call me Ryland, sweetheart."
You nodded. "Okay..., Ryland."
He smiled. The way his name rolled off your tounge was so satisfying to him.
"Now.. where was I." He said before kissing you again, his hands finally making contact with your breasts. He squeezed softly, tugging at the now hard mounds on your skin.
A soft moan left your lips, and that only pushed him further. He broke away from the kiss once again, trailing down your throat, your collarbones, your chest, until his lips finally made contact with your nipples.
Your fingers gripped the fabric of his suit jacket that he still had on for some odd reason. You were about to push him back to tell him to take it off when he sucked harder, his teeth biting gently down.
You hips bucked instinctively towards his, and only then did you notice how wet you were.
"Ryland.." you gasped softly as his lips left your skin with a soft pop.
"I know, honey, I know.. it's okay." He said, stepping back. He slid his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Then quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt that had a hidden coffee stain on the sleeve.
Once his shirt was fully off, you noticed how.. jacked he was. The whole sight was attractive. His biceps, his abs, his subtle happy trail that led under the waistband of his jeans...
He caught your gaze. He moved his hand to cup your jaw, making you look up at him. "Didn't expect this, hm?"
You shook your head. Of course you didn't. Who would?
"Don't get cocky." You said, slipping your fingers into his belt loops, pulling him closer. His jeans looked incredibly tight.
He hummed and kissed you again.
You moved your hand, unzipping his pants, pushing them down to his thighs.
Even though you were in a locked office, there was still a chance of an admin with a key walking in... and honestly that turned you on even more.
Now that his jeans were pushed away, he was a lot more free. You traced your finger around the line of his cock, causing him to whimper softly.
It was as if he hadn't been touched in years.
You hummed softly, pulling away, but only so you could see his facial expression. You palmed him through his boxers very gently. Making sure he felt everything.
His head fell down onto your shoulder, followed by him whimpering into your neck
"F..fuck- Please.. please don't tease me right now."
You laughed softly. "Don't worry, you won't have to wait much longer.." You said, pushing his boxers down.
His cock sprang free, already leaking precum. The sight made you drool. He was big... not only in length but also in girth.
You stood up from the desk, pushing him into the guest chair that was conveniently behind him.
"What are you-"
You didn't let him finish. You wrapped your lips around him, a deep, wet feeling that made him groan.
He gripped the armrests as you sucked the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the ridge. He let out a ragged breath, his hips beginning to buck instinctively.
"Holy shit-" He gasped, trying to hold his hips back so he didn't hurt you.
You used your hand to grip the base, pumping him in rhythm with your mouth, making sure he felt every bit of the friction.
He leaned back, eyes closed, his chest heaving as you took him deeper, your throat tightening around him.
He took your continuation as a sign. He reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair to guide your head, pushing you further onto him. The pressure was immense, filling your mouth completely, making you swallow each time he thrust upward.
He shifted his weight, his legs spreading wide to give you better access, and he started to move with a desperate urgency, his hips snapping forward quickly.
Every time he hit the back of your throat, a muffled, needy sound escaped you, which only seemed to fuel him.
"Oh my g-god- I- I'm so close already" He whimpered. His legs began to shake.
And just as he was about to let go, you pulled back. Thin strings of saliva connecting from your lips to his tip.
He whimpered, looking down at you. He looked absolutely wrecked. His hips twitching.
"Wh-why'd you do that..?" He asked, panting softly.
"Just a little payback." You said as you stood up. You were obviously just teasing him, but he seemed to believe it.
"No no no.. please I'm sorry," he said, grabbing your hand. "Please, honey, I'll show you how sorry I am."
You gave him a sympathetic smile. "I was joking, Ryland."
His face fell, but he shook it off, standing despite the shake in his legs.
He came close, pulling you into his chest. He whispered softly into your hair. "I'm not.."
You pulled back, looking up at him.
"Oh?" You nodded. "Okay, show me."
He nodded in return. pushing you back into the desk. As he was about to lay you down, he stopped. He turned around, bending down to pick his jacket up. He laid it down in the desk.
Your heart warmed at that sight. Was he really worried about you getting hurt in a moment like this? You laughed to yourself.
He didn't question it and just laid you back. He moved his hands to the waistband of your jeans now, and he pulled them down easily, along with your panties which were absolutely soaked.
He hummed in approval.
"You're so beautiful, sweetheart.." He whispered, bending down to kiss you once before pulling away. He slid his finger down your body until they eventually reached your soaking mess.
He began dragging his fingers through your folds, lathering them with your arousal. You moaned softly, head falling back on his desk.
He gently circled your entrance with two fingers, teasing until he plunged them inside of your. The stretch felt good.
"Ry-"
"I know, honey. It's okay. I've got to stretch you out a little." He whispered. His voice was just.. so hot. that it turned you on even more.
He continued finger fucking you softly until you were clenching around him, squirming against his palm. "Ryland please- please I'm gonna cum-" You whimpered.
Originally his plan was to deny you an orgasm, just as you did to him, but when you looked that sweet while whimpering his name? He couldn't. So, he picked up his pace, hitting that spongy spot over and over again, making you see stars.
It took only seconds for your orgasm to wash over you. You moaned loudly, your eyes rolling back. He fucked you through it, waiting until your legs stopped their relentless shaking to pull his fingers out. He brought them to his mouth, unable to wait to taste you.
The sight made you shiver.
"Mm.. you taste so good." He mumbled.
You whined softly. Getting aroused again simply from the praise spilling from his lips.
"It's okay. I'm about to make everything all better, okay?" He said, pulling you to the edge of the table.
You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him close. He smiled at your eagerness as he lined himself up with your entrance.
"Look at me." He said, grabbing your hand. "I need you to breathe."
You nodded, taking a deep breath, your hips daring to move.
After you took a few deep breaths, he finally began to sink inside of you. The stretch burned, causing both of you to whimper softly. He eventually fully bottomed out inside you, panting softly. He wanted to move so so badly, but he wouldn't dare.
You were breathless. It stung, but it felt so good to be so filled up. Your hips shifted against his, making both of you gasp.
"Ryland.."
"Yes, Sweetheart?"
"Move." You said, unable to wait any longer.
He obliged, pulling completely out except for his tip, and then slamming right back in. He made up a gentle pace. No too fast, but not too slow.
"God.. you're so tight." He groaned softly, gripping your hips.
Soft whimpers fell from your lips. You gently threw your arm over your head, but that only lasted for a few seconds.
"Nuh uh, baby.. mmn- I... Wanna see your pretty face while I fuck you.." He said, pulling your hand away.
You looked at him, eyes half lidded as you panted. The sight of you was perfect to him, and it only made him pound into you faster.
You gasped, feeling as he hit that spongy spot once against. "Oh my g-god- Fuck- right there-" You moaned, your pussy clenching around him. "Ryland-"
He groaned at how tight you were around him. "That's it honey, cum for me.."
And that's just what you did. You closed your eyes, heels digging into his lower back as you cried out his name. He followed behind in almost seconds, white hot please cascading over the both of you. He gently fucked the two of you through it, until he eventually pulled out. The both of you panting.
He sighed softly, pulling you up into a sitting position so he could wrap his arms around you.
You leaned back against him, completely exhausted, letting your head sink back into the crook of his neck. His hands moved in slow, soothing circles over your bare waist, anchoring you to him in the quiet, dim light of the office.
Neither of you spoke; right now, nothing mattered.
He simply pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his heartbeat steady and grounding beneath your palm.
"Stay right here," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with devotion. "Just for a little while. Let me hold you."
content: smut with a plot, detailed masturbation (reader), use of pet names, clit stimulation, p in v, and some of it might be corny but 🤫🤫🤫
word count: 2.9k
summary: you and ryland were chosen to board the Hail Mary a long, long time ago. 11.9 light-years to be precise. you, a medical professional, induced yourself into a coma along with two other participants (who sadly passed away in their sleep.) along with ryland, who of course, was already under when you boarded the ship.
eventually, that stasis ended. after waking up, you and ryland spent days fighting through severe amnesia, trying to regain as much memory as humanly possible, but the adventure was far from over. you had barely processed your arrival at tau ceti when the radar picked up the impossible: an encounter with an alien ship.
that encounter led you to rocky. he is a bundle of energy, to say the least. over the past few days, the three of you have been bonding across the barrier, learning to communicate and survive together. which led to right now...
a/n: hello beautiful gorgeous people!!! this is my first phm one shot so lmk what you think!!!! this was only proof read one or two times so if I made any errors, feel free to correct me! (which I'm sure there are lots of grammar errors... i read once and then couldn't find where my spelling errors were the second time I read it😭😭) if you have any ideas or scenarios on what I should post next, don't be afraid to put them in my asks!!! 🙂↕️🤍
you, ryland, and rocky were all sat in the mental health node, or as ryland liked to call it, the "don't go crazy room," chatting about your lives back home.
rocky had just got done talking about his mate who he allegedly had been with for 186.3 Earth years. which of course caused ryland to make a stupid joke about that being the honeymoon phase.
after ryland explained the joke to him, rocky finally changed the subject.
"y/n have mate on human world? question." he asked.
you laughed awkwardly in return. "no.. not really, rock."
he quickly turned his torso in rylands direction as he spoke again, "grace have mate? question."
"uhh... I mean I did... but.. she thought I had my head in the clouds, and that I didn't really want to live in the real world.." he paused for a moment, "she was right.. and now she's with mark."
"rocky hate mark."
that statement stifled both a laugh out of you and ryland.
"me too, bud, me too." he responded.
there was a long pause for a moment before rocky spoke again.
"why don't you two mate? question."
"uh..."
your face immediately went pink. you looked to ryland before looking away. sure he was.. handsome.. smart.. funny.. and almost exactly your type, but you were coworkers. friends. you couldn't..
before you could spiral into any more deep thoughts about your friend, rocky spoke again "is yes or no? question."
"it's-" ryland began, but you quickly interrupted, standing from the metal platform.
"i'm gonna go... do something." you said, simply wanting an escape from the conversation.
as you left, you could hear rocky speak to grace again.
"grace is stupid. statement."
you laughed to yourself quietly before making your way across the ship into a more private area. you sat on the metal floor, head back against a wall.
you began to ponder. what rocky said.. wasn't exactly a terrible suggestion.
you and ryland were destined for death after figuring out why a random planet wasn't dying... so what was stopping you two from.. dating?
you thought about it for a while, but that only led your brain to think of more and more suggestive things. the way ryland looked when he was focused on something. the furrow of his eyebrow, the way he bit his lip... the movement of his biceps when he picked up something rather heavy... the way his body looked.
you eventually grew... aroused. which then let you into a spiral.. you hadn't been touched in forever.. kissed in forever.. fucked in forev-
"are you okay?" rylands voice cut through your train of thought.
"yeah.. just.. needed a break from... you know who." you muttered, swallowing.
ryland moved to sit beside you. "i know what you mean," he said, moving to press his hand to your back, "don't worry about him."
"mhm.." you mumbled.
⪻────★────⪼
later that "evening," rocky had settled down into his ammonia filled enclosure, sleeping while you and ryland watched.
"you should get some sleep, you know?" ryland said, breaking the silence.
"i'm not tired," you replied.
"yes you are. you've been working nonstop for at least three days now"
"eh" you shrugged, just as stubborn as you were on Earth.
he scoffed, "you're impossible, y/n. you've been working you ass off for god knows how long and you won't even admit to exhaustion? what are you made of?"
"oh, just.. atoms.. molecules.. cells... you know, the usual." you replied.
that made him laugh. "listen, smartass.. I'm just looking out for you."
"I'll survive" you shrugged again.
"y/n, come on. please, just get some rest." he said, getting up from the stool he was sitting on.
"I'm fine, ry, I promise." you said, looking up into his eyes with a smile as he approached you.
"I'm not asking you. you need to get some rest. you're going to burn yourself out."
you remained seated, holding his gaze with a grin on your face. oh how you loved testing his patience.
"I will drag your ass to bed."
you scoffed softly, "you wouldn't dare."
and you were proved wrong in only five seconds. he swiftly picked you up bridal style and began crossing the ship.
"hey-! put me down!!!" you exclaimed.
"I warned you, did I not?" he teased.
eventually, you made it to the sleeping quarters where he gently set you on your designated oval bed. you instantly felt drowsy as the memory foam hit your body.
"mm finally cooperative, huh?"
"whatever." you rolled your eyes and got under the thin sheets. "what are you gonna do? go to sleep? right?" you asked.
"maybe."
you glared. "ry."
"I'm not even tired." he fought.
"that's exactly what I said to you, but look where I am now."
"it's different," he protested, stubborn. "you're exhausted, you're barely holding yourself upright. i'm perfectly fine." he shifted against the wall, arms crossing.
"cmon ry, it's only fair." you said, giving him your best subtle puppy dog eyes.
he couldn't say no to your sweet face. he sighed in defeat. "fine."
"thanks so much." you hummed, teasing.
⪻────★────⪼
you only slept a few hours when you were abruptly woken up by the sound of your name being spoken.
"mmp.. y/n.." shuffling.. "just like- just like that-"
your body froze with shock. your body shot up, looking below you, where rylands bed was. and there he was.. shifting into his sheets, asleep.
your "coworker," and "closest friend" was having a wet dream about you.
you sat there. speechless. so he did like you.
you slumped back into your bed, closing your eyes in attempt to fall back asleep... but ryland just wouldn't stay quiet.
"y/n please.. I wanna be good for you.. I wanna..." he whimpered.
your eyes shot back open and your heart rate increased. you covered your face with your hands. thoughts began to consume you... he sounded so good. so needy and pathetic.
you couldn't help yourself.
your hand slid under the thin sheets, under your sweats and then your cotton panties.. right into your soaked mess of arousal.
"please please please y/n.. let me touch you.." he muttered softly, followed by what sounded like humping into his sheets.
two of your fingers began circling your already swollen clit. which only led you to buck your hips into your palm. you slid your fingers through your slick folds, circling them at your entrance.
"fuck.. y/n.."
that broke you.. you plunged your fingers into your wet pussy. hearing the squelching sound under the sheets drove you even more crazy. your hips were bucking relentlessly into your own palm, followed by soft whimpers leaving your lips.
your free hand moved under your shirt, groping at your breasts.
"ah- y/n I'm so close-" he whimpered.
all you could do was whimper in return, no matter how badly you wanted to climb into his bed and have your way with him.
you picked up the pace, hitting that g-spot, legs shaking already. this was the first sexual experience you'd had in over 11 years so.. what was there to expect. just as you were about to cum, ryland pushed you over the edge.
he let out a loud moan, followed by his heavy breathing. you came immediately after that.
you went to bed immediately after, still exhausted, but now warn out from what you had just done.
⪻────★────⪼
the next "morning," ryland and rocky were you hours before you. chatting and what not, until rocky decided it was upon him to wake you up. he climbed to your sleeping quarter and sat on your chest.
"y/n, wake up." he said.
you groaned in return. "rocky, go away.." you said in a frustrated tone.
ryland laughed at the sight, but then got up. he picked rocky up, placing him on the floor. "let her sleep, rock."
and they both did. you slept for another five hours.
by the time you had woken up from your deep deep slumber, rocky was already asleep. again. apparently you slept that long.
you shifted awake, sitting up.
"well good morning, sunshine." ryland teased.
you groaned in response.
"okay, okay, relax. I'll let you wake up."
he gave you a few moments to wake up. and eventually, you were wide awake. ryland was working on some type of 3d device that looked to be made by rocky.
you decided not to question it and you sat in the chair beside him, reading some random biology book you found in the laboratory.
"whatcha reading?" ryland asked
"some random bio book." you shrugged. you hadn't made eye contact with him since the previous day.
this of course, peaked his interest. "can I see?" he asked
you finally made eye contact with him as you nodded, handing the book over.
he scanned it, flipping through pages until something caught his eye. "oh.. this is quite interesting.." he hummed, his eyebrow furrowing as he read. "this book is incredibly outdated, but there's a segment on how the world would decline if the sun was dying.. it's almost like the author predicted what would happen."
he studied to pages for a long long 15 minutes. ranting to you about random things in the book that fascinated him. you couldn't help but stare at him. the way he got so excited over the things he was talking about. the way he got animated when trying to explain things.
suddenly his face faltered. "I'm sorry am I.. boring you?" he asked, chewing on his bottom lip.
"what? no, of course not" you replied.
"sorry I just find this incredibly fascinating.. can I continue?" he asked.
"of course. tell me all about it, ry" you said. and you were completely serious. if it was interesting to him.. of course you would find your way to wrap your head around it.
he rambled for about 23 minutes, in which you were staring at him with absolute adoration. eventually, the conversation came to its natural conclusion. and you both sat there, looking at each other.
the book laid there forgotten in his lap.
the two of you were sitting closer than you had earlier realized. and that just dawned on you.
"y/n.?" he began.
"yes?"
he opened his mouth, about to continue, but he stopped himself. "uh.. nevermind.."
"oh come on, what is it, ry?"
"i don't... know if it's the smartest thing to say.. regarding our situation."
your pulse increased.. what could he possibly mean?
"just spit it out.."
he hesitated for a moment. then opened his mouth again. "i.. i cant."
you frowned. you placed your hand on his forearm. rubbing it with your thumb.
"ry.. im not gonna ju-" but before you could finish your sentence, his lips were on yours.
you of course, melted into the kiss despite how shocked you were that this was actually happening. your face grew a dusty pink color as his hands met the soft skin of your cheeks.
you both pulled back for air, making direct eye contact, both hearts pounding.
but it was only seconds before he pulled you back in, kissing you passionately than the first time. without much thought,you stood up from the stool you were sat on, and you threw the book from his lap onto the floor, making room for yourself.
you sat yourself on his lap to where his hands instantly found your hips. he pulled back, but only to trail his lips down the collum of your throat.
"you're so fucking beautiful.." he whispered between kisses. "so pretty.. I can't stop thinking about you no matter what I do." he admitted before sucking softly on the skin surrounding your collarbone.
"I've dreamt about you.. every night." he whispered. he left a hickey that bruised almost instantly. you tilted your head up more.
"i... know. last night you..." you hesitated.
"what? what did I do?" he asked, dragging his tounge back up your throat. leaving wet kisses under your jaw line.
your breath stuttered. "y..you were whining my name in your sleep."
he paused. "i was..?"
you nodded.
he pulled back. "how did that.. make you feel.."
you didn't answer for a moment, staring into his eyes, your hands playing in his hair. "uhm... aroused.."
he chuckled softly. "yeah?"
you nodded.
"y/n?"
"yeah?"
"let me show you.. how badly I want to worship you."
the intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. you nodded. "okay.."
with your consent, he kissed you again, much sloppier than the previous times. he squeezed your hips, now guiding you to grind against him... which made it a 10x easier to feel how hard he had grown in the past few minutes.
you gasped softly at the feeling. your own arousal had been growing as well.
his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. he pulled back and slid it up no problem before his lips landed back on yours. you didn't have a bra on.. because why would you need a bra on an 11+ year mission, so his hands slid up to your chest, groping your tit gently. you moaned softly into his mouth.
he pulled back again, tilting his head to kiss your neck yet again. you began to pull up his shirt as well, pulling it over his head as he let you. you instantly moved your hands to his abdomen, feeling the muscle there and dragging your nails down his chest.
with your hips still grinding into his, you couldn't help but whimper. you were incredibly touch starved after all. "ry.. please.." you said, panting softly.
"it's okay sweetheart.. im gonna take care of you." he said, sliding his arm around your waist. "stand up for a second" he said.
you obliged, standing up. he shifted his hips up so he could slid his pants down his thighs. you watched. once he had them slid down enough, he brought his hands to the waist band of your sweats, looking up into your eyes for approval before pushing them down to the floor.
once they were off, he pulled you back onto his lap. instinctively, your hips bucked into his. his bulge was much more prominent now that he only had one layer on. his hips shifted up to meet yours, causing both of you to let out soft noises.
"please.. let me fuck the stress and worry out of you." he said, his hand now in your jaw. "i'll do anything you tell me. whatever you want, baby.. just let me worship you."
you nodded, chest rising and falling quickly. "yes.. fuck yes." you said.
with that, he pushed his boxers down as far as he could. his dick springing free. god he was.. thick. you shivered.
you got off of him reluctantly, but just to slide your panties fully off before sitting right back on him. hovering just above his throbbing length. he held your hips in his hands, looking up at you with pure love and lust.
"tell me if we need to stop, okay?" he said, because of course he would.
you nodded in return and slowly sank down on him.
he let out a groan, which turned you on even more. once he was fully inside, you took a moment to adjust. the stretch burned... but felt so fucking good. his hands slid to your thighs, gripping them as he held himself back from moving.
you took that at your moment to rise back up, leaving just the tip inside before slamming back down on him. he moaned.
after a while of this, you finally set a medium pace, bouncing up and down on him.
"fffuck y/n you feel so good baby.." he groaned into your shoulder.
he pulled back to look at you, only to bring his fingers to your mouth. you opened it, and he pushed his fingers in, pressing then down on your tongue.
"that's it, good.."
he pulled them out with a soft pop noise and snuck his hand between the two of you. circling your swollen clit with a quick pace.
you gasped. "ry- fuck.. oh my god-" you whined. head falling against him. you wrapped your arms around his neck, setting a quicker pace as you felt your pussy clenching around him.
"come on baby.. that's it.." he nodded, bucking into you. "squeeze my dick with that pretty pussy.." he said, his fingers moving relentlessly.
you felt your high coming. whimpers spilt from your lips without your consent.
"ry- I'm gonna cum- I'm so close-" you moaned into his ear.
he huffed at the sound. it drove him insane. "i know, me.. me too.." he nodded, groaning softly.
there was a small silence, only slaps of skin and your heavy breathing for a moment, before you let out a loud moan, nails scrapping against his back as you finally came. legs shaking.
ry didn't stop just yet. he was so close, chasing release now. and it only took a few more seconds before he came as well. and you could feel his hot release inside of you.. so much it was dripping out of you.
the two of you sat in silence for a while until he finally spoke.
"that was.. incredible." he said, kissing your temple.
you nodded. "it was.. thank you.." you said, cuddling into his chest. "we should... probably get up and clean up soon.."
but neither of you made any move to do that.
"no.. just rest here a while." he said, rubbing your back. he then reached over to the big laboratory table, where you had just so happened to leave a blanket on from this morning. he took it and wrapped it around the both of your naked bodies.
and the two of you sat there silently, drifting off to sleep.
pairing: upset and needy!ryland grace x fem!reader (eva stratts sister)
word count: 2.6k
content: smut w a plot, pre space, oral (reader receiving,) use of pet names, handjob, panic attack, hurt/comfort, crying, unprotected sex, softdom!ryland and subby!ryland !!!! cliffhanger 👀
summary: you and your sister (eva stratt) were always close, but that changed when the sun started dying. that's when you met ryland. he was a science teacher, but also a very intelligent scientist. you fell for him almost immediately. but as you got closer to the launching of the hail mary, your sister kept secrets, and they impacted both you and ryland equally.
a/n: hi my darlings! i thought of this idea and had to get right to it. it has not been proof read, so correct me if I make mistakes. this leaves at a cliffhanger... so please let me know if i should continue it! as always feel free to drop requests in my asks!!! i hope you enjoy!! 🙂↕️🤍
You were Eva Stratt's sister. You were adopted, but still the two of you were pretty close.
The two of you had a stable upbringing. You were both incredibly intelligent, had good behavior, and a good support system. You told each other everything.
However that changed when the government swooped her up into the whole stop astrophage mission. Yes, she had brought you aboard the massive ship in the ocean, but you could tell there were so many things unsaid.
Dr. Ryland Grace was brought on the ship because of a research paper he did a few years back, and he was the talk of everyone. Some thought he was kinda stupid, but majority of them admired him and his work ethic. Including you.
You and Ryland had become quick friends. He would spend any free time he had with you, in fact. You loved it. He was goofy, of course a nerd, and very very handsome. You may have developed a crush on him.
Eva was always in his space though. Pushing him to find out more about astrophage, breeding it, and having him at meetings almost 24/7. And that's exactly where he was now.
You were sat in your assigned bunk, a very small room, but enough to live comfortably in. Ryland had told you he was going to meet up with you after, so of course, you waited.
and waited.
and waited.
⪻────★────⪼
After what felt like an eternity, your door was pushed open, and there stood Dr. Ryland Grace.
You looked up with a smile, glad to finally see his face, but that quickly changed when you saw how upset he looked.
"Shes going to do it.." He said, walking inside your room, locking the door behind him.
"What?" you asked, standing up and taking his shaking hands. "She's going to do what, Ryland?"
He inhaled shakily. His eyes were red and irritated.
"I'm the replacement.. I-" he stuttered, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "She hinted at it during the meeting- and-" A tear slipped down his cheek.
The words hung in the air. He was the replacement for Dubois. The dots connected. All of Eva's hidden meetings, the death of the primary crew, and all the sudden decisions.
You shook your head. She wouldnt.
"Ryland, look at me.." you whispered, hand meeting his cheek. "If she hinted at it, that doesn't mean it's for sure yet."
He shook his head back. Tears falling quicker now. "Do you really think that? You know how she is.. once she makes a decision it's set and stone." He said.
You knew he was right. There was no changing her mind.
You didn't know what to say. You were speechless.
"Please don't let them.. I can't- I'm not an austoranut.. I'm a science teacher.. I-" He was near hyperventilating now.
You frowned, taking his head in your hands. "Hey.. listen.. It's gonna be okay. We'll.. I'll talk to her, okay?"
He nodded, sniffling softly. "Okay.."
⪻────★────⪼
Weeks went by. You had talked to your sister, but she refused to listen. Ryland knew it. Now he was just trying to flush the idea out of his mind. The ship had thrown a party. Everyone celebrating.. drinking, living their best lives.
Except for Ryland.
You were lounging on a couch, reading a book, when you looked up. Ryland was sitting on a stool by the bar, staring up at the ceiling. Clearly lost in thought.
You sighed. Why did your sister have to pick him? The man you had just fallen in love with to go to space for 11.9 years. With no way home.
You pondered. What could you do. Now you were the one lost in thought, that was until one of the crew members bumped into your shoulder as they fell backwards onto the couch, clearly drunk.
You snapped out of your thoughts and got up. Only to realize that Ryland was now gone.
You quickly excused yourself from the celebration, stepping into the corridor outside of the lounge area. You made your way through the halls until you got to the door to the balcony. You slid it open, and to no surprise you saw him. He was far off into the distance, sitting with his head pressed against his knees.
You walked in his direction, but only began to speed up when you heard his muffled cries.
You dropped your book to the floor, crouching down beside him.
"Ryland?" You asked, rubbing his back softly. He was hyperventilating.
He looked up at you, his face tear stained and red. The sight made your heart drop. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
You shook your head, taking his hands in yours as you spoke again. "No no don't talk right now. Just breathe, okay?" He nodded. "In.... and out." You said, demonstrating for him so he could follow.
It only took a few minutes for him to calm down, his hands gripping yours tightly.
"I.. I can't do this." He said, lip quivering. "I don't- I'm not meant for this. Why doesn't she understand that? Why doesn't she respect that?" He asked, breathing shakily.
You shifted your hand out of his grip, moving it to his face. "I know, Ry. I'll figure it out. I promise." You said, but immediately regretted it.
You knew you couldn't. So did he.
He nodded, taking a deep breath. He would believe you. Just for now.
He sighed, staring up into your eyes. You shifted closer, pulling him into a gentle hug.
"You're my only hope." He said, voice shaking still. "I don't trust anyone here but you."
It made your heart shattered. You couldn't do hardly anything to help him, but you were still his anchor. You sighed, ruffling his hair gently.
"Let's go back inside the ship, yeah? It's cold out here." He nodded, standing up and pulling you with him.
The two of you walked through the ship, hand in hand until you made it to your bunk. He held the door open for you and closed it behind the both of you.
You sat down on your bed, and he sat down in your desk chair. He rolled it so he could be right in front of you. Close enough that he could hold your hand still. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands falling between his legs, except for the one holding yours.
The two of you sat there in silence for a moment.
He broke it. "Hey." He whispered softly.
"Yeah?"
He didn't answer for a moment. He just stood up, stepped closer, and then sank down onto his knees in front of you where you sat on the edge of the mattress.
Your heart rate increased.
"I need to tell you something." He whispered.
He was sat on his knees, arms free on his lap. Looking up at you with what looked to be adoration.
"Okay..?"
He brought one hand up, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I'm tired of acting like you're just a friend. That you're just.. the person I go to for comfort... Which- you are, but.. you're so much more than that."
You stared down at him, your face heating up. Your hand slid up his forearm and up to where it rested on your cheek as you waited for him to continue.
He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the feeling of your hand against his. He opened his eyes as he spoke again, "I've.. spent so long trying to keep myself away.. making sure I don't fall for you, but I can't. Not after today." He said, inhaling, "Not when... I know I might never see you again."
His words hit you hard. The thought of losing him only made you act. You slid your arms around him, pulling him up so he was eye level with you. You kissed him. He melted into it immediately, his other hand moving to your waist.
The two of you kissed for what felt like ages. That was until he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. He stared into your eyes.
"I love you.. so much." He said.
Your heart fluttered. "I love you too.." you whispered.
"Let me show you how much you mean to me." He whispered back. "Please."
You nodded, your breath hitching at his words. "Okay.. yeah."
He pulled back, settling on his knees again. He slid his hands up your legs, then your thighs. "Can I take these off?" He asked, looking up at you.
You nodded, lifting your hips slightly so he could pull your pants down. And he did just that, along with your underwear.
You shivered.
"You're so pretty.." He whispered, pressing his head down to kiss your thighs. He trailed up as far as he could until it was uncomfortable, and only then did he grip your waist and pull you to the edge of the mattress.
He looked up at you, silently asking for permission. You nodded again.
He spread your legs far enough that he could slide his face between them. He kissed softly before finally running his tongue through your slick.
You gasped, sitting up slightly. He held onto your thighs as he lapped all of your arousal up. He circled his tongue around your clit, causing you to tangle your hands in his hair, your hips bucking into his face.
"Oh my god-" you breathed out.
He hummed into you, moving his tongue down to lick around your entrance. It was only seconds before you felt his tongue enter you. You squirmed under his touch, his nose brushing against your clit. He gripped into your legs tighter, holding you still so he could make you see stars.
You moaned, tilting your head back as you pulled his hair gently, causing him to groan softly into you. He pulled back slightly, but only to plunge two fingers inside of your soaking pussy.
"Ry-!" You whined. You were getting close already.
He chuckled softly, his breath tickling your skin. He moved his mouth back up, taking your clit into his mouth, sucking on it. His fingers thrust into you at a relentless pace, him hitting your g-spot every single time.
"F-fuck Ry- I'm so close-" You whimpered.
That only pushed him farther.
He began curling his fingers just right into your cunt, making you throw your head back as moans and whines left your lips. It was only then that you felt him humping the bottom of your leg, whimpering against your clit.
Your shaky legs wrapped tighter around his head, pushing him deeper into your pussy.
"Oh my god- i-"
You didn't finish your sentence. You came all over his fingers, squeezing him tightly. You moaned, panting softly as you came down from your high.
He pulled back, his fingers following, only to be pushed into his mouth. You whimpered at the sight of him.
"You taste.. so fucking good.." He said. His face was covered in your arousal, his hair now a complete mess.
Your breathing slowed as you help his gaze until you finally sat back up, pulling him into you.
He nuzzled his head into your neck, breathing you in. However he couldn't ignore how hard he was. He was rutting his hips into the edge of the mattress like a feral animal, whimpering softly.
"Come here.." you said, patting the mattress beside you.
He obliged without question, sitting beside you. His jeans were so tight it was almost unbearable.
You chuckled softly. "Lie back, Ry," you said, gently pushing at his shoulders.
He did just that. You slid your hand down to his waistband, unzipping his pants and pushing them down to his thighs. He whimpered.
"P..please-"
It made you shiver hearing him like that. It was only seconds before you were nudging his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. He whimpered again.
He was pretty average in length, but in girth.. he was thick. He was already leaking with precum.
You smiled at him. "You poor thing," and then wrapped your fingers around him. He was warm, and your touch only made him twitch. He gasped softly, his hips grinding into your hand.
You began sliding you hand up and down, squeezing ever so gently to make him whine.
"G-god you feel so good-" He moaned softly, his head thrown back on your mattress.
You hummed, flicking your wrist faster, thumb rubbing his irritated tip. He could only rut into you as sweet sounds including your name spilled from his mouth.
His legs began to shake and you started to move faster, but he protested.
"W-wait please- Please sweetheart I want to cum inside you- Please.." He begged. It was such a sweet sound that you had to comply.
You stopped your movements and pulled you hand away, a whimper falling from him again. His legs shook as he sat up. He gently pushed you back, him following behind, hovering over you.
He was holding himself up above you, his hands just by your face. His leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth. He was still panting.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, a sign that you wanted him inside you.
Of course he obliged, positioning himself at your entrance. Your hole was already fluttering around him, despite him barely even being inside.
Then he thrust inside. He did it fast, and the stretch burned.
"Fuck- I'm sorry-" He whimpered. He was barely able to hold himself back.
"It's i- okay, Ry... you can move." You whispered.
"A-are you sure? I don't want to hurt you-" He said.
You nodded, shifting your hips slightly just to prove you were serious. He took a deep breath and began rolling his hips into yours. He was gripping the sheets beside your head so tightly you thought he might rip them.
He set a quicker pace, enough to give you please, but slow enough to hold him off.
He was close, still, from when you had jerked him off moments before, but he wanted to hold on for you.
"I- can't hold it much l-longer.." He whimpered softly.
You nodded. "I know, it's okay.. I'm getting close too." You said, sliding your hand down to circle your clit. The double stimulation had you whimpering again and again.
"That's it.. There you go," he groaned, now thrusting into you faster as he felt you clench around him. "Cum with me, honey."
The stimulation was unbearable, and you came only seconds after him. The both of you moaning in unison as his hips stuttered against yours.
Eventually he stopped, both of you dripping with sweat and panting. This mixture of your release dripping out of you.
He collapsed on top of you, nuzzling into your chest as you both came down from your orgasms.
The two of you sat there in silence for a few moments, just until you broke it.
"I.. I'll come with you." You said.
"What?" He asked, lifting his head up.
"I'll come with you.. on the Hail Mary.."
"No.. no no no- you can't do that- you can't give your life away just to be with me-"
"I'm not.. Do you think I want to be stuck here alone, wondering if you're dead or not for the rest of my life?" You asked, looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows.
"I- you can't-" Tears were welling in his eyes.
You shook your head. "I'm not asking for permission, Ry... It's my choice, not yours."
Pairing: Human Alastor x slightly obsessive fem reader.
Content: Smut with a plot!! P in V. Fingering. Stimulation. Mature audiences! Mentions of blood. Mentions of murder.
Summary: Alastor tries to push you away to keep your safety, but you don't let up. Eventually, he has to give in.
Word count: 4.1k
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Ever since you were a kid you had always been drawn to your close friend, Alastor. You went to school together for years and you were one of the people he relied on for support when he was facing criticism in school due to his intelligence. You'd always believed in him, that he could be bigger than what others set him out to be...and he definitely did.
He had become a psychopath. He killed for revenge, for the thrill, but most of all, fun, however you never figured that out. All you knew about him was that he was now one of New Orleans most popular radio hosts.. and you were in deep deep love with him.
Every time you got a chance, you always tried to flirt with him, be around him, but he always politely shot you down. You had no idea why because you saw the way his eyes scanned ballrooms until they met yours, the way he listened to you so intently when you spoke. You knew he felt it too, but he always pushed you away. Little did you know, it was to keep you safe.
This evening was just like any other. Mimzy had invited you to an event that was celebrating her music career finally taking off. While you wouldn't say that she was the best singer..., you knew Alastor would be there. So you accepted in an instant. You arrived half an hour after the party had started. You wore a long dark red dress and a black fur coat, your hair in a proper updo.
When you arived.. The room didn’t hush. The band didn’t miss a note. Yet Alastor’s head snapped up like a hound catching a scent, his grin sharpening by a fraction. Husk didn’t need to look to know who it was, he could tell simply by the reaction. There was only one person who made Alastor’s fingers tighten around his glass like that.
"Ah! What a surprise to see you, my dear," Alastor said, voice syrup-smooth as you slid onto the stool beside him. You smelled like night-blooming jasmine and trouble.
"Always a pleasure, darling," you hummed, offering your hand. Alastor took it with the reverence of a man handling a holy relic, pressing his lips to your knuckles before letting go just a second too soon. Husk rolled his eyes and reached for the gin.
"Care for a drink, ma chérie?" Alastor asked, his gaze trailing over you like he was memorizing the drape of your dress. You leaned in, chin propped on your palm, close enough that your knee brushed his under the bar.
Husk slid the gin across the bar with a thud, watching as Alastor's fingers twitched toward it before redirecting to adjust his bowtie, a nervous habit he'd never admit to. Husk muttered under his breath, but Alastor either didn't hear or chose to ignore him, his attention laser-focused on the woman beside him.
You laughed at something he said, the sound bright and warm, and Husk saw the way Alastor's shoulders tensed, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out. Dumbass, Husk thought, wiping down the counter with more force than necessary. The whole damn city knew Alastor was gone for you except apparently, Alastor himself. They saw it in his eyes.
The moment shattered when Mimzy's voice cut through the room, shrill and squeaky. "Alastor! Get your bony ass over here and toast my brilliance!" Alastor's smile didn't waver, but his fingers tightened imperceptibly around his glass before he stood, murmuring, "À plus tard, ma belle," with a tilt of his head.
As soon as he was out of earshot, you slumped against the bar, swirling your drink with a sigh. "Another?" Husk asked, already reaching for the bottle. You nodded, tapping your nails against the glass in a rhythm that matched the band's lazy jazz.
"You're wasting your time, kid," Husk said bluntly, nodding toward where Alastor was now laughing too loudly at one of Mimzy's not so funny jokes. "That man's got more walls up than a prison…"
You scoffed, tracing the rim of your glass with a fingertip. "Well.. maybe some walls are meant to be climbed, Husker.” Your voice was light, but your gaze lingered on Alastor’s back, watching the way his shoulders moved under his tailored jacket, the deliberate grace of his hands as he gestured.
Husk snorted. "Yeah, well. Some walls bite." He slid the fresh drink toward you, watching as you knocked it back in one smooth motion. Your cheeks flushed instantly, and for a second, Husk almost felt bad. Almost.
Then you stood, smoothing your dress with determination. "Hold my spot, will you, dear?" you said, and sauntered off into the crowd with the kind of sway that made heads turn. Husk groaned. "Here we go again.."
Across the room, Alastor was nodding along to Mimzy’s drunken rambling, his smile never slipping, but his eyes kept darting to the edges of the room, searching. When he finally spotted you twirling into the arms of some silver-haired businessman, his grip on his champagne glass turned lethal. The glass cracked with a sound like a gunshot.
Mimzy blinked. "Alastor, honey.. you alright?" She asked, eyebrows furrowing.
Alastor's grin didn't waver, even as champagne dripped down his fingers from the shattered glass. "Perfectly splendid, my dear!" he chirped, shaking the glass shards from his hand with a flick of his wrist. However, Mimzy wasn't fooled. She'd seen the way his pupils had dilated the moment that businessman's hand settled on your waist.
Across the ballroom, the silver-haired man was leaning in too close, his breath hot against your neck as he murmured something that made you laugh, a sharp, forced sound that didn't reach your eyes.
Alastor's fingers twitched at his sides. He'd promised himself he wouldn't interfere. That keeping you at arm's length was the kindest cruelty. But watching some horny old rich guy paw at you like you were common bar stock? Absolutely unacceptable.
"Excuse me," Alastor murmured to Mimzy, already stepping away. His strides were deceptively casual, but the crowd parted for him instinctively, as though sensing a predator in their midst. He arrived just as the businessman's wandering hands dipped lower, down the curve of your ass. In one fluid motion, Alastor caught the man's wrist mid-descent, his fingers tightening just shy of bone-breaking pressure.
"I believe you've mistaken my companion for someone who enjoys your brand of attention," Alastor said pleasantly. His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, the kind of tone that made even security guards check their exits. The businessman's smirk faltered when he met Alastor's eyes, wide, unblinking, and glowing faintly under the chandelier light.
Your gasp was barely audible over the music as Alastor's other arm encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Al-" you started, but he squeezed your hip in silent warning. The businessman yanked his wrist free with a scoff.
The businessman's smirk returned, edged with liquor-fueled bravado. "Didn't realize the lady came with a leash," he hummed, flicking his gaze between you and Alastor. His fingers twitched toward you again, a deliberate provocation. "Though I suppose some prefer their pets collared."
Alastor's laugh was sudden, bright, and utterly devoid of warmth. It skittered across the ballroom like broken glass. "Oh-ho! What delightful company you keep, my dear!" He squeezed your waist again, this time, his thumb brushed the underside of your ribcage, possessive and fleeting. "But I'm afraid you've misread the situation." His voice dropped to a murmur only the three of them could hear. "She is the one holding the leash."
The businessman blinked, momentarily thrown, but then his hand shot out to grab your wrist. "Let's ask her, then, hm?" His fingers dug in, leaving crescent shaped marks in your arm, and you inhaled sharply through your teeth.
Alastor went very still. The music swelled. The chandelier tinkled. Somewhere, a woman laughed too loudly.
“I suggest you take your hands off her before this gets messy.” He murmured, his hand sliding to your arm, as he stepped in front of you.
“You're bluffing.” The businessman barked, grip tightening on your wrist.
Alastor took a deep breath. The room was filled with people. No matter how much he wanted to, there was no way he could let himself lose his control. He sighed and spoke again.
“No. I just happen to have more self control than some men.” He said, pushing the man backwards. “Darling, can I speak to you.. privately?” He asked, turning around to you, looking down with a gentle smile.
You nodded, looking up at him with a slight hint of fear. He grabbed your hand and began to drag you through the ballroom. You stumbled slightly in your heels, but he adjusted his stride without breaking pace, guiding you into the first unlocked door, a dimly lit storage closet lined with liquor crates.
The door clicked shut behind you two. For a heartbeat, you stood there in the muffled quiet, your chest rising and falling rapidly as Alastor stood over you, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. Then his composure cracked.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, his voice low and rough, stripped of its usual cheerful lilt. His fingers twitched at his sides as if physically restraining himself from grabbing you again. "You knew what you were doing. You wanted me to see that."
You tilted your chin up, meeting his glare with a challenge in your eyes. "And if I did?" you breathed, stepping closer until the hem of your dress brushed against him. "You keep pushing me away, Alastor. But I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." Your hand rose, fingertips ghosting over his chest. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Alastor caught your wrist midair, his grip firm but not painful. His breath hitched when you didn't pull away. "You have no idea what kind of monster you're toying with," he murmured, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of your inner wrist where your pulse fluttered wildly. "If you knew.. if you understood.. you'd run away screaming."
You laughed, soft and breathless, and pressed closer still. "Try me."
Alastor's grip tightened around your wrist, his fingers pressing into your pulse point like he could feel the truth hammering beneath your skin. His breath came sharp and ragged, uncontrolled. "I wanted to snap his neck," he admitted, voice low and dangerous, stripped of all theatrics. The words hung between the two of you, raw and unfiltered. "Right there. In front of everyone. Just for touching you." His free hand twitched at his side, fingers flexing as if imagining the act.
You didn't flinch. Instead, you leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, "I wouldn't have stopped you."
Alastor's breath hitched audibly at your words, his grip tightening around your wrist as if he might shatter it. The air between you crackled with something feral, something barely restrained beneath his polished veneer. "You really shouldn't say things like that," he murmured, but his voice was already dropping into a lower register, roughened by something darker than desire.
You pressed your advantage, twisting your wrist just enough to slide your fingers between his, interlacing them with deliberate intimacy. "Why not?" you breathed, tilting your head to let your lips graze the sharp line of his jaw. "It's true?"
His free hand snapped up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your updo as he dragged your mouth to his in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. There was nothing polite about it. No gentlemanly restraint, no charm. Just hunger, raw and reckless, as if he'd been starving for you and only now allowed himself to taste.
You gasped into it, arching against him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, his other hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hike it over his hip.
The kiss broke only when Alastor bit your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. A metallic tang mixing with the taste of gin and desperation between you. You moaned softly, hips arching into him, and he growled against your mouth, gripping your thigh tighter as his other hand tore pins from your hair. "You don't know what you're doing," he rasped, but his hips pressed forward anyway, grinding against the lace of your dress in a way that made you whimper.
"Then show me," you challenged, scraping your nails down his chest until you found his belt. The click of the buckle sounded obscenely loud in the cramped closet. Alastor's breath stuttered when your fingers dipped below the waistband, his pupils swallowing the last remnants of crimson in his eyes.
Alastor's breath was ragged against your lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh as if he could brand his touch into your skin. "I wanted to carve him open," he confessed, voice rough with something darker than anger. "Not quickly. Not cleanly. I wanted to make a performance of it. Let the whole ballroom watch what happens to men who lay hands on what's mine."
Your fingers tightened around his belt, pulling him closer until the heat of him seared through the layers of fabric separating you. "I don't care," you breathed against his mouth, your other hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. "I've always known what you are, Alastor. Did you really think a little blood would scare me off?"
Alastor's breath hitched when your fingers tightened around his belt buckle, not pulling away, not recoiling, but anchoring him to you like you feared he might vanish again if you loosened your grip. His hand slid from your thigh to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him with a roughness that would've bruised anyone else.
"You should care," he growled, but the protest was weak, his lips already trailing down your throat in open defiance of his own words. His teeth scraped over your pulse point, blunt at first, then sharper, testing, until you gasped and arched into him with a moan that went straight to his core. The sound undid him.
With a snarl, Alastor spun you around, pinning you against the closet wall hard enough to rattle the liquor bottles stacked on the shelves. His knee slid between your thighs, hiking up your dress as his mouth crashed back onto yours, this time with none of the earlier restraint.
You tasted like gin and recklessness, and when your tongue met his with equal fervor, he groaned low in his throat, fingers digging into the lace of your dress like he wanted to tear it clean off. "Fuck," he breathed against your lips, one hand already fumbling with the zipper at your side. "You're going to ruin me."
You laughed. A breathless, wicked sound and rocked your hips against his thigh. "Well that's too bad," you murmured, nipping at his jaw before sliding your hand between the two of you to palm him through his trousers.
Alastor's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a muttered curse as you worked him with cruel precision. "You've been ruining me for years," you added, scraping your teeth over his earlobe. "Fair's fair."
Alastor's breath came in ragged bursts against your neck, his fingers tightening in the fabric of your dress as you stroked him with deliberate, torturous slowness. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice stripped raw of its usual charm.
The closet smelled of spilled liquor and dust, but all he could taste was the salt on your skin and the sharp tang of your arousal as you ground against his thigh.
Your fingers worked his belt loose with practiced ease, your nails scraping lightly over the strained fabric of his trousers. "Tell me to stop," you whispered against his throat, but your hands moved with unwavering certainty, sliding beneath the waistband to find him hot and heavy in your grip. Alastor's knees nearly buckled.
He caught himself with a hand braced against the wall beside your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to haul you tighter against him, his hips jerking into your touch. "You know I won't."
You laughed, low and breathless, and stroked him once, twice, your thumb catching the bead of moisture at his tip. Alastor shuddered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his fingers dug into the curve of your hip. The closet was too small, the air too thick, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care, not when your touch burned through him like wildfire.
Alastor's breath hitched as your fingers tightened around him, your grip just shy of painful. He could feel your pulse fluttering wildly where his lips brushed your throat, rabbit-quick and reckless, matching the frantic rhythm of your strokes. "Christ," he murmured, his voice breaking on the last syllable as you twisted your wrist just so.
The shelves dug into his back when you shoved him against them, your lips crashing into his with none of the earlier hesitation. Something shattered behind you. A bottle, maybe, glass tinkling to the floor, but neither flinched. Alastor groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and lift you onto the nearest crate.
The wood creaked ominously under your combined weight, but he barely registered it, too busy dragging your dress up your thighs with trembling fingers. Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him flush against you, and Alastor nearly sobbed at the friction.
"Please," you whined between kisses, your voice ragged. "Tell me you want this.."
Alastor's laugh was rough, unpolished. "You know I do." His fingers hooked into the lace of your panties, tearing them aside with a sharp tug that made you gasp. "Fuck, you're drenched," he breathed against your lips, his fingertips dragging through your slick folds.
Alastor's fingers stuttered against you, his usual confidence fraying at the edges as he traced you with something dangerously close to reverence. "You've been thinking about this," he accused, his voice rough with disbelief. His thumb circled your clit with deliberate pressure, watching your face as your breath hitched, proof he'd struck true.
You arched into his touch, your nails scoring down his back through the fabric of his jacket. "Only every night," you admitted, gasping when his fingers plunged inside you without warning. The stretch burned sweetly, and you rocked against his hand, chasing the friction. "You too, I bet."
Alastor's laugh was dark, strained. "Darling, you've no idea." He crooked his fingers just so, reveling in the way your thighs clenched around his wrist. The scent of you filled the cramped space, and he dragged his free hand down his face, as if trying to clear his head. It didn't work.
The crate beneath you groaned as you shifted, your legs tightening around his hips. "Less thinking," you panted, tugging at his belt with impatient fingers. "More doing."
Alastor's belt clattered to the floor as you yanked it free, the sound swallowed by the muffled jazz still thrumming through the walls. His breath came in ragged bursts against your collarbone, his fingers still working you with merciless precision. "God, you're insatiable," he muttered, but there was no bite to it. Only awe, raw and unfiltered.
You bit back a moan as his thumb circled your clit again, your hips jerking into his touch. "Says the man who- ah-who just threatened murder over a dance," you managed between gasps, your fingers fumbling with the button of his trousers. The fabric strained against his erection, and when it finally gave way, you wasted no time shoving both trousers and underwear down his hips in one rough motion.
Alastor hissed through his teeth at the sudden cool air against his overheated skin, but before he could protest, your hand wrapped around him again, stroking once from root to tip with deliberate pressure. His knees nearly buckled.
"Fuck," he choked out, his free hand scrabbling at the shelf behind you for balance. Bottles clinked dangerously, but neither cared. Not when you were spreading your thighs wider, guiding him to your entrance with a hand that didn't tremble half as much as his.
Alastor's breath caught in his throat as you guided him to your entrance, your slick heat scorching against the head of his cock. For a moment, he hesitated, but then you rocked your hips up, taking him in with a gasp that unraveled him completely. He sank into you with a groan, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he bottomed out in one smooth stroke.
"Christ," he choked out, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fought to steady himself. You were tight around him, clenching rhythmically as if trying to pull him deeper, and the sensation nearly undid him right then. His hips jerked involuntarily, drawing a whimper from your lips that went straight to his already frayed nerves.
Your tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging his head back to meet your gaze. Your eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and your lips were swollen from his earlier roughness. "Move," you pleaded, voice rough with need.
Alastor's control snapped. He pulled out almost entirely before driving back in with a force that rattled the shelves behind them. Your cry of pleasure was muffled against his shoulder as he set a brutal pace, each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs.
The crate beneath you creaked dangerously, but neither of you cared, not when every snap of his hips dragged a fresh gasp from your throat. Your nails scraped down his back, surely drawing blood through his shirt, and the sting only spurred him on. He caught your lips in a kiss that was more rough that the last, swallowing your moans as your legs tightened around his waist. "You feel- fuck- you feel perfect," he rasped against your mouth, his voice raw with something dangerously close to vulnerability.
Alastor’s fingers dug into the meat of your thighs as he lifted you higher, angling your hips to take him deeper. The crate beneath you splintered with a sharp crack, sending you stumbling back against the shelves."Look at me," he growled, catching your chin between his fingers. Your eyes were hazy with pleasure, lips parted around ragged breaths. "I want to see you unravel."
You whined. A broken, breathless sound and dragged your nails down his chest. "Then fucking make me," you challenged, rolling your hips to take him impossibly deeper. Alastor’s vision whited out for a second. He’d always prided himself on his control, his precision, but here, with your legs locked around him and your heat swallowing him whole, he was reduced to instinct alone.
He fucked you with a desperation that bordered on violence, each thrust punctuated by the slick slap of skin and your choked moans. Your orgasm hit like a thunderclap. You arched off the crate with a cry, your body clamping around him so tightly he saw stars. Alastor gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold on just a little longer, but then your teeth sank into his shoulder, and that was it.
His hips stuttered, and he came with a groan that sounded more like surrender than satisfaction. The silence between you was thick, broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant strains of jazz still filtering through the walls.
Alastor's hands trembled where they braced against the shelves, his forehead pressed to yours as you both came down from the precipice. The closet reeked of spilled wine and sweat, the floor littered with shattered glass and torn lace, but neither of you moved to clean it up.
"You're shaking," you murmured, tracing the damp line of his collarbone with your fingertips.
Alastor exhaled a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "You're observant," he rasped, but there was no bite to it, just raw exhaustion. His usual poise was shattered, his hair mussed beyond repair, his shirt untucked and wrinkled where your hands had gripped it. He looked ruined.
You hummed, tilting your chin up to catch his lips in a kiss that was softer than any you'd shared before. Alastor stiffened for a heartbeat, then melted into it, his fingers curling into your hair like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go.
You both pulled back. “No more avoiding me, please,” You said breathlessly. He nodded, tucking a sweat drenched strand of hair behind your ear.
“Never again, ma chérie.” He said, pressing his forehead against yours.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
A/n: I may or may not have gotten carried away with this one.. I've been writing it for hours. I hope you guys like it!! pleaseeee forgive me if I made any errors. i changed the POV halfway through and had to go back and redo it. Also if you have any suggestions, plsplspls lmk in my asks!
Pairing: Human alastor (before his murderer era) x fem reader
Content: mostly fluff, (reader receiving) oral, smut w a massive plot idk
Summary: After Alastors mother died, he sat at her grave for months. It was a repetitive cycle. Eat, work, grief, sleep, repeat. That was until she showed up.
Word count: 9.2k
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Throughout your young adulthood, Ms. Hartfelt’s downtown flower shop was your sanctuary. Ms. Hartfelt herself was an angel, radiating a warmth that could soften the coldest soul within ten feet of her, and you were no exception.
Before her, you were a woman of ice and ink, always tucked away with a book, aloof and uninterested in the messy business of love or friendship. But the moment you met her, it was as if your heart finally bloomed, trading its sharp edges for kindness.
You became a Monday afternoon regular, stopping in for a dose of light before heading to your shift at Melanie’s Boutique. You were a permanent part of the shop's rhythm. That was until the autumn of 1924 when everything changed.
You knew the diagnosis had come with the first heat of summer, but the speed of her decline was a cruelty you hadn't braced for.
The transformation was haunting: the frantic, chest-racking coughs, the way her vibrant cheekbones sank into hollow shadows, and the flickering "Closed" sign that began to appear more and more often during business hours.
Then, the world went quiet.
On November 14th, 1924, Ms. Hartfelt’s light finally went out.
Standing in the crowded church for her funeral, you felt like a ghost yourself. Despite the sea of mourners, the air was heavy with a staggering silence. You weren't just there as a loyal customer or a Monday regular; you stood there with the hollow, aching grief of someone who had lost their chosen kin.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Months had slipped away, and your visits to her grave had become a quiet, evening ritual, a few times a month to share the silence of the cemetery. But this Tuesday morning felt different.
Driven by a restless energy, you arrived early, clutching a warm tea from the Creole Moon Café in one hand and a lush bouquet of gardenias in the other. The rain began to spill from the gray sky, soaking through your coat, but you didn't move to seek cover.
Through the mist, you saw him.
A man stood by the headstone, his silhouette sharp against the rain. He looked disheveled, draped in a profound, heavy sorrow that seemed to pull at his very posture. As you drew closer, recognition clicked into place: it was Alastor, Ms. Hartfelt’s son.
You hesitated, caught between the urge to give him his privacy and a strange, magnetic pull drawing you toward him.
You stepped forward, but your heels slowed in the damp grass as his voice drifted through the rain, a sound so thin and brittle it seemed the wind might carry it away.
"Mom... I’m tired," he murmured. It wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was the bone-deep weariness of a man who had been navigating a dark world without his compass for far too long.
The intimacy of the moment made you hesitate, but the gardenias felt heavy in your hand, a final gift that needed to be delivered.
You moved into his peripheral vision and knelt, placing the white blooms against the cold stone. The stark brightness of the petals looked like fallen stars against the dark, wet earth.
Alastor’s head snapped up. His hair was plastered to his forehead, droplets of rain trailing down his face like unbidden tears. He didn't speak at first. He simply studied you, his gaze tracing your soft features and the quiet kindness in your eyes.
Through the smell of wet earth and rain, the faint, comforting scent of vanilla drifted from you to him.
You finally decided to break the silence.
"She was a wonderful woman," you began softly. You knelt in the damp grass beside him, your knees pressing into the wet earth as you carefully arranged the gardenias against the headstone.
Alastor’s breath hitched.
Your tone, gentle and steady, carried an echo of his mother’s own warmth. He turned his head slowly, his eyes red-rimmed. "You knew her?"
"I was a regular at her shop," you explained, a faint smile touching your lips as memories of those bright Monday afternoons surfaced. "She had this way of making the world feel a little less gray. She never failed to bring light into my days."
Alastor looked back down at the gardenias, his voice a raspy whisper. "She had a way of doing that. She loved gardenias because they reminded her of happiness..."
"...because they always bloom, even in the hardest winters," you finished in unison with him.
The shared words hung in the air. Alastor froze, his gaze snapping to yours. The synchronicity seemed to break something brittle inside him. A single tear escaped, trailing through the rain on his cheek as he let out a breathless laugh. "You said it... just like her."
You didn't offer a platitude. Instead, you reached out, the back of your hand catching the tear and wiping it away with a touch as light as a petal.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling as if he were afraid the moment might shatter. He reached up, covering your hand with his own and drawing it down, his thumb brushing tentatively over your knuckles.
You let him hold your hand, the silence between you stretching out, no longer heavy, but comfortable. Finally, you spoke again.
"She wouldn't want you to stay here, wallowing in the shadows forever. You know that, don't you?"
He dipped his head, a flicker of guilt crossing his tired features. "I know. I just... I don’t know how to stop. She hasn’t left my mind for a single hour."
"I know it's hard," you murmured, nodding.
You hesitated for a heartbeat before offering a lifeline. "How about this? Meet me at the Creole Moon Café every morning. Just for a routine."
He went silent, searching your eyes, before a slow nod steadied his shoulders. "I would love that."
"7:00 AM sharp," you said with a small, encouraging hum.
You hadn't known him before today, but helping him felt like the only way to honor the woman who had helped you.
"I'll be there," he promised. And as he looked at you, a genuine smile pulled at his lips, the first real light to touch his face in months.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
The next morning arrived in a flash. You woke at 6:30 AM to the familiar sight of sunlight dancing through your lace curtains, casting intricate patterns across the floor. There was a newfound lightness in your step as you prepared for the day.
You chose a mauve pink dress, the fabric soft and flattering, with flowy sleeves that felt like a gentle breeze against your skin, and paired it with crisp white gloves and matching heels.
You stepped into the Creole Moon Café at 7:01 AM, just a minute past the hour. The staff greeted you with knowing smiles, and your usual chamomile tea was placed on the table before you even had to ask. It was the kind of local rhythm that had once felt monotonous but now felt like a warm embrace.
Fifteen minutes passed, the steam from your tea curling into the air, before the bell above the door gave a chime.
Alastor stepped inside.
The transformation was striking; gone was the disheveled man from the cemetery. He wore a sharp white button-up tucked into brown slacks, a silver watch glinting on his wrist.
His eyes scanned the room with a lingering hint of nerves until they landed on you tucked away in your corner.
The moment his gaze locked onto yours, his face didn't just brighten, it beamed.
He navigated the tables with a purposeful stride and came to a stop beside you, smiling down with a warmth that felt like a tribute to his mother’s memory.
"May I?" he asked, hovering politely. Even in his grief, the manners his mother had instilled in him remained unmovable. He wouldn't dream of taking a seat without a lady's permission.
You nodded, leaning your chin into your palm, your gaze following his movements with a quiet curiosity.
"Good morning," you hummed, your voice bright and inviting.
"Good morning," he replied, his eyes lingering on you with genuine appreciation. "You look lovely."
At his words, a soft dusting of pink touched your cheeks. "Thank you," you murmured, offering him a shy, genuine smile.
The waiter soon drifted back over, surprised to see a new face in your usually quiet corner.
Alastor kept it simple: black coffee, no sugar. You watched him as he ordered, mentally filing that small detail away. As the waiter retreated, Alastor rested his arms on the table, the sharp lines of his white sleeves contrasting with the dark wood.
He glanced down at your hands, which were curled comfortably around the porcelain cup, the steam rising in lazy ribbons between you.
"Tea?" he asked, his curiosity light and genuine.
"Chamomile," you answered with a small, affirming nod.
He hummed, a low sound of approval as he tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that wasn't heavy, but rather deeply observant.
"Suits you," he mused. "Calm. Gentle."
"I take that as a compliment," you replied, feeling your smile widen just a fraction more under his steady gaze.
"It was meant as one," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours.
A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn't need to be rushed or filled with small talk.
It was Alastor who broke it, his gaze lingering on the way the morning light caught the mauve of your dress.
"You look... so pretty today," he said, the compliment once again falling from his lips with a sincerity that felt almost breathless.
You couldn't resist. A playful glint sparked in your eyes as you leaned forward, deciding to test the waters of his composure.
"I wasn't pretty yesterday?" you teased, your grin widening as you watched him.
The effect was instantaneous. Alastor froze, his coffee cup halfway to his lips.
"Oh..." He stammered, his eyes widening in a brief moment of genuine panic. "I-I never said you weren’t pretty yesterday... I just... I haven't seen you in the sunlight until now."
A deep, endearing blush swept across his face, clashing with his polished appearance.
You couldn't help yourself. A soft giggle escaped you, the sound light and airy in the quiet corner of the café.
"I was kidding, Alastor," you said softly, reaching out to tap the back of his hand to reassure him.
“Oh... I knew you were,” he countered, though the lingering flush on his cheeks betrayed the lie. He quickly pivoted, his grin broadening as he listened to the tail end of your laughter. “Your laugh is... beautiful.”
“And you’re just full of compliments this morning, aren’t you?” you teased, tilting your head.
“I suppose I am,” he admitted, his gaze steady and sincere. “But only because they're true.”
The playfulness softened into something more intimate. You paused for a beat, really looking at him for once.
“Hm... you’re very handsome with a smile on your face,” you noted softly. “You look happy.”
The compliment seemed to land deep. He took a slow breath, his expression turning thoughtful. “Thank you. I think... I think I am.”
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a man finally coming up for air.
“That’s good,” you replied, your own smile turning warm and encouraging.
The morning hours vanished as if they were nothing. You sat there, your hands wrapped around your warm cup, completely lost in the rhythm of his voice and the way he looked in the soft morning light.
Eventually, your eyes drifted to your watch. 11:47 AM. You felt a small pang of regret, a heavy reluctance to break the moment.
"Oh! We've been here all morning..." You said with a laugh, though a slight flutter of anxiety stirred in your chest. "I should probably get going.. I'm 17 minutes late to work.." You said, slowly standing from the table.
"Oh.. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept you so long.." he said, a look of genuine guilt crossing his handsome features. "Where do you work?"
You giggled softly, charmed by his concern. "Don't apologize, silly, it's not your fault. I work at Melanie's Boutique."
Alastor nodded, his eyes sharpening as if committing the name to memory. He reached into his pocket for a notepad, jotting something down with elegant precision before sliding a small slip of paper toward you.
Alastor's Private Line: 930726
"My home line.." He said with a smile that reached his eyes.
"I'll call you," you promised, tucking the number away like a precious secret.
"I'd like that," he began, his voice dropping to a warm, intimate pitch. "Tonight?"
You nodded. "After work."
Then, without thinking, he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, pulling back with a wide, triumphant grin. "I'll be waiting," he said.
Before you could even catch your breath, he turned and stepped out of the cafe, leaving you behind with a racing heart.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
You arrived at the boutique breathless with apologies, your conscience prickling until Melanie finally laughed and gave in. To ease your guilt, she let you stay an extra hour, which meant you didn't step through your front door until nine o’clock that night.
After a quick change of clothes and a silent, hurried dinner in the kitchen, you finally retreated to your bedroom. You sat back against the headboard, the slip of paper clutched in your hand as if it were a rare treasure.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you dialed the numbers, the mechanical clicks of the rotary phone sounding loud in the quiet room.
The phone rang twice. He picked up so fast it was as if he’d been sitting with his hand already resting on the receiver.
“Hello?” he asked, his voice laced with a quiet tension.
“Hi,” you spoke, and the smile on your face was so wide it was audible in that single word.
“Hi,” he replied, and you could practically hear his relief through the line. “I’m glad you called.”
You hummed softly, leaning your head back against the wall. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he said, his tone dropping into that smooth, resonant pitch that made your skin tingle. “But a man can’t help but worry when a woman like you has a thousand reasons to forget a man like me.”
"A man like you is quite hard to forget, Alastor," you countered gently.
You heard a soft, melodic chuckle on the other end. "I suppose I should thank my mother for that, then. So, tell me... did Melanie forgive your grand tardiness, or do I need to go down there and charm her tomorrow morning?"
You laughed softly, your eyes drifting to the lace curtains as you spoke. “She didn't mind, silly... In fact, I just stayed back a little late, but I think she just told me to do that to make me feel better.”
“Well, that’s good...” He nodded, his voice a low hum through the receiver. “I would hate for you to have a hard time because of me.”
There was a brief silence as he thought for a moment.
“What'd you do after work?”
You grinned, touched by the genuine interest in his voice. “Well, I got home, changed my clothes, washed up, and then ate dinner,” you said, resting your cheek against the wall behind you. “All while thinking about a certain someone.”
His breath caught for a moment, the line going quiet as if he were carefully considering if it was truly him. “Who?” he teased, his voice dropping to a hopeful whisper.
“Oh... just the handsome man I had breakfast with this morning,” you hummed.
He laughed softly, a sound of pure relief and joy. “That man is very lucky.”
You giggled, the sound light against the receiver. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. He spent all morning talking to a sweet woman and now gets to settle in her thoughts?” he said. “Sounds lucky to me.”
You giggled again, and for a moment, a comfortable silence settled over the line. The weight of the day seemed to lift as you lay there, just listening to the faint crackle of the connection.
“How was your day? What'd you do?” you asked curiously.
“I went back to the studio after leaving you,” he began softly. “Had a few recordings scheduled for tonight, just voice-overs for next week’s broadcast.” He paused briefly. “Then I came home early. Didn’t feel like going out.”
You nodded, picturing him in a quiet house. “What'd you do when you got home?”
“I made tea,” he said. “Not as good as the café’s is… I burn it sometimes... then I read for a bit. A novel by William Faulkner.”
You hummed in approval. “The Sound and the Fury?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding a bit surprised. “The Sound and the Fury. I’m on Benjy’s section.” It was a melancholy story, fitting for his mood lately, but your recognition caught him off guard. “You’ve read it?”
“Mhm,” you replied.
“You’ve read it all the way through?” he asked gently. Most people found Faulkner’s style too challenging and gave up by page fifty. “I’m impressed,” he added sincerely. “It’s… heavy. But beautiful in a sad way.”
“It is. And yes, I did read it through.” You nodded, shifting to lie on your stomach and twirling the coiled phone cord around your finger.
Another long pause stretched between you, intimate and still.
“What else did you do today?” you asked, genuinely curious about the quiet corners of his life.
“I took a walk,” he said. “Just around my property. The garden needed tending… but I didn’t do much.” He sighed softly.
His mother’s roses were still blooming. their reds vibrant against green leaves, but weeds had started creeping between them. He hadn't touched them yet. Not since she passed.
“Then I ate dinner alone,” he added quietly. “Cold sandwich.”
You laughed softly, the sound muffled by your pillow. “Then?”
“I waited,” he said simply. “For you to call.” There was a soft, weightless pause. “Then you called.”
“I did,” you said, your feet kicking softly in the air behind you as you relaxed further into the bed.
“I’m glad,” he said again, the words sounding like a mantra he couldn't quite give up on.
“I like hearing about your day..” you admitted softly. You weren't ready to hang up; you wanted to pull more of his world through the receiver, even the small parts. “Tell me something else.”
“I lit candles earlier,” he shared, his voice sounding more relaxed now. “The vanilla ones from the boutique on Royal Street. They make the house smell nice.”
You grinned, the coincidence making your heart flutter. “My favorite.”
“No wonder,” he said softly, a smile evident in his tone. “The candle smells sweet… soft. Not overpowering.” He seemed to be thinking for a second. “Do you wear perfume? Or is it just soap and lotion?”
“All of the above. I stack them so they are overpowering,” you teased.
“I can picture that,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to a smooth register. “You’d smell amazing. Like something fresh from that bakery on Bayou Street.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound intimate through the receiver. “Do all your things smell like vanilla? Your clothes, too?”
“Yes,” you said, a small, private smile on your face. “Vanilla fabric softener.”
“That’s lovely,” he said gently. “You’ve made yourself smell like home.”
He paused, the hesitation clear in the silence that followed. “I bet if I hugged you… I’d just breathe in vanilla.”
“Probably,” you giggled, the sound echoing softly in your quiet room.
“I’d like to hug you,” he admitted, his honesty catching you off guard in the best way possible.
“Would that be okay?”
Your heart grew fuzzy, a warm glow spreading through your chest. “Of course.”
“I hope we can do that soon,” he said softly, the longing evident in his tone.
“We will,” you promised, lying back on your bed and turning the phone to speaker with a satisfying click.
He heard the rustle of your sheets as you settled into the mattress, and the silence that followed was cozy and thick with unspoken promise. Just two people, miles apart but perfectly connected, lingering in a late-night call they didn't want to end.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked after a moment, his voice sounding different now that he was on speaker. "I can hear the quiet of your room. It sounds peaceful."
“I am,” you nodded, a soft yawn escaping your lips and echoing through the quiet room.
“You’re getting sleepy,” he murmured. It wasn't a question, just a gentle, rhythmic observation that seemed to pull warmth around you.
“Maybe a little...” you admitted, finally resting your head deep into the coolness of your pillow.
The thought of you there, cozy under the covers, eyes heavy and heart open, made his own chest swell with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. It was a peace that felt borrowed from his mother’s shop, finally finding a home in him.
“You should rest,” he said softly. “It’s late.” He paused, the line humming with a silent, steady presence. “I don’t mind staying on the line if you want to fall asleep.”
“Yes...” you whispered, your smile softening as your eyes finally fluttered shut. “I'd like that.”
And he did exactly as he promised. As you drifted further into the haze of sleep, Alastor began to hum. It was a low, melodic jazz tune, the kind his mother used to play on the old gramophone when he was a boy.
The steady, soothing vibration of his voice through the speaker became your lullaby, anchoring you in safety until you finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
The next morning you woke at 6:15 AM, stretching with a soft moan. You watched the golden streams of the sunrise leak through the curtains, and then... you heard him.
“Good morning..?” He hummed.
Your eyes widened in shock. “Hi.. good morning..” you mumbled sleepily. “You're still here...”
“Of course.. I didn't want to hang up.” He admitted.
The line had stayed open all night, a silent thread connecting your rooms.
You curled back into your pillow. “Did you.. sleep?”
“Oh, I got a few hours.” He said.
Your eyebrows raised.“You're crazy.” You said, no bite to it. “You should get some sleep..”
“I know,” he admitted with a small shrug you could almost hear. “I’m stubborn.”
You laughed softly, your heart doing that familiar flutter.
“You’re heading to Creole Moon soon, aren't you?” He asked.
You nodded into the receiver, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Mhm... I have to get ready though.”
“Let me get ready,” he said quietly, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor signaling his move. “I’ll be there.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay...”
Thirty minutes later, the house was silent and the phone lines were dead. You had settled on a soft navy blue dress paired with black heels and a matching purse.
Now, you sat in your usual spot at the café, watching the morning light dance on the tabletop.
The door chimed softly, letting in a sliver of the cool morning breeze. Alastor stepped inside, tall and composed. His navy blazer was immaculate, hiding any trace of his sleepless night. His glasses caught the light as he scanned the room until his gaze landed on you by the window.
He paused for a heartbeat, realizing the two of you matched perfectly in your deep blues. A genuine smile broke across his face as he walked over.
“Good morning,” he said softly, his eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “We match.”
“Yes, we do,” you confirmed with a nod.
Your chamomile tea and his black coffee were already waiting on the table, steam rising in twin spirals.
For a moment, you didn't say a word. You simply rested your chin in your palm, staring at him and marveling at how quickly this stranger had become the best part of your day.
He noticed your gaze, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks.
“What?” you asked, your smile widening at his uncharacteristic bashfulness.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, perhaps a bit too fast. He cleared his throat and looked at you. “I just… like seeing you first thing in the morning.”
Your heart gave a familiar tug. “I like it too,” you replied.
You moved your hand to the middle of the table, not forcing anything, just leaving a quiet invitation on the wood.
Without a moment's hesitation, he moved his hand to yours, locking your fingers together as if they were meant to be there.
The morning unfolded just like the last, lost in the ease of each other's company. Before you knew it, you checked your watch. 11:00 AM. You had exactly thirty minutes before your shift began.
“I don't want to be late today..” you said, reluctantly standing and gathering your things.
“You won't be,” he said with a confident smile. “I’ll walk you.” He offered his arm with a timeless, gentlemanly grace, and you looped yours through his as you stepped out into the morning air.
The walk to the boutique took exactly twenty-three minutes, leaving you with seven to spare before your shift began. As you reached the storefront, Alastor turned to look at you, his eyes reflecting the quiet confession he’d made over the phone. He was thinking of the vanilla, and the lingering question of what it would feel like to finally hold you.
Then, without a second thought, he reached out and pulled you in by the waist. His arms wrapped tightly around you, drawing you into a firm, protective embrace.
Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly melted against him, pressing your forehead into the warm crook of his neck.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he rested his cheek lightly on top of your head and took a soft, slow breath. You smelled exactly like the vanilla he had anticipated.
You sighed contently and leaned into him, breathing in the faint, masculine scent of sandalwood and fresh laundry that clung to his clothes. His navy blazer felt crisp beneath your touch, carrying a subtle hint of cedar from his soap.
The world seemed to still as you stood there together for four long minutes. When you finally pulled back, just enough to look at him, the air between you felt charged.
“I should probably go inside..” you murmured.
“I know,” he nodded, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your eyes with a lingering touch. But before you could turn to the door, he leaned in and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.
Your heart fluttered as he pulled away. “I’ll be home at eight,” you said softly.
“I’ll call,” he promised.
With a final nod, you headed into the store, carrying the warmth of his embrace with you as you started your day.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
The workday had dragged on dreadfully. Your thoughts were entirely consumed by him.. his face, his kindness, his genuine interest, and the memory of his lips on your skin.
It was maddening.
When you finally unlocked your front door at eight o’clock, you rushed through your evening routine. You washed up, ate a quick dinner, and settled into bed exactly as you had the night before, resting your head against the pillow.
Then, you waited. The clock ticked steadily. 8:10... 8:20... 8:30. The house remained silent.
Anxiety began to tighten in your chest. Had you done something wrong? Was he angry? Had you been too forward?
As the clock struck nine, your eyelids grew painfully heavy under the collective weight of the day's exhaustion. Unable to stay awake any longer, you drifted off.
The phone never rang.
When you woke up the next morning, you took a deep breath and forced the negative thoughts away. It would be entirely silly to let a man completely ruin your mood; you refused to be that kind of woman.
Steeling your resolve, you got dressed and walked to the café just like any other day.
Your chamomile tea was already waiting at your regular table when you arrived. You sat down, trying to lose yourself in the familiar ambiance, ignoring the knot of anxiety still gnawing at your stomach.
Your eyes kept scanning the room, your breath hitching with every sharp ding of the bell above the door.
Then, at 7:47 AM, he finally appeared.
Alastor walked through the door, but the easy composure from the previous morning was gone.
He looked incredibly tense, his shoulders rigid and his face drawn with fatigue.
Despite your worry, you couldn't hide the relieved smile that bloomed the moment you saw him.
He offered a weak smile in return. A fragile, hollow look that was entirely unlike him. He crossed the floor with slow steps and sank into the chair across from you, folding his hands tightly in front of him on the dark wood.
You tilted your head, studying the strain in his eyes, and quietly slid your hand to the center of the table in a silent offer of comfort.
Hi...” you spoke softly, breaking the tense quiet between you.
He didn't hesitate to touch you, placing his hand firmly into yours. “Hi.”
“Are you... alright?” you asked, the hesitation clear in your voice as you looked at his weary face.
He shook his head, his gaze dropping. “No.”
You frowned slightly, a wave of protectiveness washing over you. You lifted his hand from the table, pulling it up to press the back of his hand gently against your cheek while keeping your fingers locked with his. “What happened?”
“There was an accident last night...” he said, his fingers twitching slightly as they felt the warmth of your soft cheek. “At the station.”
“Oh...”
“During a, uhm... routine check, my good buddy Mike...” He paused, his throat tightening before he could force the words out. “He didn't make it. The entire station caught fire.”
The news hit you like a physical blow. A fire? At Alastor's station? You were shocked you hadn't heard the sirens or seen the smoke, and a deep, sympathetic frown pulled at your lips.
“I'm so sorry...” you said softly, and you truly meant it. This man had lost his mother and his close friend in the span of only six months. The weight on his shoulders must have been suffocating.
He looked up at you, your gentle, sympathetic smile making something inside him crack just a little bit more.
“You look unwell...” you murmured, your free hand moving to trace your nails soothingly up and down his forearm.
A sharp, shaky breath left his lips. Seeing his composure completely splinter, you stood up from your chair and opened your arms wide, offering him a sanctuary. His lower lip quivered.
Yielding to the comfort you were offering, he leaned forward and pressed his head tightly into your stomach as the first tear escaped his eye. It was the first time he had allowed himself to cry in front of anyone in a very long time.
You stood there, holding him against the backdrop of the quiet café, and rubbed the back of his head gently. “I know... it's okay...” you whispered, letting him release the grief.
After about three minutes, the quiet storm passed. You pulled back slightly, your hand moving up to tenderly rub his cheek, wiping away the tear tracks.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, wanting to take care of him.
“A little, yeah...” he nodded, a faint glint of life returning to his eyes.
Remarkably, after about thirty minutes of shared food and quiet conversation, the heavy fog lifted, and the two of you were laughing together again.
You had managed to brighten his mood, but the ticking of your watch reminded you that responsibilities were calling. You had an early shift today.
You sighed softly and stood up from the table. “I've got work early today,” you said, looking down at him. “Walk with me.” You held your palm out, an invitation for him to follow.
He reached up and grabbed it tightly.
The two of you walked down the New Orleans street hand in hand, chatting easily just like you had over the past few days. The earlier sorrow seemed to stay a few paces behind you as you arrived at the boutique with four minutes to spare.
“I take it you don't have work today?” you asked, turning to face him by the storefront.
He sighed softly, his shoulders dropping a fraction. “No... the station is being inspected today.”
You nodded, understanding the empty hours stretching out ahead of him. You hesitated for a brief moment before speaking again. “Would you... like to have dinner tonight? After I get off work?” You hoped the prospect of an evening together would give him something to look forward to while you were gone.
His eyes lit up instantly, the shadows completely vanishing from his face. He nodded quickly. “Yes... that would be lovely,” he said, squeezing your hand softly. “I'll prepare something nice at my place...” he whispered, a hint of his usual charm returning.
Then, just as the nearby clock tower struck 8:59 AM, he stepped forward and pulled you into a deep, soft hug. He held you tightly for the entire sixty seconds, burying his face in your hair and making sure his scent stuck around on your clothes. Finally, he pulled back just enough to press a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“I'll be back here at 8:30 PM to walk with you...” he promised.
You nodded, a warm blush on your face, and turned to head into the boutique to start your day.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Left to his own devices in a quiet house, Alastor refused to let the tragedy at the station pull him back into the shadows.
He spent his unexpected day off completely consumed by preparations for the evening. He scrubbed his kitchen until it was spotless, put on a jazz record to break the silence, and spent hours over the stove.
He carefully prepared a rich, comforting New Orleans gumbo, letting the savory scent of roux, spices, and andouille sausage fill every corner of his home. He even picked fresh white gardenias from his yard, arranging them neatly on the dining table alongside a pair of tall, unlit candles.
By 8:30 PM, the anticipation had brought him right back to the storefront of Melanie’s Boutique.You stepped out of the shop into the cool evening air, and there he was, leaning against the brickwork under the amber glow of a street lamp.
He looked entirely refreshed compared to the morning. His hair combed, his posture straight, and a brilliant, genuine smile lighting up his face the moment the boutique door chimed.
He immediately stepped forward, taking your purse for you and tucking your hand comfortably into the crook of his arm for the walk to his property.
When the two of you finally arrived at his house, the warmth of the home hit you the moment he unlocked the door. The rich, savory aroma of the homemade gumbo enveloped you, mingling wonderfully with the sweet, familiar scent of vanilla.
The house was dimly lit, casting cozy shadows across the polished wooden floors, and the dining table was beautifully set for two.
"Welcome," Alastor said softly, stepping behind you to gently help you slip your coat off your shoulders. "I hope you brought an appetite."
You smiled, turning around to face him as you handed over your coat. "It smells absolutely incredible in here, Alastor. You really went all out, didn't you?"
"Only the best for the woman who saved my morning," he replied with a classic, charming tilt of his head.
He hung your coat up by the door and guided you toward the dining room, pulling out a chair for you with that flawless gentlemanly grace
.As you sat down, you noticed the fresh white gardenias in the center of the table, their bright petals catching the soft light of the candles he had just lit. A wave of warmth rushed through you. Sitting here in his home, looking at the effort he had put into making the night special, your heart felt entirely full.
Alastor walked into the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying two steaming bowls of the rich, dark gumbo. The savory scent of the roux and spices filled the air, immediately making your mouth water. He set a bowl in front of you, then took his own seat across the table, his eyes locked onto yours with a soft, eager anticipation.
"Go ahead," he urged softly, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Tell me if it lives up to the scent."
You picked up your spoon, took a careful sip of the warm broth, and let out a content sigh. "Alastor... this is amazing. You're a wonderful cook."
He let out a soft, relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing completely as he began to eat his own portion. "I learned from the best. My mother always said food tastes better when you make it for someone you care about. I think she was right."
The rest of the dinner passed in a beautiful, easy rhythm. The weight of his difficult night at the station and your long day at the boutique seemed to completely melt away under the amber glow of the candlelight.
You talked, you laughed, and you shared stories, the silence between your words feeling safer and more comfortable than ever before.
Once the bowls were empty, you stood up and began stacking the dishes to carry them to the sink.
Alastor immediately jumped up, gently but firmly taking the ceramic plates right out of your hands.
"Oh, no, absolutely not," he insisted with a sharp, charming shake of his head. "You've worked a long shift at the boutique. You are a guest in my home, and I won't have you doing manual labor."
You let out a soft sigh, rolling your eyes playfully at his stubborn gentlemanly pride. "Alastor, I can help-"
"I insist," he interrupted smoothly, turning his back to you as he walked over to the sink and turned on the tap, the sound of rushing water filling the quiet kitchen.
Instead of walking back to the dining room to sit down like a proper lady, you decided to test his composure. You stepped up right beside him, hoisted yourself up with a smooth motion, and sat yourself directly onto the polished wooden countertop right next to the sink.
Alastor froze for a moment. The clinking of the silverware stopping as he slowly turned his head to look at you in shock. He had clearly never seen a woman do something so casual, let alone in his own kitchen.
You simply swung your legs lightly against the lower cabinets, giving him a innocent smile. "Better?" you teased.
A bright, flustered blush immediately rushed up his neck and into his cheeks. "I... well," he stammered, completely losing his usual smooth cadence as he looked at you sitting at eye level. "That is certainly one way to keep me company."
You giggled at his flustered expression, leaning back against the upper cabinets as he turned back to the sink.
His shock wore off, and the two of you fell right back into your easy rhythm. You chatted about the customers at work, and he shared memories of the old radio programs he listened to as a boy.
The sound of your laughter and his rich voice filled the warm room, making the large house feel incredibly small and intimate.
Eventually, the water stopped running. Alastor dried his hands thoroughly on a dish towel, his movements slowing down as the conversation drifted into a quiet, heavy silence.
He didn't step away. Instead, he turned to face you fully. Moving with a slow, deliberate confidence that caught you completely off guard, he stepped forward, placing himself right between your knees.
Your breath hitched sharply in your throat. Your heart hammered against your ribs, completely blindsided by his sudden boldness.
Sitting high on the counter, you were at eye level with him, trapped in the space he had just claimed. The playful, easily flustered man from moments ago was entirely gone, replaced by someone whose gaze held a deep, unblinking intensity. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from his body completely enveloped you, making your head spin.
You gripped the edge of the countertop lightly, and blush rushed to your cheeks.
He noticed your wide eyes and the sudden hitch of your breath. A slow, knowing smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his sharp eyes searching yours behind his glasses.
"You look shocked," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, velvety register that made your skin tingle. "I thought you were the brave one, sitting up on my counter."
Alastor..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath.
The sound of his name seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. His large hands moved swiftly to your thighs, his palms pressing firmly against the fabric of your dress.
The sudden, solid warmth of his grip made your breath catch sharply in your throat. His gaze held yours with an intense, unblinking gravity that made the rest of the room completely fade away.
Your heart hammered wildly, the fierce blush on your cheeks deepening under his heavy gaze. You were entirely flustered, your mind racing, but you forced yourself to keep eye contact.
"What... what are you doing?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of shock and anticipation.
Alastor didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed against your thighs, his grip steady and possessive as he closed the remaining distance until you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
"I am realizing," he murmured, his deep voice dropping to a low, velvety rumble that brushed against your lips, "that I have never wanted anything as badly as I want to kiss you right now."
You didn't answer with words. The tension in the kitchen was so thick it felt like a physical weight, and the look in his eyes told you he was done waiting.
You let your hands slide off the edge of the counter, bringing them up to rest flat against his chest. Beneath his shirt, his heart was racing just as fast as yours, a rapid, heavy thrumming under your palms. You gripped his collar, your knuckles tightening as you pulled him the last remaining inch forward.
Alastor let out a low, shaky breath against your mouth, his hands tightening on your thighs, and then he finally closed the distance.
The kiss was soft at first, as if he were still afraid of shattering the moment. But as your lips parted slightly, the restraint he had held onto all evening completely broke. The kiss deepened, becoming heavy, fierce, and full of the months of quiet loneliness he had carried inside him.
His hands slid up from your thighs to cup your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in his hair, completely lost in the scent of his cologne and the burning heat of his mouth.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was ragged, his glasses slightly fogged, and a dark, intense satisfaction burned in his eyes as he looked down at your thoroughly kissed lips.
"You are absolutely intoxicating," he whispered, his voice deep and entirely breathless.
You didn't let the space between you last for long.
Before the echo of his voice could fully fade, you tightened your grip on his collar and pulled him back down, sealing your lips against his for another deep, urgent kiss.
A low hum of surprise and approval rumbled in his chest as his hands locked firmly around your back, holding you tightly against him.
Eventually, the need for air forced him to pull back slightly, but he didn't distance himself. His lips left yours only to press a soft, lingering kiss to your burning cheek. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut as his mouth drifted lower, trailing a path of warm kisses down the line of your jaw.
A sharp shiver rippled down your spine as his lips moved just below your ear, lingering on the sensitive skin there until a soft gasp escaped your throat. He hummed against your skin, clearly satisfied by your reaction, before his kisses tracked further down to the side of your neck.
You tilted your head back completely against the upper cabinets, giving him entirely free access as his mouth pressed sweet, heavy kisses into the warm hollow above your collarbone.
Then, before you knew it, you were hovering in the air.
"Wait- what are you- " Your voice hitched as strong hands scooped under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the kitchen counter where you'd been perched moments ago. The sudden shift in elevation left you gripping his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he carried you the short distance to the living room couch.
Your pulse jumped at the unexpected maneuver, the casual strength of it sending a jolt through you that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way his fingertips pressed just a little too deliberately into your skin.
The cushions dipped under your weight as he deposited you onto the sofa, his movements careful but deliberate.
Before you could process the displacement of air or the warmth still lingering where his hands had been, he sank to his knees between your parted legs with a quiet thud against the carpet. The position was startlingly intimate, his broad shoulders framed by your thighs, his upturned face watching you with an expression you couldn't quite name.
The words caught in your throat as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing slow circles into the sensitive skin just above your knees.
"What are you-" you managed, voice hitching as his fingers flexed against you, warm through the thin fabric of your skirt. His gaze held yours, darker than you'd ever seen it, the usual playful glint replaced by something heavier.
Something that made your next breath stick in your chest.
Your question hung unfinished in the air as his fingers stilled their motion, though his palms remained warm against your thighs. His exhale was slow, deliberate, as if weighing his words with uncommon care.
"I want to show you," he murmured, the softness in his voice sending another shiver through you, "how thankful I am that you walked into my life." His thumbs resumed their lazy circles, drifting higher by millimeters.
The words landed like a physical touch.. soft, unexpected, and devastatingly gentle.
"Is that okay?"
You blinked down at him, momentarily disoriented by the question. Of all the things you'd braced yourself for.. teasing, confidence, that effortless arrogance he wore so well.. this wasn't it.
Your breath stuttered and the silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, until you realized he was genuinely waiting for an answer.
"Yes," you breathed, the word coming out softer than you intended. "More than okay."
The breath he let out was audible, half relief, half something darker, as his hands slid beneath the hem of your skirt. His fingers traced the lace trim of your underwear with deliberate slowness, the backs of his knuckles brushing against your inner thighs in a way that made your breath hitch.
The fabric slid against your skin as he hooked his thumbs into the sides, dragging them down your legs with a patience that felt almost cruel.
You lifted your hips slightly to help, the movement instinctive, and the corner of his mouth curled as he noticed.
The lace caught briefly at your ankles before he freed you completely, tossing the fabric aside without a second glance. His attention was already elsewhere, his gaze heavy as it traveled back up your bare legs.
His palms returned to your thighs, spreading them just a fraction wider, fingers pressing into the soft skin there as if memorizing the shape of you.
The calloused drag of his touch was electric, and you bit your lip when his thumbs traced idle circles near the apex of your thighs.. close, but not close enough. The anticipation coiled tight in your stomach, every nerve humming with the promise of his next move.
His breath was warm against your inner thigh, the contrast of his exhale against your overheated skin making you shiver. He paused there, lips hovering just above the sensitive skin, his fingers tightening slightly around your legs as if savoring the moment.
"God, you're even more beautiful like this," he murmured, the words barely more than a rumble against your skin. His nose traced a slow path up the inside of your thigh, inhaling deeply as if committing your scent to memory.
The intimacy of it made your stomach clench. His lips finally brushed against you, featherlight and teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. His answering chuckle was low, pleased.
"Patience," he chided softly, though the roughness in his voice betrayed his own restraint.
He dragged his tongue along your folds in one slow, languid stroke, savoring the taste of you like it was something precious. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight as he repeated the motion, slower this time, his tongue pressing just a little harder.
A whimper escaped your throat before you could stop it, and his hands tightened on your thighs in response, holding you open as his mouth settled over you completely.
His tongue circled your clit with agonizing precision, the wet heat of his mouth drawing another desperate sound from your throat. You arched against him, fingers tightening in his hair as he hummed, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
His mouth moved with devastating precision, alternating between slow, teasing circles and firmer flicks that had your thighs trembling against his palms. Just when you thought you couldn’t take another second, he pulled back slightly, lips still brushing against you as his breath fanned across your damp skin.
"Look at me..," he murmured, the command rough but threaded with something tender. Your eyelids fluttered open, you hadn’t even realized you’d closed them, and the intensity in his gaze sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
His tongue pressed flat against you in a slow, deliberate stroke that had your back arching off the couch. A ragged moan tore from your throat, and his hands slid up to grip your hips, anchoring you in place as his mouth worked you with relentless focus.
The wet heat of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs, every sensation amplified by the way he watched you, those dark eyes tracking every hitch of your breath, every flutter of your lashes.
"You taste so good," he murmured against you, the words vibrating through your core. His teeth grazed your clit, just lightly enough to make you cry out, before he soothed the sting with another long, languid lick.
The dual sensations of sharpness and softness sent you spiraling, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. His fingers dug into your hips, urging you to grind against his mouth, and you obeyed without thought, chasing the friction like you'd die without it.
The pressure built unbearably fast,his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless patterns while his fingers slid lower, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness.
"Please," you gasped, your voice barely recognizable, "I need-"
He hummed in agreement, sinking one finger into you to the knuckle in a single smooth motion that punched the air from your lungs. The soft stretch was delicious, the curl of his finger inside you deliberate as his mouth never let up, tongue flicking over your clit in perfect counterpoint.
The sensation of his finger inside you sent sparks skittering up your spine. You arched off the couch, a broken sound escaping your lips as he crooked that finger just so, rubbing against a spot that made your vision blur at the edges.
His tongue never faltered, laving over your clit with the same unhurried precision, like he had all the time in the world to learn exactly how you liked it.
The sound of your own pulse roared in your ears as he added a second finger, the stretch bordering on exquisite. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently just as his fingers curled inside you again.
You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as he worked you with relentless precision. Every flick of his tongue, every deliberate press of his fingers sent sparks skittering across your skin, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your skin, his voice rough with want. "You’re so perfect." The words vibrated through you, his breath hot against your oversensitive flesh.
His fingers didn’t stop moving, slow and deep, as if he was determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from you. Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging lightly, a wordless plea for more, for less, for anything he was willing to give. He chuckled, the sound pleased, before dragging his tongue flat over your clit one last time, pushing you right to the edge.
Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, sudden, violent, and utterly consuming. His fingers twisted inside you just as his tongue pressed hard against your clit, the sensation tipping you over the edge with a force that left you gasping.
You arched off the couch, your back bowing as pleasure ripped through you in relentless waves, his name tearing from your throat in a sound you barely recognized as your own. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you down as you shuddered through it, his mouth never relenting until you were whimpering from oversensitivity, your thighs clamping reflexively around his head.
Only then did he pull back, lips glistening, his breath ragged against your inner thigh. His fingers slid free slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls in a way that made your stomach clench again.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was surging up, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you, deep, possessive, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was messy, desperate, his other hand still braced against your hip like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing just as uneven as yours.
"Fuck," he muttered, the word rough with want, his fingers tightening in your hair.
You could feel the evidence of his own arousal pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent, but he made no move to relieve it, just held you there, close, his eyes searching your face like he was looking for something.
"I'm so glad we met..." He mumbled.
The words were quiet, barely more than a whisper against your kiss-swollen lips, but they hit you with the force of a freight train.
His breath was warm against your skin, uneven like yours, his fingers still tangled possessively in your hair. Something about the way he said it.. raw, unguarded, like the admission had been torn from him.. made your chest ache.
Fate had finally set your lives in the correct place.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
A/N: hello my darlingsss! i apologize for this being so delayed. i really love the fluff bits of this part.. the ending not so much, but i felt it needed at least a bit of smut. i hope you enjoyy 🙂↕️🤍
