What if the reader didn't respond to Yandere Alastor's feelings? The reader always had a feeling that there was something wrong with Alastor's smile (of course, this would be human Alastor).And with that, always trying to stay away from him.
A/N I fuck with this so unbelievably hard. Did I write half of this and then realize you wanted Human Alastor?? Yes. I fixed it though, don't worry.
To Be Eaten (Yandere!Human!Alastor x Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: I know the last Yandere!Alastor fic I put out (Addict (Yandere!Alastor x Gen Z!Reader)) was kinda tame?? This is not. It did get a little too long tho so I will probably do a part two. This mostly just has stalking, minor images of cannibalism, mentions of blood but no actual blood, mentions of kidnapping but no actual kidnapping, etc. Please let me know if I missed anything.
Word Count: 3,807
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Y/n wasn’t beautiful. She didn’t set the world turning or stop it. Her hands were not perfectly manicured and she had a tendency to trip over her own two feet when she walked. Her hair was slightly frizzy at all times, her knees buckled a bit, she lacked practically any air of grace. Still, she shone.
She wasn’t boundless or effortless, she wasn’t gifted with some strange unspeakable power. Y/n was just a person, a notable person, but a person nonetheless. It didn’t make sense.
Sure, she had prestige. As the daughter of one of the wealthier families in New Orleans, how could she not? Maybe that was part of the draw. That somehow, despite her upbringing, she had come out like this. That despite being given every leg up, every opportunity that Alastor would have sold his soul to have, she had come out so... undone. So half formed in a way.
It was like she was this flower everyone was waiting for to watch bloom, like she was a caterpillar working away inside its chrysalis, and then she had bloomed, she had emerged. Maybe it had happened too early and that was why her petals were wrinkled, why her wings did not work. Maybe she had been left in there too long, had emerged already half dead.
Regardless of how one looked at the matter, there was only one concrete truth to be found. It was that ever since Alastor had first caught sight of the girl, he had been... consumed? Yes, devoured. She had devoured him, she was eating him alive.
It was only fair he give her the same treatment in return.
Y/n had never felt right about Alastor. Sure, she knew him, knew of him, but that wasn't it.
He was already famous by the time Y/n had met him, had stumbled gracelessly into his life. As one of the top radio hosts in the state, not just the city, it only made sense for him to eventually find himself at one of her parent's parties.
Alastor was nothing if not a man with a reputation. He was suave, charming, always saying just the right thing at just the right time. He was a man who knew how to get the things he wanted.
That first night, she hadn't meant to cross paths with him at all. Y/n hated the parties. They highlighted her every failing, her every inadequacy. She wasn't a good dancer. She tended to spill more of her drink than she actually consumed and perhaps most importantly, small talk? Wasn't really Y/n's strong suit.
Normally, she stuck to the sidelines. She welcomed the guests with her parents as was expected of her, and then Y/n would try her very best to dissolve into the background. At the soonest appropriate possibility, she would slip away.
It was as she was slipping away that night that they had met. Y/n had been checking her tracks, making sure she had disturbed and been spotted by no one as she had slipped from the grand ballroom.
Her parents were old fashioned, they held onto the past tightly as did many other wealthy families. It was the 1920s, the time to flaunt wealth. The country had never been so rich and neither had the wealthiest members of the upper class.
Thankfully, no one had noticed her retreat. That was, until she walked headfirst into something.
The something was tall, soft, and oddly warm. That was, of course, because the something was not a something at all but a someone.
Y/n staggered back, apologies falling quickly from her lips as she smoothed the skirt of her dress.
When she at last gained the courage to look up and see exactly who she had bumped into that was now whispering curses into the cool night air, it was to find no one other than Louisiana's most notorious radio host.
His brow was furrowed with irritation, his mouth a tight line as he brushed at the wine beginning to soak into his previously pristine white shirt.
Of course. Y/n thought to herself, Just my luck.
"I am so sorry." she begged, "I am sure we have an extra shirt somewhere upstairs you could borrow? Just until I can get the stain out of th..."
The fury with which he faced her as Alastor looked up stopped Y/n dead in her tracks. Her words trailed off, fading into nothing. She took a stuttering step back.
It was the fear that did it, the respect. The immediate intimidation. That had been what drew him in initially. It was delicious.
As Alastor watch her tremble, a sudden satisfaction slipped in under the irritation. It was just a shirt after all and, though he had killed people for less, something told him that the girl before him could be the source of so much more amusemant.
Alastor was used to being underestimated, looked down on. He savored that look of surprise on his victim's faces when they realized exactly who held their fragile life in his hands more than anything. But here he was, in the hallway of some idiotic party, facing some random woman who was giving him that same look now. He hadn't even had to lift a finger to obtain it.
With practiced care, Alastor settled his mask of indifference back onto his face.
"No matter, my dear. It's just a shirt." he placidly hummed, setting his now mostly empty glass on a side table lining the great hall they stood in, "Who might you be?"
It was like looking at a startled doe down the line of a rifle. It was delectable in the most obscene sense.
The girl's gaze flitted anxiously around the moonlit hallway, fluttering back and forth between wide windows and the door behind them. The echoes of nearby revelry filled the air. Safety was so near and yet, just out of reach.
"You're Mr. Hartifelt." was her trembling response.
Alastor grinned.
"Right you are, though it seems a tad unfair. You knowing who I am and me, not having so much as your name."
"Y/n." she softly replied after a moment, cowering in his gaze, "Y/n L/n."
"Oh, then you are my host!" Alastor exclaimed, taking a step forward as he extended an arm for her to take, "Well, Miss L/n, may I escort you back to the ball?"
"I was just... heading to bed." Y/n admitted, trailing off as she realized he was probably the last person she should be telling this too.
Now he knew, she was going off somewhere. Alone. That she would not be missed for the rest of the evening.
Something about this man having that piece of information made Y/n wildly uncomfortable. His smile widened as she spoke, only confirming her tentative nature.
"Well, may I escort you to your room then? A young lady such as yourself should not be wandering like this: alone at night. Who knows what creatures may be lurking in the shadows."
Alastor watched in satisfaction as her shoulders caved ever so slightly forward at his words. Y/n crossed her arms protectively over her chest as she turned back to the ballroom's door.
"On second thought, I think I'll head back to the party." she had announced and though her voice was strong, it nearly cracked.
This told Alastor all he needed to know.
"Very well, my dear." he hummed.
Taking a few steps forward, coming to her side, he held his arm out once again. Seemingly unable to find a polite way out, Y/n reluctantly took it.
They did not speak as he led her back into the ballroom. It was only once they had entered the crowded space, as Y/n had moved to let go and bury herself in the sea of whirling gowns, that Alastor had stopped her. He had placed his hand atop her, where hers rested on his arm. He had leaned in.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear. I hope our paths will cross again."
His words were perfectly polite, his tone sweet. Y/n had no real reason to feel the urge to run that she did, but it was there. It all felt like an act, a ruse.
The best she could manage to give the man was a polite nod before he at last allowed her to disappear.
Y/n watched Alastor carefully the rest of the night, completely on guard. She stuck to her parent's side, even if they were in the thick of the crowd, the last place she wanted to be. Until Alastor left, one of the final guests of the evening of course, she intended to spend not even a single second alone.
That even meant saying goodbye to him at her parent's side as he retired for the evening.
"Thank you so much for hosting me." Alastor was saying as he slipped his jacket on, "And my deepest apologies for staying so late! The time must have gotten away from me."
Y/n watched Alastor carefully, barely hearing her father's gruff reply.
"Your family, and your home are lovely." Alastor nodded in response to whatever her father had said, "I hope to have the opportunity to see you all again."
See them again he did. Alastor didn't know exactly what did it. It wasn't like he was trying, or even wanted, to kill her. It was that look, that succulent fear that radiated off the girl in waves. He needed another taste.
Luckily for him, he was in the position to get one. What better advertisement for a product was there than Louisiana's most beloved radio host's endorsement? Alastor had sent the proposal to Y/n's father the next morning. Suddenly, he was always there.
Y/n ran into him in the halls, in the kitchen, outside the bathroom. She would stop by her father's office to ask him a question and they would be discussing the contract at hand. Y/n would walk into a sitting room to relax, to read and who would be there except Alastor, jovially sharing a drink with her father.
He was almost starting to think she was doing it on purpose, that Y/n was stalking him and not the other way around. It was all too perfect.
All Alastor had to do was force a typo into the contract, a clause that he knew there would be problems with, and blame it on his people. Then? He had a ticket. He could stop by whenever he so pleased in order to address the issue and in that time, he could work on the friendship he was attempting to force into existence with her father. He could stop by whenever he so pleased and see Y/n, get a little taste of her ambrosial fear.
It felt like failure, like a personal failure on her part. The thing was, Y/n just couldn't bring herself to trust him. No matter what her parents said, no matter how her father insisted that Alastor was a good man, Y/n just seemed incapable of seeing it.
It was in his smile, of course. His constant grin that always seemed a little too wide when it was facing her head on, a little too satisfied. Alastor constantly appeared to be the cat that got the mouse, Y/n just had absolutely no idea who or what that mouse could be.
Then there were his eyes. No matter what expression he brought to the table, his eyes stayed empty. The brightest smile, the deepest frown, everything was always paired with those empty, relentlessly emotionless eyes of his.
They were like black holes, swallowing all the light around them. Y/n felt like if she were to stay looking him directly in the eyes for even a second too long, they would swallow her whole. That she would forever be tumbling through their darkness.
Y/n was scared of them in a sense, she did not like to look at them for when she did it was no longer a man she was looking at. Alastor was a predator, a hungry beast on the hunt. Y/n was nothing more than prey.
There was also the matter of his... Y/n did not really know how to explain it. She had always been clumsy but when Alastor was around? It was like she couldn't do one thing right.
She would pass him in the hall with a polite nod only to trip and fall the moment they were beside one another. Alastor would help her up, of course. He seemed a gentleman first and foremost and was always there to greet her with an outstretched hand and a kind word but still, it was suspicious.
Then, there was the fact that despite all their negotiating, the contract never seemed to reach its completion. Alastor began to stay for dinner, charming Y/n's parents into oblivion. She watched. Y/n waited, anticipating the worst.
It was about two months after their first meeting that night at the party that the worst seemed to arrive.
This thing, this living starvation beating in his chest had a name and Alastor knew it. It was called obsession.
He had always been one to fixate, that was what made him so good at his job. He would track down the leads on a story if it killed him. He would see his victims end in bloody slaughter if it killed him too.
This was similar, it almost tasted the same, but there was something fundamentally different about it as well. It came in the way that, seemingly without realizing it, Alastor trapped her in situations where, by the laws of society, Y/n was forced to touch him. It came in the little spark of anger in his chest when he saw her conversing with someone else.
He wanted her. He wanted her in his home, in his bed, chained to the goddamned wall. He did not care so long as she was stuck, trapped, unable to leave. So long as no one else could have her.
Alastor wanted Y/n's every reaction, every interaction. He crawled to them like a starving man towards his next meal. Every time someone else took a bite?
There were multiple solutions to this problem, very few of them legal and even fewer that came without some form of reprocussion.
Alastor had no intent of getting caught, of going to jail. He started with the safest.
That was why he found himself in the library now. Months of watching had led Alastor to learn that Y/n was quite the reader. If she wasn't in lessons or doing something with her mother, she could most often be found in the library.
Alastor smiled as he caught sight of her heel, bouncing gently in the air between the shelves. He rounded the corner and there she was.
Y/n was completely engrossed, entirely oblivious to her surroundings. She lay haphazardly on a little couch beneath the window, her dress pooling up around her thighs as she intently turned the page.
"Well, well, well." Alastor hummed, leaning against a bookshelf, "Just the little doe I was hoping to see."
Y/n jumped, startled by the sudden noise. She had believed herself alone. Slowly, she lowered her book to her chest, raising her eyes to the source of the strange speech.
Those hungry, soulless eyes. Y/n jumped to her feet, her book falling to the floor as she hurriedly smoothed her dress.
Alastor smirked, amused by her anxiety. Pulling himself from the shelf, he took a few steps forward. Sensing his presence, Y/n looked up only to find him standing directly in front of her.
Her hands hung useless in the air for a moment before she settled them at her sides.
"Ah, Mr. Hartifelt." she stuttered, cursing herself for the failings of her voice, "I didn't see you."
"I know."
He was circling her now, looking her up and down carefully. Y/n turned on the spot, keeping her eyes on him always. She did not come to a stop until he did, until they were standing face to face once again.
"I have a proposal for you."
Y/n wasn't quite sure why, but the words struck a sudden fear in her heart. Yes, she had been surprised, anxious before but this was different. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in suspicion.
"Well," Alastor began, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket and shirt as he spoke, looking away in a show of superiority, of confidence, "I've noticed the way you..." he paused, meeting her eyes once again "watch me. I must say, I am quite flattered. I have found myself watching you as well, even."
Y/n nearly laughed. Could he possibly be that stupid? For weeks, Y/n had been blaming herself for her inability to be truly polite to the man. For God's sake, her perpetually oblivious parents had even scolded her for the fact that she watched him in a distinctly nervous, fearful way. Did this man truly think it was something other than distaste? Than a complete and utter lack of trust?
Alastor's smile grew at the expression on Y/n's face. She was just so easy. It was just so... fun. He continued, keeping his tone slightly bored, his cadence carefree and slow.
"I intend on asking your father for your hand in marriage."
It wasn't a question. He wasn't asking her opinion, if she would like that. It was a statement, a threat. He was telling Y/n the shape of her own, previously undecided, future.
Y/n sat down, falling back to the couch behind her. Alastor leaned in, placing a hand on her shoulder.
The act, which should have been gentle, sent shards of glass into her body. His grip was just so tight. Y/n felt as if, should Alastor raise his arm without letting go first, he would take a chunk of her with him.
The image of the man before her, bloody and feasting on her remains, flashed across Y/n's mind. Something about it fit all too well.
"I'm sure your parents would be glad to be rid of you." he whispered, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.
She laughed ever so slightly, merely a sharp exhale through her nose. Y/n looked up.
"He'll never say yes."
Alastor straightened up, raising his eyebrows. He did not move his hand.
"And why is that?"
"You're new money." Y/n shrugged, for once grateful to her parent's sense of superiority, "He'll never agree."
There was a crazed look in Alastor's eye, his smile having vanished. Y/n felt the tips of his fingers as they pressed harder into her shoulder. They were little knives, tiny daggers. She was sure his grip would leave pinpricks of blood in its wake and then, the pressure was gone.
He stood before her once again, smiling. Completely composed.
"We will just have to see about that, my dear."
The minute he was gone, Y/n raised a hand to her chest. She struggled to catch a breath that she did not realized had been lost. Somehow, Alastor always seemed to do that - to draw all the air out of a room with his presence.
She felt trapped. Unsure of what else to do, Y/n leaned down, rescuing her book from where it had fallen mere minutes ago. She found her page, settled herself back in to place. She tried to read.
Y/n could not focus. The dread ate at her, gnawing heartlessly on her ribs.
With a sigh, Y/n placed the book on her lap, her gaze turning the window. The wide world beyond was bright, sunny, warm. There was not a cloud in the sky and bees swarmed the magnolia planted a little ways away. It was so perfect, so idyllic. Y/n felt separate. She felt somehow caged.
Her father was bound to say no, she was certain of it. Sure, he liked Alastor well enough, was fond of the man even. But her parents were old fashioned. She was their one and only child, she was a deal waiting to be made. While Alastor was worthy of promoting their company's products, he was not worthy of their daughter's hand. At least, Y/n hoped.
Things had just been changing so quickly of late, the world had been changing. It was like there was this chaos and it swarmed around her, telling Y/n she had to catch up, that she needed to catch up, or she would fall forever by the wayside.
Y/n had tried, in the past, to discuss the sense of unease she felt around Alastor. She had tried to tell them that she was absolutely certain the man was not to be trusted. Her parents had not listened however, they had merely brushed Y/n's concern off like a light smattering of rain on their shoulders.
They tried to convince her otherwise. The conversation always ended the same way however.
Her father would sigh. He would stand from wherever he had been sitting, grabbing the glass of whatever he had been drinking harshly in his hand.
"Good thing you're not the one working with him, then." he would announce and then, he would leave the room.
If Y/n's mother was there, she would receive a scolding. If not, she would simply be left alone.
So Y/n prayed, she begged whatever god was listening that her father not allow such a union. For the family's standing, for her - it did not matter so long as he said no when faced with Alastor's request.
And what if her father really did say no?
Still, there was this sinking feeling, this overwhelming doubt. It was almost like Y/n felt doomed either way because, well, she was absolutely certain that Alastor was capable of more than he let on and she had absolutely no interest in finding out what shape that capability took.
It was like she was standing on a cliff's edge, on a tiny little edge with the rock pressed into her back. The abyss gaped open beneath her, hungry. Y/n looked down and could see straight to the stomach. One wrong move, she feared, and she would fall. Those jaws would close forever and she would be eaten, devoured, dissolved into hips and ankles and tears.
The only thing was, it seemed like every move was the wrong one. She was searching for handholds, places her grasping hands could find purchase, and all there was to be seen were teeth.
----
NEXT PART -> To Be Eaten pt. 2 (Yandere!Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)
A/N this was getting too long so i ended it before getting to everything i had planned. i might make a part two if people want because of this.
Percy Weasley x Female!Slytherin!Reader: Pride and Pure-Blood Prejudice
Summary: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a pure-blood family in possession of a daughter, must be in want of a plan."
Rating/Tags: G (Reader-Insert; Female Reader-Insert; POV Second Person; Background Relationships; Reader Is a Hogwarts Professor; Slytherin!Reader; Female!Reader; Hogwarts; Romance; Rivals to Lovers; Post-Second Wizarding War)
Pairings/Relationships: Percy Weasley/Reader
Tag List: @imaginesfire
Ao3 Version
Word Count: 11,183
Request: "Hii! If requests are open could I have a Percy Weasley and reader where reader becomes a professor at Hogwarts post war and Percy comes to visit her while shes in class once?? And the students are teasing them obv, he tells her he came to give McGonagall the invite to their wedding and the students insist to hear how they got tgt, so she tells them? She was the head girl (was in Slytherin) and its just Percy and her reminiscing their days at Hogwarts? Really cute and fluffy??? Thanks!!!"
Requester: @acupnoodle
Notes: Another long-awaited request done and dusted! Originally, I had plotted out a much more dramatic story for this. Then I went back and reread the request--always a good idea--and realized it called for it to be "really cute and fluffy." So I scrapped that and came up with this instead. I don't know if it's "really cute and fluffy," but it is at least more cute-and-fluff adjacent than my first outline would have been.
Pride and Pure-Blood Prejudice
The approaching close of another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry heralded many things, not all of them positive. More than half the students faced two months without access to any magic at all. Even the remaining small portion of pure-bloods would be at the mercy of their parents' thoughts about underage magic over the summer. And even before all that, the dark cloud of final exams loomed. Still, the warming weather, the thawing lake, the smell of the Forbidden Forest's awakening wafting through the castle's open windows all mixed together into a bewitching cocktail that drove all reason from the students' minds. Suddenly even the most-attentive couldn't Carpe Retractum two thoughts together if those thoughts weren't about plans for broomstick races after supper. Never had you experienced this phenomenon more than during your class of fourth-year Slytherins late that May.
"I take it by all the chattering you've mastered the reductor curse already?" you called from where you stood by your desk at the front of the room.
A modicum of the whispering faded. You heard a few half-hearted murmurs of "reducto" that couldn't have shredded a quill. Mostly all that changed was that the laughter grew a bit nervous. Exhaling sharply, you folded your arms across your chest and tapped at an elbow.
"You realize that I don't have to give you class time to practice for the practical exam. I'm doing you all a favor here."
"Yes, Professor [L Name]," the group recited—but you noted the blatant tone of sarcasm.
Did Aurora ever have problems controlling her classes like this? You couldn't imagine that somehow. Perhaps this was part and parcel of being a younger instructor. How could you expect the children to listen to you when you were only six years out of Hogwarts yourself?
"Mr. Talbot, if I see you point your wand at anything but what I placed on your desk again, I will deduct house points from you," you said.
The boy in question—the current Slytherin seeker with the dainty looks to match—flopped back into his seat with a cheeky grin. "From your own house, prof? You wouldn't."
"Professor—"
"Try me."
"Professor?"
"You wouldn't want us to lose the House Cup to Gryffindor again," said Talbot.
"Professor!"
"What is it, Miss Rao?" you asked in a tone of forced patience.
The willowy Indian girl didn't bat an eye at your tone. "Were we supposed to have a guest lecturer today?"
"When have I ever brought in a guest lecturer?"
"Well, then who's that that just walked in through the door?"
You followed her pointing finger up the rows of desks to the classroom's entrance to find that indeed someone had joined the class—a man far too old to be taking Defense Against the Dark Arts at this level. His shock of bright red hair and the spattering of freckles across his pale face made him instantly recognizable to you. He was no threat. Once he'd given you a miniscule wave hello, you pivoted back in Talbot's direction to say:
"Ten points from Slytherin, and detention tonight for suggesting I play favorites."
That got Talbot's attention. He sat up straight and opened his mouth furiously. "But we've got practice tonight!"
"I'll let the rest of the team know where you'll be. And don't think I won't have you benched during the next match if you say what you're thinking right now out loud."
That taken care of, you turned back to the redhead. Percy Weasley smiled somewhat sheepishly at your approach.
"And what are you doing here, interrupting my very important lesson, Weasley?" you asked.
"Oh, it wasn't all that important, Professor. Friend of yours?"
This question came from one of the girls closest to the door—a long-limbed blonde named Spencer—and was spoken in a manner you knew very well, having once been a 14-year-old girl yourself. You decided not to remark on it. At 25 years old, Percy knew better than to flirt with underage witches. He seemed to get Spencer's gist as well, though, and quickly bent to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. She let out a sad little sound at the sight of it while a few of the other girls tittered.
"I just came to deliver McGonagall's wedding invitation." After a moment of searching inside his robes, he produced the square of paper—enchanted so that the flutterby-leaf frame would grow straight from the page when read by the recipient—as if concerned you might not believe him without evidence. "Thought I'd drop in and see you at work on my way to her office."
Your cheeks warmed a little bit. If only he'd come on a day or for a session other than this one. If you hadn't known better, you'd think that he'd chosen that exact time to come because he'd see you completely failing. But you did know better. Percy Weasley had grown up—and it helped that all the eyes glued firmly to him had him shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"You couldn't have just sent the invitation via owl like the rest of them?" you asked.
He cleared his throat nervously, averting his eyes. "Given that she's the one that got us together, I thought she deserved to have hers delivered in person. That, and I thought it would be nice to see you at work for once."
One of the female students squealed at such a high-pitch that the noise could have been mistaken for a mandrake cry. You could have sworn you felt a nosebleed coming on. "Professor, is this him? Is this your fiancé?"
You thought you'd lost control before? Now you had no control, and it didn't appear as though you'd be regaining it anytime soon.
"Yes, Miss Yang." You gestured at the stock-still man beside you. Percy had turned a shade of scarlet you'd only seen once or twice over your years of knowing him. Well, what did he think would happen when he interrupted your lesson? That you wouldn't try to embarrass him a little?
Okay, perhaps you hadn't grown up as much as you liked to think.
You went on, "Everyone, this is Percy Weasley. Percy, this is...well, my class of fourth-year Slytherins."
A chorus of "awww"ing rose from the girls in the room. But if you'd believed that a brief introduction would get all of the students refocused, you were sorely mistaken. Once the expected gushing quieted somewhat, the familiar buzz of pure-blood confusion started up.
"Weasley? Why does that name sound familiar?" a burly boy called Acaster wondered aloud.
Talbot smacked him on the chest with the back of his hand. "Stupid! There's a Weasley on the Hollyhead Harpies!"
"There's a Weasley that works with aurors, too!" called a boy named Bruce.
"But Professor," a deep crease appeared between Rao's dark, perfectly-shaped eyebrows, "aren't all Weasleys Gryffindors?"
"They are," you said. "The most recent generation of Weasleys are, anyway."
"You're marrying a Gryffindor?" Yang asked.
Good news: None of them sounded angry. They simply seemed confused. This was a massive improvement, no matter what Percy's mortified expression indicated. You had to be willing to give these particular students grace. After all, they'd spent their first year at Hogwarts under You-Know-Who's regime. The aftereffects of that experience continued to linger, especially in the house noted mostly for pure-blood fanaticism for the last few decades.
“Well," you admitted, “it wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”
The room erupted. All the questions and comments blurred into one another until Spencer's voice rose above the rest:
"How did the two of you even get together?"
Percy coughed again. "It's something of a long story."
"And embarrassing. For both of us," you added as you laced your fingers through his that weren't clutching McGonagall's invitation like it would serve as a substitute for protego if the students decided to attack.
"Tell us! Oh, please, Professor [L Name]! Please?"
Several others in the class—mostly girls—joined her in the begging. Every single item meant to be turned to dust by the end of the period sat forgotten on the tables. Perhaps you could use this to your advantage.
"If I tell you, I'll have to assign extra homework in place of the missing lesson," you said.
"Okay!" "Sure!" "Oh, I don't mind at all!" All these you heard from various places in the classroom. And then:
"Absolutely not!" Talbot looked absolutely aghast. His friends around him, as well as several other boys scattered across the place, took up booing in agreement. You tried not to smile when you said:
"Tell you what. Anyone that can successfully use reducto on their object before I finish the story won't have to do more work after class."
"Can't you just let us leave early, prof?"
"No. Practice or listen. Your choice. Ah-ah-ah." You held up a finger as the young man opened his mouth furiously. "The option of being benched during the next quidditch match remains, Mr. Talbot."
He fell back into his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and stuck out his lip in an unseemly pout. You stifled a chuckle at his antics. This became moderately more difficult when his friends rushed to cheer him up. Hadn't the house team player in your year experienced the same attention?
Seeing everyone settle into one of the two offered activities, you returned to your desk. Percy followed somewhat stiffly behind you. You looked expectantly up at him from your seat, but he only motioned for you to go on. Well, if he wanted to dump the responsibility of telling your love story to a hoard of teenage girls in the midst of puberty, you just hoped he wouldn't live to regret it.
"Percy and I met on our first train ride to Hogwarts..." you began.
******
The chill of fear seeped into your bones the moment the Hogwarts Express left King's Cross—as well as your mother, father, and baby sister—at precisely 11:00 a.m. that September morning. You could hear the eager chatter of the other students all around you, but you felt disconnected from it all. Never before had you been this far away from your family. A sudden desire to throw yourself out of the locomotive and forget all about your magical education sized you. How could you ever have thought you could manage to go to a boarding school? How could you have ever thought you could be entrusted with the plan? Just when you tightened your grip around the handle of your trunk and the stand of your owl's birdcage, however, you learned the hard way why no one else risked standing in the middle of the aisle once the journey started.
"Hey! Watch it!" someone snapped as you both fell in a heap to the hard floor.
Once you surfaced from the tangle of limbs, clothes, and chests, you spotted the boy who had crashed into you—red-haired and red-faced with anger and embarrassment as he, too, stood up, a task made more difficult by the fact he appeared to be wearing clothes several sizes too big for him. Well, no need to ask for an introduction from him; his bloodline couldn't be more obvious, and you doubted your parents would care much about your manners while interacting with a Weasley.
"I think you ought to watch out," you said as you brushed invisible dirt from your muggle costume. "It's not as though I was hard to see."
The Weasley boy's colored darkened. "You aren't supposed to stand where other people are walking!"
"Is there a rule against it?"
"If there isn't, there should be!"
"Well, I think there should be a rule against running straight through the train like a wild graphorn!"
The boy's eyes, hidden somewhat behind the lenses of his crooked glasses, roved across your entire body. You instinctively hugged yourself to prevent him from seeing anything he might be looking for, but too late.
"You're a [Last Name], aren't you?"
You couldn't miss the note of disgust in the question, and returned it with an equally nasty: "And you're a Weasley. What's your point?"
"My point—"
"Percy! There you are!"
A clatter of rapid footsteps heralded the approach of two additional Weasleys. The one that had spoken was the oldest of the two. You couldn't tell how much older he was, but old enough to have a red-and-gold "P" badge pinned to the front of his chest. The other boy didn't look much older than you. The first was tall; the second, somewhat broader and distinctly more freckled.
"Percy," the eldest said again, "Mum told you not to run off before I got you settled."
"I don't need you get me settled, Bill. Just get to your prefects' meeting, would you?"
"He says like his whole plan wasn't to beat you to that compartment and spy on the entire meeting." The second Weasley smiled knowingly.
Percy scowled, which was as good as an admission on his part. Bill rolled his eyes. They landed on you, and he held out his hand a little sheepishly.
"Where're my manners? I’m Bill, Bill Weasley. Who's this you banged into in your eagerness to experience school bureaucracy, Perce?"
You took the hand without returning his smile. "I'm [Name]."
"She's a [L Name]!" Percy burst out indignantly.
"So?" asked the currently-nameless boy.
Percy could only splutter in answer. During his display of abject incoherence, Bill bent to pick up Percy's trunk from the floor in a pointed motion.
"Good grief," he said. "You two haven't even been sorted yet and already you want to start with the house rivalries. Come on. Let's find you and Charlie seats. I'll tell you all about the prefects' meeting after. Okay?"
Begrudgingly, Percy followed, though not before throwing you a very dirty look. You distinctly heard him mutter, "We already know what house she'll be in anyway," as he sped to catch up with his brothers.
Your mouth fell open in outrage. Then you reconsidered hurling any insults after him. There was nothing wrong with being in Slytherin, and there was nothing wrong with taking pride in one's pure-blood heritage. But a boy like Percy Weasley would never under such things. So you snapped your mouth shut, finished gathering your things, and steeled yourself to go hunting for your true peers—peers willing, you hoped, to take part in a bit of bashing to soothe over any hurt feelings that a run-in with a Weasley might cause.
With any luck on your part, he would be sorted into a different house than you were, and you'd never have to deal with him again.
******
Long before the arrival of that highly-anticipated acceptance letter, your parents had made the plan for your life very clear to you. The future of the [L Names], potentially even of all pure-blood families living in Magical Britain, lay squarely on your tiny shoulders. You were to attend Hogwarts, get the best grades in your year, climb the social ladder, fill every single leadership role available, and land an important job at the Ministry—not as minister, of course, but someone positioned to make sure the right legislation found its way to the desks of the right people.
Quite the task to assign an eleven-year-old girl who had hardly set foot outside her family's grand estate. But you knew from the beginning that you would do it. After all, you were a [L Name]. That confidence did not last.
Of all the people to muck up your life's work, why did it have to be Percy Weasley?
You'd got your wish that first night at school a little over a year ago. Percy ended up in Gryffindor (no surprises there); you ended up in Slytherin (no surprises there either). Much to your dismay, sitting at different tables over meals didn't keep him out of your life completely.
"[Name]! Watch out! The fire's too hot!"
Busy grinding your teeth in the direction of the half of the dungeon the Gryffindors in the class insisted on skulking in every potions class, you hadn't noticed the growing flare from the end of your wand until your friend beside you yelped like that. Smoke curled from the burnt remains of your hair-raising potion. You groaned and dumped the rubbish out so that you could start from scratch.
"What is wrong with you?" the girl beside you asked. She was a petite blonde with a mastery of etiquette your parents envied on your behalf. Though her family did not have the same claim to wealth or lineage that yours did, they encouraged you to maintain the relationship in the hopes some of her good breeding might rub off on you.
"Nothing," you muttered.
"Something," she half-sang, blue eyes glued to her own work.
But you couldn't tell her the real cause of your problem, because it was Percy Weasley. Confessing that to anyone in your house would be a huge mistake. A muggle-lover like him? Constantly outperforming a pure-blood like you? That sort of confession would get you laughed out of the common room.
"Sorry, Natalia," you sighed after a minute or two of brittle silence. "I've just been a little distracted lately."
She snorted. "I'll say. That's the fourth class assignment I've watched you bungle this year, and we've only been back a week."
Sadly, her observation was correct. More sadly, your claim of being distracted wasn't even an outright lie. Ever since your final grades of first year came back after exams, you found yourself unable to think about anything except how you should have been top of your class if not for one boy beating you at nearly every subject—and you'd barely squeaked by him with a higher score in defense against the dark arts.
"How could someone with a family like that beat someone with a family like yours?" your fathered thundered when you gave him the news. You wondered the same thing all summerlong.
But your parents had granted you grace: Another year to prove your inherent superiority to Percy and everyone else at Hogwarts. Spending the entire period trying to knock him on his butt via nonverbal magic wouldn't do you any good if it meant scorching a second potion. Professor Snape's favoritism only stretched so far; you doubted he could overlook that sort of stench even for a member of his own house.
Keeping your eyes off Percy took some concentration on your part. Still, you managed until close to the end of class. Just when your hair-raising potion turned the required vibrant green, Professor Snape pounced.
"Weasley!"
"Y-y-yes, sir?"
You rolled your eyes while safe in the knowledge that Professor Snape couldn't see you from that angle. Always so falsely polite with the instructors was Percy. Anyone watching could tell he was terrified. The freckled skin underneath his shock of red hair had turned milk white.
When Professor Snape spoke again, his voice resumed its usual quiet vehemence: "What, exactly, do you call these rat tails?"
"Rat tails, Professor?"
"Do not simply repeat what I say and expect that to constitute an answer, Weasley. Why," Professor Snape scooped up a small mound of naked pink strips from Percy's cutting board, "are your rat tails sliced in such a manner?"
"They're...that's how they came, Professor."
"'Came'?"
"They were purchased presliced, sir."
A long, purposeful pause followed Percy's hushed confession that everyone in the room heard. Several of your fellow Slytherins, including Natalia, tittered on cue. Percy somehow turned even redder. Visible sweat glistened on his brow even in the dim torchlight. He kept his eyes trained directly at Professor Snape to avoid all the amused gazes trained in his direction.
Professor Snape dribbled the rat trails in his hand back onto the tiny mound atop Percy's cutting board, then tutted.
"Prepackaged potion ingredients, Weasley? Do you understand how slicing rat trails lengthwise rather than crosswise could affect the qualities of your hair-raising potion? And what of more dangerous potions to come? How far do you expect to go in my classes with cheap ingredients like this?"
Finally, Percy broke eye contact and muttered something about Bill needing the more expensive supplies for his N.E.W.T.-level potions course. Professor Snape merely sniffed at this excuse.
"Quite. Well, I shudder to think what condition the ingredients will be for any future Weasleys that stumble into this school."
With that, he swept away from the Gryffindors. Natalia and the others around you giggled a moment longer before hurrying to return their attention to their own work. Professor Snape said nothing as he glanced into each of the cauldron's on your side of the room—until he came to yours.
"An excellent display as always, Miss [L Name]," he said.
"Thank you, sir," you replied piously.
Professor Snape didn't linger. You kept your head down until he started on the row of tables behind yours. Only then did you look up and meet Percy Weasley's indignant stare. Your lips curled up in an obvious smirk. If he still thought he could beat a pure-blood like you for two years in a row, he was even stupider than whoever bought him those rat tails.
******
Quidditch season opened your third year with the highly-anticipated match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Despite the truly abysmal autumn weather that November Saturday morning, practically the entire school packed into the stands to watch. Curiosity about Gryffindor's new seeker drew even the less-sports-inclined students to the stadium. And what a game it was—apparently.
Having never been interested in quidditch yourself (it had ceased to be part of "the plan" after your first handful of broom-riding lessons at the age of six), you'd quickly tired of the cold and the wet, and now you could only hear the alternating cheering and booing from where you huddled out of the wind underneath the seats. You shivered underneath your oversized green-and-silver scarf. Even down here, the breeze whistled through the wooden rafters.
"Gryffindor scores again!" the announcer shouted, their voice magically amplified to the point you could have sworn you could feel it vibrating in your teeth.
Another surge of boos rose from the seats that you'd only recently escaped from. You resisted the urge to clutch at your earmuffs as you thought longingly of your homework and the relative peace and quiet of the common room.
A sickening crunch somewhere high in the air caused you to grimace in sympathy just as much from the pain that lanced through your own head as the Slytherins took up cheering instead.
"Oof! That looked painful. And...yes, it seems he's lost the snitch! Better luck next time, Charlie," said the announcer.
God, you hated quidditch. But you couldn't just leave the match. Already you'd lost major social points for leaving to get away from the noise for a moment. If you slipped away to the castle now and your friends discovered you huddled over a desk in the library later, you would never hear the end of it. And somehow, you just knew that word of your flight would get back to your parents. Future leaders didn't lurk in the shadows while everyone else their age enjoyed a sporting event, even if those future leads did find the constant commotion overwhelming.
You took a deep breath of the damp, chilly air and braced yourself to make the climb back up to join the rest of the school. The instant you reached the bottom and could see a square of pale gray clouds overhead, you heard a loud thud followed by the Slytherins screaming "foul!" so loudly and insistently that they drowned out whatever explanation the announcer might have offered.
Your foot froze in the air mid-step. On second thought, maybe enduring some teasing from your friends and a handful of disappointed letters from your parents would be worth getting away from this place. You spun around at once to make a beeline for the nearest exit. A peek over your shoulder every few seconds ensured that no one would surprise you by coming to retrieve you.
Too bad you were so focused on what lay behind you that you neglected to consider what might lie ahead. You collided into something warm and hard that sent you falling to the ground.
"Oof!"
And who should it be that turned around to see you there but Percy Weasley, your least favorite person on earth? And he looked as immaculate as always. His robes were unrumpled; his scarf hanged evenly around his neck; even his glasses didn't have a smudge or a speck on them. You, meanwhile, must have looked ghoulish in comparison, having spent a good deal of time recently trying and failing to not run your fingers through your hair in distraction.
You had just opened your mouth to demand to know what he was doing here when Percy beat you to it:
"Excuse you. Do you make it a habit to crash into everyone you meet, or is it just me that's so lucky?"
"I'd rather not see you at all," no one could make you bristle like a knarl faster than this boy, "so why would I go out of my way to speak to you?"
Percy squared his shoulders, pushed his glasses further up his nose, and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you wouldn't have seen me at all if you weren't lurking beneath the stadium, would you? Which, by the way, is absolutely against the rules. I suppose I should go find Professor McGonagall, so she can put a stop to whatever it is you're plotting to do to ruin the match."
"I'm not plotting anything!"
"Oh, really? Then what are you doing down here?"
You were not about to confess to Percy that you couldn't stand quidditch, the cold, or continuous loud noises. He might have been a Gryffindor and therefore embody all the irritating qualities of your rival house, but he was also a pure-blood. All pure-bloods knew how to find and exploit the weaknesses of their peers. The Weasleys wouldn't be exceptions.
"What I'm doing here isn't any of your business," you snapped in an attempt to cover up your obvious hesitation. "Besides, if it's so forbidden that anyone stand here during a game, what are you doing?"
After an equally long pause, Percy's ears went red. Your heart leaped at this obvious tell. Now was your chance to turn the tables. He had a weakness he wanted kept under wraps. Maybe if you could weasel (pun intended) this out of him, you could keep him from getting the teachers involved in your hideaway plot or even get a leg up on him in class.
And then an enormous, "Ooooo!" rang out from everywhere above your heads. Percy jumped at the accompanying echoing crack and the following thump that you both could hear even ensconced beneath the field.
"That was quite a fall for new Gryffindor seeker Charlie Weasley!" the announcer cried—and you saw every drop of color drain from Percy's face. It made his freckles stand out even more than usual. "Wait! Is he getting up? I think—no! He's down again! The ref is calling for a timeout. Is this the end of Gryffindor's hopes for an early-season victory?"
You could have sworn. Being down one seeker would only make this abominable game last longer; no one had much faith in Higgs; he couldn't find a gold coin if he had a niffler to do the job for him, and it was anyone's guess how he'd secured a place on the team to begin with. But before you could shove past Percy to be on your way back to the castle, you were stopped by his hands shooting out to grasp your upper arms. So taken aback by this were you that you let out involuntary, undignified squeal.
"What did you do?" he demanded.
"What do you mean, what did I do?"
“You obviously sabotaged him so that Slytherin would win the match!”
“And how am I supposed to have done that, genius? I’ve been down here practically the entire game!”
“And here comes Madam Pomfrey. It’s not looking good for Charlie Weasley staying in this game!” called the announcer.
Just as quickly as he snatched you, he let go. Percy’s eyes had gone wild. He looked so un-Percy-like that it caused you concern. You frowned, cocking your head to one side, and asked:
“Weasley? Are you going to be sick?”
Percy didn’t answer. Instead, as a sort of bored buzz took over the stadium, he turned away from you to race in the direction of the stairs to the Gryffindor seats. So great was his haste that he tripped over his own feet and bounced back up before you could check if he was okay. And then he disappeared.
After a moment or two of loitering there in stunned silence, you shuddered. You’d forgotten something very important: You hated Percy Weasley. So what did you care about his brother’s health or Percy’s apparent worry over it?
The answer: You didn’t. Not at all. Not one little bit. All you cared about was returning to your common room for a good, long moan about some blood traitor having touched you without your permission. With any luck, such a harrowing tale would prevent the rest of your peers remembering that you’d ditched them less than an hour into the game.
If you didn’t care, though, then why did you pause at the exit to look over your shoulder in case Percy had tumbled backward and cracked his head in his earlier rush? Only because you knew you’d react similarly if you heard your little sister crash spectacularly out of the sky in front of a host of uncaring onlookers. That sort of familial bond you could understand.
But Percy remained out of sight. You had to assume that he hadn’t hurt himself, then. Some of the tightness in your chest eased somewhat. This allowed you to push your way through the curtain hanging over the opening to the grounds. Thus began your long and uncomfortable hike back to Hogwarts itself.
Would Charlie be all right? Crushing Percy Weasley academically wouldn’t bring you the same sort of satisfaction if you only defeated him while he grieved the loss of a sibling. Besides, Charlie was one of the few Gryffindors that didn’t sneer when he spotted you in the corridors.
******
Everyone loved the last Hogsmeade weekend leading up to the Christmas holidays. The village always brought the Hogwarts students out in force that day. Of course, most of them needed a break from the drudgery of studying, but the trip had more going for it than that. Hogsmeade really pulled out all the stops that season: Magical, un-melting snow glistened in every window; living gingerbread families welcomed passersby into warm shops stuffed with free samples of sweets; butter beer flowed endlessly from the taps at the Three Broomsticks; and enchanted candles of cool flames flickered in the depths of the trees and the garlands and the wreathes that adorned every last building on the main street. All the festive decorations made it impossible for you look anywhere without being reminded of how soon you’d be leaving for home.
At least you could look forward to spending the holidays at your grandmother’s palatial home in Magical Spain. After several months of near-constant rain, you couldn’t wait to see the clear ocean waters and the sandy beaches. What you could wait for were the multiple high-class Christmas parties you’d be forced to attend, wherein all the members of your extended family and the upper echelons of magical society would feign interest in your life. You’d already begun mentally preparing how to answer the stream of questions over your elective courses and expectations for your upcoming O.W.L.s—expectations which were swiftly dwindling after you’d barely eked out the third spot in charms the previous year. And, yes, one of the people that outscored you again had been none other than Percy Weasley.
Was it really any wonder that you found yourself trailing behind Natalia and the others as you all trudged through the thick snow on the path leading up to the Shrieking Shack? You kept your eyes glued to the toes of your dragon-hide boots in a vain effort to keep your mind off your icy surroundings. The Slytherin common room might not have been cozy by most definitions, but it had a fireplace, unlike the dilapidated building your friends insisted on visiting after deeming the Three Broomsticks too boring to spend the afternoon there. Soon, you’d be headed for a warm armchair, though, and the small pile of books you’d checked out for defense against the dark arts research the day before.
“Oh, there’s the source of the foul smell,” Natalia’s voice lifted high enough that you could hear her despite having lost sight of the group around the next question. “Ghosts don’t often smell like dung.”
And there went any chance of a rapid retreat to school. You picked up your pace to spot the rest of your group surrounding a red-headed boy you knew all too well.
“When’s the last time you washed those robes, Weasley?” asked one of the boys.
“Don’t be an idiot. The stink’s sunk in. Blood traitors smell worse than Muggle-borns. You could burn his clothes and the stench would still be stuck up your nose,” said another.
"Can't you hear us, Weasley?" Natalia asked. "Or is there dung in your ears as well?"
Percy appeared to be bracing himself for a fight as he stared unblinkingly at the shack behind the broken remains of fence in front of him. Apparently, he only finished doing this mental preparation the minute you slogged up to join the rest of the Syltherins. With one of his trademark tremendous inhales that typically only preceded his most condescending in-class monologues, he spun stiffly in your direction.
His appearance ground every thought in your head to a sudden halt. It had been some time since you'd seen Percy up close. After your confrontation with him at the quidditch stadium the year prior, he had avoided you so completely that you suspected a banishing charm might be involved. And, Merlin save you, that absence of face-to-face contact with your nemesis must have done something to you, or to him, or to both of you. The moment his hard blue eyes met your [color] own, you simply froze. Percy noticed, too; some of the fight drained visibly from him—momentarily. Then he puffed himself back up to his usual arrogant proportions.
"[Name]. I should known you couldn't think of anything more than the most basic of insults," he said.
The abrupt vitriol thrown your way broke you of the strange trance that Percy's visage had put you in. "Me?"
"Yes, yes." He stuck his nose straight into the air and attempted to shove his way through the group without making eye contact with anyone else. "The impoverished boy smells bad. Very clever."
Your friends parted to let him through. They at least knew enough to avoid real magical fights. Your Head of House couldn't (and wouldn't) ignore outright rule breaking in the open like this. But once Percy got to the path back down to the village through the tangle of stifled snickering, he stopped, pivoted, and looked straight at you once more.
"If you're going to waste so much time and effort dreaming up different ways to embarrass me that you can't be bothered to keep up with me in transfiguration, I'd think you could come up with something more creative than commenting on my lack of wealth from time to time."
"Good point," Natalia put in before you could point out you had nothing to do with this altercation. "There's also your blood status, and the fact your parents decided to breed like puffskeins so they can make the real pure-bloods go extinct. Right, [Name]?"
"Because your blood status is doing what for you in charms? Are you going to blame your slipping rank on that?"
All ideas you had about protesting fled, as did any about how good Percy looked in his snug, handmade hat. A ringing sound filled your ears. How dare he. How dare he when you'd spent evening after evening after evening holed up in an unused classroom until you could perform the perfect summoning charm. So what if he could do that without the practice? At least you had the nerve to put in effort! And unthinkingly, your fingers curled tightly around the wand nestled in your robe pocket.
"What did you just say?" you snarled.
He squared his shoulders and said loudly, "It's sad you can't do 'real' pure-bloods proud because you're too busy thinking of excuses why I do better than you in every class."
"I could run circles around you in charms, Weasley!"
"Is that so? That's not what final grades showed last year."
"Depulso!"
"Protego!"
And so it began, the wild, magic-infused sort of snowball fight only unsupervised teenaged witches and wizards could have. No sooner had Percy shielded himself from your onslaught of snow than did Natalia step with her own "Wingardium Leviosa!" The two boys with you, Augustus and Mortimer, joined in as well. Soon, ice and slush and freezing-cold water were being flung every which way. You forgot in the rush of adrenaline how much you hated the cold and winter; all you wanted to do was teach Percy Weasley a lesson—for assuming you'd started this; for always, always, always being one step ahead of you; and for daring to get cute in the months you hadn't spoken to him.
"What on earth is going on here?"
All the levitating snowballs fell with wet crunches at the sound of an adult's voice coming from nearby. The laughter and screaming slowly faded into nothingness. There stood Professor Sprout, her eyebrows raised in shock at seeing students of your pedigree conducting themselves in such a raucous fashion. And there did not stand Percy. He must have slipped away in all the commotion. How very strangely un-Gryffindor of him.
"Miss [L Name]? Would you care to explain yourself?" Professor Sprout prompted you.
Thankfully, Natalia came to your rescue. She slung one arm around your shoulders and said, "Just a snowball fight between friends, Professor. We needed to blow off some steam before we all head home, you know?"
Professor Sprout frowned, but as her eyes roved from one out-of-breath student to the next, clearly she didn't spot Percy either—or anyone else she would believe a gang of Slytherin fourth-years might have been harassing. She let out a sharp sigh, then motioned behind her down the slope.
"Very well, then. But back to school now, the lot of you. Before you catch cold."
Natalia released you and gave you a jaunty wink before she skipped after your instructor. Augustus and Mortimer did not linger. You, on the other hand, straggled behind them even more so than on the hike to the shack to begin with. One mortifying thought burned so hotly inside you that it kept you distracted from the cold sinking into your wet robes:
Oh, God. Had you developed a crush on Percy Weasley? That was absolutely not part of the plan.
******
It came as no surprise to you when you found an angry Professor McGonagall waiting for you one night the early spring of your fifth year. It came as no surprise, but still you flinched at the sight of her thin lips and flared nostrils. So she had not got all her frustration out after scolding you for over an hour this morning. Someone on the path to becoming a high-ranking Ministry official wouldn't quail at a teacher's obvious fury, but you couldn't help it. You'd never been in trouble like this before.
At least Percy Weasley had got himself in the same boat as you. He had beat you to the assigned location, perhaps having been dragged in person by his Head of House. Your Head of House had simply relayed the message about detention to you, then coldly told you to get out of his sight. Somehow you still found Professor McGonagall more frightening. How did Percy have the gall to look ashamed instead of terrified? Her narrowed eyes followed you until you stood right next to Percy.
"Mr. Weasley. Miss [L Name]."
"Yes, Professor?" you each said in unison. You caught a flash of light in the dim hallway—Percy eye's moving in your direction and away again.
"I needn't reiterate how disappointed I am in the both of you," she said. "I needn't reiterate it, but I shall. You are the best students in your year. You are intelligent and resourceful. Not a single instructor here questioned either of your appointments to the position of prefect. And yet what have you done since getting your badges?"
You shifted uncomfortably with your gaze affixed to the space above her right shoulder. Next to you, Percy let out a shaky breath.
"Bickering," she supplied for you. "Name-calling. Petty insults. In short: Not working together."
What point was there in protesting? She was right on every count. Percy didn't say anything either.
"And now you can't even perform your duty to look after the younger students! When you were supposed to be patrolling, you were dueling! Did Professor Dumbledore not make it clear to you just how important it is that no one gain access to the third-floor corridor? Well?"
Jumping to attention, you said, "He did, Professor."
"And still you chose to place this ridiculous rivalry over the safety of your peers?"
Guilty silence answered her. She knew she had hit the mark and relaxed somewhat at your wilting. However, her voice remained tight when she said:
"You will clean up the mess you made without the use of magic. It will take as many evenings as it takes. Your approved supplies have been provided. I suggest you use this time to make amends and find some common ground. If this childish behavior continues, I will appoint a new Gryffindor prefect next year, Mr. Weasley, and Miss [L Name], I will heartily suggest to Professor Snape that he do the same. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor." The thought of ruining the plan in one fell swoop had all the blood draining from your face. Percy, too, looked pale when you risked a glance at him, but when he echoed you, his voice sounded much steadier than your own.
"Good. Begin," said Professor McGonagall.
Despite the command, you each stood at attention until the sound of her footsteps echoing against the stone walls faded entirely away. You eyed Percy warily in her absence; he did the same to you. Wordlessly, you grabbed a scrap of cloth from a pile on the floor and started the long, slow process of cleaning.
And slow that process stayed. One night of hard manual labor turned into two turned into three turned into five. You and Percy scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at the magical muck you'd left stuck to the floors and the ceilings and the paintings, never once breaking the stuffy hush that fell over you the moment you each turned up for detention every night. The only noise came from the clattering as you and he moved the ladders around or dropped used rags to the ground.
It didn't take long until you knew another night of this would drive you mad.
"Say something, would you, Weasley? This is stupid."
You heard his familiar sputtering and then the faint clack of the paintbrush he was using to carefully clean a painting as it fell from his hand. After he'd picked it up again, he said:
"If it's all the same to you, I'd much prefer we go on as we have been."
"McGonagall told us to find common ground," you reminded him. "We're never going to accomplish that if we don't speak to one another. Or is being prefect too much responsibility for you? Are you looking for an easy excuse to get out of it?"
A pause ensued, then he said, "You first," somewhat sulkily.
Well, you had been the one to bring up the idea of communicating. You took a few minutes to cast about for any subject that might interest Percy. Truthfully, for a boy that factored so heavily into your life, you really didn't know much of anything about him. Finally, you settled on asking, "How's Charlie doing?"
"I'm not particularly interested in giving you any information about my family members."
"Fair."
You'd probably have given a similar answer in his shoes. But that did complicate things. How were you supposed to get to know someone as hardheaded as a bludger? Frowning, you went on scraping a glob of hardened goop for another moment as you followed that train of thought: bludger, balls, snowballs.
"I never said thank you." You didn't take your eyes off your work.
"For what?" he asked, plainly suspicious.
"For not getting us in trouble over that snowball fight in Hogsmeade last winter. At first, I thought you 'd run off like a coward. But you probably could have taken the lot of us with one hand behind your back, huh?"
He hesitated before saying, "Not you, I don't think."
"So you're not denying that you helped us out."
"Well, to be honest, I started the whole thing. You weren't really the one who wanted to get a rise out of me. It's just that I saw you, and that's all I could think about. And besides," he added, "I wouldn't want you to be stuck in detention so much you stopped motivating me to do better in class."
"Good to know you know I could have said something nastier, if I'd wanted to. But I wouldn't ever tell you that you stink. You don't."
"Commentary on one's lack of hygiene is a bit more pedestrian than I would expect from you."
"Yeah." You grunted for dramatic effect as you leaned back from the stubborn spot. "So was this spell. I never should have tried it."
"The Bat-Bogey Hex is deceptively difficult to perform."
"Are you saying that you could have done it better?" You turned to face him at last. To your surprise, he had done the same to you.
"Given your grades, I know I could have done it better."
Tension thrummed between you. Percy tipped his head up to look down his nose at you. You could have whipped your wand out and destroyed all your hard work. Instead, you smiled.
"I am catching up to you, you know. Little by little."
"I'll believe that when I see it."
"Oh, I don't think you'll see me coming at all."
"No one can see the approach of someone who isn't moving."
You stifled a laugh with one hand. If you weren't much mistaken, Percy did as well.
"Here," he said. "What you're cleaning with is filthy." He levitated a fresh scrap of fabric up to where you were perched with, indeed, a sticky square covered in yellow-green-brown goo. You snatched the clean one out of the air as you lifted a single eyebrow.
"I thought we weren't allowed to use any magic at all for this."
Percy shrugged as he returned to his job. "I won't tell if you won't."
And though you didn't realize it then, something had changed—and that something would put the plan you'd spent five years enacting in serious jeopardy.
******
Sixth year, spring, when the grounds of Hogwarts woke up from their long hibernation. The blooming flowers near the lake enticed many students outside to enjoy those first fine days of warmer weather no matter what horrors lurked (or didn't) inside the castle itself. Normally, you would have been among those students, eager to warm yourself after several freezing months of sitting as close to the Slytherin common room fireplace as you could without risking your robes catching fire. But you couldn't join them that evening—not that Natalia made resisting that temptation easy when she remained so constantly wheedling at your shoulder.
"It wouldn't be that big a deal if you skived off once," she argued for the umpteenth time since dinner. And you gave her the exact same reply that you each time as well:
"It will be a big deal if another kid gets petrified on my watch."
"Like that's your responsibility!"
"I am a prefect, Nat."
"If Dumbledore really thought the Chamber of Secrets had something to do with this, do you really think he'd be leaving unqualified witches and wizards in charge of protecting the school? I mean, you're good, [Name], but you're not that good." Her hand grasped yours to pull you to a halt the moment you placed your foot on the first set of stairs. "Come on! The guys got ahold of some Dr. Filibuster's last Hogsmeade weekend. We're gonna set them all off, and it's going to be spectacular."
You pulled your hand firmly from her grip. "Yeah, sitting around while you and Mortimer snog under fireworks sounds like a grand old time."
"You're such a spoilsport! Besides, if it's the snogging you've got issue with, I happen to know Augustus wouldn't say no to a session with you."
"Spoilsport's my middle name. Tell you what. You can have both the boys with my blessing."
Her exaggerated eye roll indicated that she'd given up her campaign at last. "Fine. Don't say I didn't try to rescue you from listening to Weasley pontificate on whatever-the-hell billywig's flown into his bonnet all evening."
"I won't," you said.
Natalia stuck her tongue out at you before she flounced off in the direction of the front doors. You allowed yourself to relax as she disappeared into the throng of those squeezing out into the last bit of pre-curfew sunlight. Only once you could be reasonably certain she would be too distracted by her boyfriend to give you a second thought did you risk returning your climb up the stairs to your assigned meeting place.
The corridor was empty when you arrived. That gave you some pause. Most people wouldn't find that strange; the majority of those inside Hogwarts had only recently finished eating their evening meal. But you knew that shaking Natalia off had cost you time. You were late, and that meant your partner ought to already be here. Holding your breath, you strained your ears until—yes—you heard a muffled combination of slurping and sighing coming from somewhere close by.
Faster than a flying horse, you strode across the hall, over to the false stone wall, and through its facade. Inside was so dark that you could barely see the contorted shape of two tangled bodies a few feet away.
"Ahem!" you said loudly, careful to make it very plain that you weren't actually clearing your throat.
The writhing shape rapidly split into two. A few murmured partings rose between them, followed by another couple of kissing noises, and then the smaller of the two shadows hurried right past you without so much as a hello. You kept your eyes averted to allow them some degree of dignity. Percy, as he marched out into the daylight, you did not afford the same privilege to.
"Really, Weasley? Clearwater?" you asked.
He bristled and whirled on you. This was all he had to express his embarrassment now, having turned so red already that his hair looked light in comparison to his face. "Yes. Clearwater. We've been dating for months now. You know this. I don't know what else you expected."
You pretended to think about this. "Well, I'd say what I expected was finding you here waiting for me, not taking the opportunity to cop an extra feel before patrol. More importantly," you added upon seeing him turn somehow even more vibrant, "you do realize she's a bore, and you could hook up someone more interesting, right?"
"Like who?"
Now it was your turn to blush. Thankfully, being a boy, Percy wouldn't notice. "Clearwater's not the only good-looking girl at Hogwarts. That's all I mean."
"I'm not discussing this with you again."
"Then quit snogging your girlfriend when you know I'm on my way."
Percy had no reasonable counter to this suggestion, and he knew it. He smashed his lips into a thin line before he turned to wordlessly march the direction from which you'd come. You let him get a head start so that your heart would have time to calm down from your tenth near-confession in so many days. No wonder you were the only sixth year not seeing someone—you'd set your sights on the one guy that had no reason to consider you as an option.
"Are you coming?" You realized with jolt in your stomach that he'd stopped to look pointedly over his shoulder at you. "I'm not interested in hearing another lecture about dereliction of duty from Professor McGonagall because you were lollygagging."
"Because I'm the one making us run late," you muttered.
"You are now," he said, and if you hadn't known better, you would have sworn he said it in a singsong.
But the moment came and went. Percy soon went back on his way. Embolden by his arrogance, you ran after him to settle into a comfortable stride equal to his own. Now to just wait for the most opportune moment...
"Are you about ready for finals?" you asked by way of distraction.
Percy took the bait. He smirked as he tapped at one temple. "As always. I've been making sure to spend more time practicing for the defense against the dark arts practical, too. You won't be beating me this year."
"Oh? So you haven't been shoring up the gap between us in potions?"
"That grade doesn't count! We agreed to that!"
"Are you sure I didn't lie to get you to put your guard down? I am a scheming Slytherin, after all."
His eyes darted back and forth. Some part of you hated that he almost believed you to be capable of that. You ignored this part of you to spring your trap. Quickly but deliberately, you brushed the back of your hand against his. This had the exact reaction you'd anticipated: Percy nearly jumped out of his heavily-freckled skin. Pretending not to notice his coming to a complete stop to gawk at you, you sauntered forward a handful of steps before tossing him an innocent:
"Something wrong, Weasley? We wouldn't want Professor McGonagall to spot you dawdling on the job, now, would we?"
His mouth snapped shut, fell open again, snapped shut a second time. You took some quiet pride in driving a pedant like Percy Weasley to speechlessness. Too bad it didn't take him long to recover. But as the two of you began in earnest your rounds of the school, you couldn't stop your heart from pounding or your mind from playing back again and against the moment that your skins touched. A brief twinge of guilt reminded you of your life's overarching plan. There in the moment, though, you couldn't find it within yourself to care that you might yourself smash it to pieces.
******
You found Percy in a predictable place after everything wrapped up for the year. The end-of-year feast had been its usual disaster: your newest defense against arts teacher turned out to be have been a werewolf the entire time; Percy's youngest brother had been injured again following Harry Potter into one nightmare or another; and Gryffindor won the House Cup for the third time in a row. All the cheering and booing and crying and screaming had long since faded away as the students drifted upstairs to pack for the train ride home the following morning. Your own trunk lay meticulously packed at the foot of your bed for the very last time. But once you'd finished with that chore, you couldn't sit still, and you'd slipped out of the somewhat sullen Slytherin common room in search of the one person you had yet to give a proper goodbye.
"Reliving your glory days, Weasley?" you called when you spotted him standing in front of the hourglasses used to track house points. The Gryffindor glass remained, as was now typical, filled to the brim with rubies. The emeralds in your own looked pitiful in comparison. But you didn't dwell; the House Cup no longer concerned you at all anymore.
Percy's eyes drifted in your direction, then away again. "It has been nice breaking your streak for the last few years."
"Oh, please. Gryffindor's only beat us because Professor Dumbledore has a soft spot for Potter."
"And we're the clearly superior house."
"But you don't argue that Harry Potter might have something to do with it?"
Percy scoffed, but the sound care across as less scornful than normal. You understood his mood without asking for clarification. Both you and Percy faced similar circumstances in the coming days.
"I'm getting ready to go on my farewell tour," you gestured behind yourself. "Care to join me?"
"We're not on patrol, so we really shouldn't. It's after curfew."
You rolled your eyes and tapped the embossed, shield-shaped badge on your chest. Percy had one nearly identical to yours pinned to his robes, though his was red and read "Head Boy." "If there was ever a time to abuse your position, it's tonight. You'll never have another opportunity."
"You're a terrible influence," he said, but one end of his mouth twitched.
"I'm the most fun you allow yourself to have, Weasley."
He left the hourglasses and walked over to you. Neither of you said a word for a while. You simply surveyed the still corridors of Hogwarts with a practiced scrutiny that came with three straight years of overnight patrols. Sirius Black remained at large, after all. But the silence between you and Percy felt stiff and strange.
He had become one of your closest confidants after your two weeks' worth of detention during fifth year. You knew about his guilt over failing Ginny the year before; he knew about your sister's first terrifying bout of accidental magic when you'd been home alone with her over the summer. He spoke to you about his businesslike breakup with Penelope; you spoke to him about Natalia confessing feelings for you that you couldn't reciprocate even if you wanted to. He told you all about his desire to surpass his father's legacy at the Ministry; you told him him all about the plan. But now? Nothing. Perhaps your friendship really wouldn't last past that final night at school.
You couldn't allow that. You had to try something to break the ice:
"Be honest, Weasley: You're not really ready to leave this place, are you?"
Though he didn't look in your direction, he chuckled. "Actually, I think it'll be nice to leave Ron in charge of everything."
"Ron? What about Fred and George?"
"No one smarter than troll would leave those two in charge of anything."
And you resumed the quiet walk again for another good amount of time. You'd gotten him to open up to you by begging him to talk once. Should you do so again? But Percy beat you to it, clearly noticing the uncomfortable atmosphere himself. He cleared his throat before he said somewhat awkwardly:
"Are you keen to get started with the Wizengamot Administration Services?"
"Ooh, yeah. I just can't wait to sit around doing paperwork for the foreseeable future. Seven years spent learning how to copy a document in triplicate. I'll be living the dream."
"There's nothing wrong with paperwork," he said stiffly.
"There isn't, but most of us don't live for it."
"Well, if you hadn't foisted all the Head Boy and Girl paperwork on me this year, you'd be a lot more prepared to handle your new position."
"True."
Your swift acquiescence put him off guard. He looked like he wanted to ask you something, but instead he just resumed the walk—for a little while. Soon, he broke the hush again:
"And shouldn't you be excited? You couldn't ask for a better starting place to—what was it?—'ensure pure-blood survival in an increasingly muddled magical world"? It's all part of the plan, isn't?"
"Bugger the plan," you mumbled, but by his shocked expression, you could tell that Percy had heard.
"Pardon me?"
You took a deep breath. "I don't care about the plan anymore. To be honest, I haven't cared about it for a long time."
"What—but—" He struggled to recover for a moment. "You've put all of this work into it. Why give up now?"
"I never said anything about giving up. I've just come to realize that I've made a few missteps. Besides, there are more important things in life than ensuring pure-blood survival."
"Such as?"
"Oh, I can think of one or two things off the top of my head."
The space between you and him pulled taught. You looked up at him. He looked down at you. Professor Dumbledore often spoke of the inherent magic found in love. You'd always thought that sounded a little sappy before. But not just then. Something deep inside your stomach trembled; your arms shook as you reached forward for Percy's shoulders.
And then you were kissing Percy Weasley, and Percy Weasley was kissing you back.
In retrospect, you deemed that kiss not at all inherently magical. You hadn't kissed anyone before that night. Your noses bumped into each other; his glasses crunched against your forehead; and it took a few adjustments on his part to guide your mouth into the proper location. Worst of all, everything concluded far too soon for your liking.
"For example, I'm pretty sure kissing blood traitors isn't part of the plan either," you said breathlessly.
Look a little dazed, Percy licked his lips and nodded. This very tiny response caused your heart to leap into your throat.
"Was that...okay?"
His gaze sharpened. "Won't your parents be upset with you for ruining the plan?"
"I've come an awful long way for them to write me off now." You shrugged. "And anyway, there's always my sister if I turn out to be a total disaster. Maybe she'll be better at following the rules."
Slowly, almost as though someone had cast Arresto Momentum on the two of you, Percy took your hand. You curled your fingers around his. He squeezed. And just like that, shoulder to shoulder, you and Percy Weasley took your first steps together out of school and into adulthood.
******
In the present, you and Percy stood next to one another directly in front of your desk. The shift in the lights in the window showed that quite some time had passed since you started your story. The fascinated fourth-year girls had surrounded you while you spoke, and they all let out an ear-splitting squeal now that you'd reached the end.
"You kissed him first?"
"You gave up the plan for him?"
"What did your parents think?"
"What did your friends think?"
"What took you so long to get married?" asked Rao.
"Well—" Percy began, but you smoothly slipped your hand into his before he could start to answer.
"What with everything that happened during the war, we needed more time to figure things out," you said. And you certainly had. All the ways life had transformed you and Percy into different people; the actions you both took in times of hardship; your messy breakup and your even messier getting back together—those sorts of gory details really weren't appropriate to explain to kids this age.
"But now you are getting married, and you're going to live happily ever after?" Spencer demanded.
"Something like that," said Percy.
"How good it is to hear that two of my best pupils have always been so casual about breaking the rules they promised to uphold," cut in a new voice, one far too past puberty to belong to one of these Slytherins.
"Professor McGonagall!"
You and Percy sprang apart. In the middle of the room, just behind the gaggle that made up your audience, stood the headmistress herself. She didn't appear terribly upset. Nonetheless, a few of the boys ostensibly still practicing their wand work let out soft, gleeful "Ooo"s.
"Mr. Weasley. Last I checked, you were employed by the Ministry of Magic. What are you doing inside of my school? And more importantly, why are you interrupting my defense against the dark arts instructor?"
"I—I came to deliver your wedding invitation, Professor."
"I might be old, but I'm not senile enough to mistake this classroom for my office."
Percy hung his head. Professor McGonagall approached him with her hand outstretched.
"Well? My invitation, Mr. Weasley?"
He hurriedly pulled the paper from inside his robes and offered it to her. Smiling, she pocketed the rectangle.
"It's about time that I received this, and that you finally got around to asking Miss [L Name] to marry you."
"Professor, I—"
She gestured for silence as the booming class bell rang out. Then she turned toward the watching students.
"I believe you all have another class to attend shortly."
Obediently (albeit with obvious snickers of delight at seeing their teacher get in trouble), they packed up their things. Talbot nearly managed to sneak by you—nearly. You touched his shoulder to get his attention before whispering, "Good work on that reducto." Soon after that, the classroom had emptied, leaving just you and your shame-faced fiancé with Professor McGonagall.
"Mr. Weasley, if you will follow me to my office, we will discuss what actions to take about your decision to trespass. I believe I have some biscuits you'll enjoy."
Percy looked less like a scolded krup at the suggestion of a snack. He followed her to the exit. Just as she made it to the door, Professor McGonagall had a parting shot for you as well:
"And, Miss [L Name], I will be coming by periodically in the coming days to ensure that the rest of your lessons are staying on task."
"Yes, Professor," you replied.
She smiled again for another half second. Then she left you to prepare for your inbound class of second-year Hufflepuffs. You couldn't help grinning as you used a spell to wipe the blackboard clean for a new set of directions—even if you knew Professor McGonagall would make good on her promise and you'd have to be on your best behavior until the end of the term.
Percy Weasley, as usual, was a whole heap of trouble, and harder to control than a bunch of fourteen-year-olds. But you'd never, not once, regretted giving up the plan for him. This new plan made you happier than the old one ever had.
Alastor Yandere with a Gen Z reader. Initially, Alastor didn't like the reader, but he began to develop feelings for her, and the reader likes to tease him by calling him "Old Man"… Could Alastor have conflicting feelings because, even in hell, with the same age at the time of death, they are from completely different decades? What if the reader didn't care about her appearance, always wearing cute pajamas, baggy pants, and coats that hide her body…? What if the reader had a terrible diet, always eating sweets, junk food, and lots of soda?
A/N This seems like fun. I have a final scene planned out already just from reading the request. Also I feel like this reader ur asking for has the same energy as the reader character I did in Loving You (Alastor x Gn!Reader)
Addict (Yandere!Alastor x Gen Z!Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation and self harm. I think that is it but please correct me if I missed something.
Word Count: 3,964
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Alastor was not a man who could easily be irritated but Y/n? It was like someone had created her specifically to get on his nerves.
She was wild. Unrefined and untamed. If ever a sinners form had been so perfect, it was Y/n's for what was she if not raised by wolves? What was she if not a wolf herself?
Long, sharp teeth. Keen, perceptive eyes and a smile that'd make you run for the hills. She was all bite, it was like there was nothing else sometimes.
"What are you lookin' at, old man?" that had been the first thing she ever said to him.
For all Alastor's grace, for all his necessary perfection, there was Y/n. She was the chaos to his calm, all fight. All rage and curiosity and protection. Gods, did he want her.
"What are you lookin' at, old man?"
Alastor watched. He gathered information.
Angel was the first to fall to her charms. Both born and raised in Brooklyn, the decades did not seem to matter. Home was home and for one another? They were home.
To Y/n, Angel seemed to be a remnant of her family, of the people she had grown up with. Apparently, though they had lived in such different times, when it came to people who were actually from the borough and hadn't just moved there from the midwest? Nothing had changed.
For Angel, Y/n was a treasure. She was something small and worthy of protection. It did not matter that she was more than capable of fending for herself, what did matter was that she could have been his younger sister. His niece or grandchild for all the spider demon knew.
That was not the only thing connecting the two demons, however. There was more than that.
Angel? Hell's most famous porn star? His soul was owned by Valentino. He worked for the Vees and Y/n? Well, when she had first arrived in Hell, she had found a job at the very same establishment.
There was no contract, no soul buying involved in her position. She was merely hired, in the traditional sense. She was a consultant of sorts, as far as Alastor could gather. She had worked to advise the Vees on their precense online, she had cultivated their draw. And when they had raised the issue of her attitude? She had quit.
Y/n, the no name demon, the wolf without a pack, had quit. More than that, she had opted to work for what was essentially the other side. She had joined the Hazbin Hotel.
There was the interest drawn in the fact that she quit, she was allowed to leave. Normally, the Vees killed rather than allowing the people under their employ slip out of the grasps. So there was the spark of curiosity Alastor gained through the fact that she had worked for them and survived, that she had quit and survived, because what exactly did that say about her?
Then there was the disrespect.
"What are you lookin' at, old man."
Y/n seemed to only give respect once someone had earned it from her. When she thought someone unworthy, she made it known.
It had been in that first handful of weeks after her arrival. Alastor had just been passing through the lobby, on his way to address bigger and better things. It had just been right place right time.
Y/n, Angel, and Pentious had been seated on the couch. Well, Pentious and Angel had been sitting. Y/n was laying lazily across an arm chair in her pajamas. The trio had been watching some show when the commercial break had arrived and who but Vox, her former employer, had flashed across the screen.
"Ugh, weather boy." she had grumbled, taking a bite of her kitkat, the snap of the treat echoing in the relative silence.
Alastor had paused. He had not turned to face the group, he would never betray himself like that, but Alastor listened.
"Weather boy?" Angel repeated, turning to her with raised eyebrows.
"Yes." Y/n had nodded intently, "Derogatory."
Alastor nearly had to stifle a laugh.
"Okay..." Angel had at last replied, realizing he would receive no further explanation from the girl.
This overheard interaction had told Alastor two very important things. The first? Y/n knew Vox's past. The second? She was not his biggest fan, to say the least.
So, not only had she worked for the Vees and escaped with her life, but the Vees' own leader had trusted her enough to divulge his human past. On top of that, with all the potentially damming information she held in her hungry grasp, when she had left? When she had joined the opposing team? They had allowed her to live. Vox had allowed her to live.
The thought that she, like Sir Pentious, had been sent to the Hotel as a spy briefly crossed his mind. It was not like Y/n was an entirely unsuspicious person. Just a few days before, she had forced the Hotel's entire population into a picture.
"Come on, Old Man, you're not in frame!"
Y/n was always calling him that, old man. It did not seem to matter to her that they were technically around the same age. She had spotted his getup, seen his persona, and labeled him accordingly.
It was irritating. Every time she said it was like nails on a chalkboard to Alastor's ears, but he had a deal to make good on. As long as she was involved at the hotel, Y/n was protected. All Alastor could do was hope she really was running some sort of con or that she would quit at a harsh word from Charlie as she had seemed to do with the Vees.
That was the thing, however, her disrespect. The more Alastor watched Y/n, the more he realized the idea of her quitting was nothing more than a dream on his end, a hope that was never to be fulfilled. Y/n loved Charlie. In her mind, Charlie and Charlie alone seemed worthy of her respect as an employer.
"She treats me well." Y/n had shrugged when Vaggie had confronted her about this, "Good pay, good benefits. Also, I believe in her and her ideas. Yeah, the Vees were dicks, but that isn't why I left. I left because their business practices are unethical. They don't care about people, just money and power. I don't want to be attached to something like that. Charlie? She is all people. I love that about her."
So, a soul that had landed in Hell upon her death and cared about ethical business practices? It was not something Alastor thought too much about. It was so easy for that to be a lie, some made up excuse. Every day Y/n seemed more and more like a spy which brought Alastor back to the picture.
"Come on, Old Man, you're not in frame!"
How Y/n had pouted when he hadn't shown up in it, when his form had merely been a glitch on the paper. How she had begged him to retake it, and how Alastor had refused.
"Alright," Y/n had huffed as she walked away, "not like I wanted your fuck-ass bob looking me in the eye every day anyways."
Breaking into her room had been easy. While the guests and staff of the hotel had been out running trust exercises, he had snuck his way in using his shadows, intent on finding some evidence of her betrayle.
Y/n's room was a mess. Scattered clothes on the floor empty bags of chips on the tables type of a mess. But then, there had been that photo.
Y/n was not a spy. She did not take a picture of them to send to her Overlords, no. How Alastor knew this? Well, it was because above the bed, right next to where her head must lay at night, Y/n had tacked the little polaroid to the wall.
Above every guest she had written a name and on the white strip at the bottom?
Family.
Oh, Alastor had thought, So that is how she is.
Suddenly how Y/n had gotten to Hell in the first place was a much more interesting question. So Alastor made it his mission. The closer he got to Y/n, the more he put up with her nonsense, the closer he got to his answer.
There was just one flaw in his plan. The closer he got to Y/n, the less her nonsense seemed to truly be that. It was like this.
When Y/n had first met Husk, seeing that he was a cat demon, she had partially transformed. Her ears had grown less domesticated, her teeth somehow sharper, her tail had wagged and she had started barking at him.
"Oh, what the fuck!" Husk had exclaimed, ducking to avoid her attack.
"Uh, do cat sinners and dog sinners normally hate each other like this?" Angel had asked a very distressed Charlie as Y/n had rounded on Husk once more.
"No?" Charlie had replied, her voice thick with concern, "At least, I don't think so?"
"Well it's happening!" Husk had yelled as he clambered up onto the bar top, Y/n barking at his feet, "Are you guys gonna just keep discussing it or fucking help me!"
A sudden laughter had broken through the fear gripped group and all had watched with wide eyes as Y/n stood up, allowing her features to fade back into her more humanoid form.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I fuckin' got you!"
"Dude..." Angel shook his head, unable to keep the slight smile off his face.
"Not cool, man." Husk had hissed.
Y/n, catching her breath, smiled brightly up at him.
"I'm sorry." she offered, extending a hand to help him down which Husk hesitantly took, "I just couldn't resist."
As Husk found himself on solid ground once again, he shot the laughing Angel a disapproving look before fixing his attention back on Y/n.
"Well, next time, resist."
"Yeah, yeah." she waved him off, "I promise. For what its worth? I really dig your whole vibe. The aesthetic? Immaculate. I love a highly themed anything and you? Are definitely highly themed."
It was then she had turned to Alastor, surveying him carefully. He had watched her right back and Y/n had smiled.
"I severely fuck with your vibe too, Old Man." she had announced, "We love a bitch who is committed to the bit."
Nonsense it may have seemed but in reality? A calculated move, a breaking of the tension. She had seen Husk, noticed his demeanor, and realized very quickly that the best way to break down his barriers was to do it all in one go.
It was a strange tactic, but it had worked. Unlike the other members of the Hotel, Y/n never had to fight to gain Husk's friendship. It was simply already there, once she had apologized enough.
It did not take very long for the other members of the Hazbin Hotel, employees and guests alike, to come to terms with Y/n. She was always playing practical jokes, poking fun at people. This was because, they soon realized, it was how she showed love.
Strangers never got this treatment, nor did those she disliked. It was because she loved them, trusted them, that she felt comfortable running wild with them. While she could still be vaguely irritating on this front, it did endear her quite a bit.
Around the same time they realized this, Alastor realized something else as well. He could only gain so much information about the wolf demon from watching, from hiding. If he really wanted to get at her core, he was going to have to talk to her.
And talk to her he did. The little obsessive bug in his brain bit out any irritation, any annoyance. He wanted information, he needed it. He needed to understand this girl otherwise, Alastor feared, it would all come caving in.
She was a liability, he rationalized. If he couldn't understand Y/n and her motives, he couldn't control her. If he couldn't control her, who was to say what damage she could cause the hotel.
By the time he had his question answered, Alastor was hooked.
They had become quite close in the months since he had deemed her a potential threat. It was Alastor's attempt at gaining intel that had started it, but since then it had spiraled into something much more.
"Why does it matter how I lived or died?" Y/n had asked him over a drink one night, "I am here now, might as well make the best of it."
"Call it, curiosity." Alastor had replied tactfully.
Those keen eyes of hers narrowed.
"I'll trade you?" Y/n had offered at last, "You tell me yours I'll tell you mine?"
It should have made Alastor suspicious, should have made him clam up, but it didn't. Instead, his smiled simply widened because how could he complain? Once he had this final, vital piece of information, he could leave Y/n well enough alone and wasn't that what he wanted? To be over with this?
"Sure." he nodded, with no intent of actually honoring his words, "I'll tell you mine."
"Well," Y/n began, "I think my form mostly comes from how I lived. I had this group of friends, see? We were family. We grew up together, helped one another through a lot of shit. We were all hopelessly, platonically, in love with each other in one way or another and each of us was fiercely protective. Hence," Y/n gestured to herself, "the wolf. I guess they were my pack, so to speak."
"And your death?"
Y/n sighed, drinking deeply. She leaned back in her chair.
"It was stupid." she shook her head, returning her gaze to Alastor once more, "I was in this abandoned train yard with a few people, just fucking around. We were drunk, climbing shit, just having a grand old time until... well," Y/n's cheeks flushed pink, she averted her eyes, "I fell." she admitted, "It's easier to tell when I am 'fully transformed' or whatever you wanna call that shit, my bones are all wonky and bent at weird angles. But, yeah. That was me."
Alastor sat silent in thought for a moment.
There was something completely unsatisfying about her answer. He didn't know what he had expected. That Y/n had been torn to bits by dogs? That she had been a murderer? A thief?
"So why are you here?" he found himself asking and Y/n let out a rueful little laugh.
"Sometimes your own survival comes at the expense of others."
It was not the answer Alastor had been expecting. Before he could interrogate her further on the matter, Y/n spoke again.
"I'm just fucking with you." Y/n smiled, elbowing him playfully in the side, "Nah, I just was everything you're not supposed to be to get into Heaven. For one, I am not even Christian or religious and for another thing, I am bisexual. Also had suicidal ideation for years," Y/n sighed, "self harm, a whole host of other things. Anger, lots of anger. Oh! And...."
"Yes?" Alastor asked.
"I was a bit of a kleptomaniac as a kid." Y/n shrugged, "Nothing too bad and never from small businesses. Just lighters from CVS and shit like that, you know? Little things that made me feel more in control of my life. What about you?"
He was not sure why he did it, what compelled him, but, despite all his intent, Alastor told the truth.
"Mass murderer." Alastor hummed lightly, an attempt to pass the it off as a joke, "Got mistaken for a deer while burying a body."
Y/n's eyes narrowed. She watched him carefully for a moment before she broke out into peels of laughter.
"You? A mass murderer? Sure." she said once she had calmed herself down.
Y/n raised an arm, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as she leaned in. Normally such an action would have set Alastor off, would have led him to brush off the touch at the very least. For the first time since he could remember, however, Alastor found himself enjoying the human contact.
"I'm gonna get the truth outta you eventually, Old Man."
So no, it hadn't been over. The answer had not satisfied his question because, Alastor's question hadn't really been the source of the hunger, of the wanting.
He began to test her, to try and get a reaction out of the wolf demon. He was just trying to make her angry, Alastor rationalized, to see if she was a threat in any other sense. He had confirmed Y/n was not a spy, not unless she was the best liar in all of Hell which he very much so doubted, but that didn't mean she could not harm the hotel in other ways. That her intent couldn't still be bad.
So he began to test her. He would purposefully run into her in the hallway, pretending not to have seen the smaller demon as they collided. He would use his shadows to pop into existence just behind her back.
The most Alastor ever seemed to get in return, however, was a startled gasp. A hand held to the chest. A kind smile.
"Jesus fuck!" Y/n would exclaim and then, realizing it was him, she would catch her breath.
Her hand would lower.
"Al," she would happily exclaim, "what the fuck!"
Then, one time, she had put a hand to his face.
"Ya gotta stop, Old Man." she had announced, shaking him slightly as she caressed his cheek, "You're gonna give me a heart attack."
After that? Well, Alastor would never admit his true goals to anyone, not even to himself.
A hand on the shoulder here, a grabbing of her waist to pull Y/n back from some precipice there. A pat on the head.
"What the fuck?" Alastor overheard Angel exclaim once as he exited the room, having trailed his fingers across Y/n's back as he left.
"What d'ya mean?" Y/n had hummed, the bag of chips in her lap rustling as she reached for another.
"Uh, what was that?"
"Dunno, isn't he always like that?"
"Y/n, you are the only person I have ever seen that strawberry pimp touch willingly. Ever."
Alastor had hesitated, listening, waiting for her reply.
"I don't know." Y/n mumbled in response at last, "That's just how I am. I'm touchy, you know that. He's probably just acclimating to me because he is a nice guy."
"Uh-huh. Sure." had come Angel's unconvinced reply.
For all their glistening days of glory, the peace had to come to an end sometime. There had always been the overarching threat of extermination, of the angels. Now it was finally here.
They were attacking tomorrow, targeting the hotel specifically. There was a plan. Alastor and Y/n had helped Charlie create troops and then rally them, but that did not mean there was no fear in the air as they gathered in the lobby for what might be their final night together.
Alastor watched. He watched as everyone hyped Pentious up, trying to give the snake the confidence he needed to confess his feelings to Cherri Bomb. He watched as Y/n, Angel, and Cherri did shots at the bar, as Y/n wrapped a comforting arm around Charlie, as she picked Nifty up and placed her on her shoulder so the little demon could better watch what was going on around them.
He watched as Y/n smiled to Husk, calling something to him over her shoulder as she headed off, at long last, to bed. Her exact words were lost in the cacophony but whatever she had said had made Husk smile too as he shook his head. It seemed the wolf had even been able to win over the grouchiest of the crew.
Using his shadows, Alastor stopped her in the hallway.
"Yeah?" Y/n yawned.
"Just making sure you won't show up to the battle tomorrow in your pajamas." Alastor teased, his heart thundering dangerously within his chest.
"Hey! Rude." Y/n crossed her arms, "But yeah, I know. I wont. If I love anything, I love a theme and what is tomorrow if not highly themed?"
"Off to bed now."
Y/n scoffed, raising her eyebrows.
"Not your kid, Old Man."
"Then stop calling me 'Old Man.' I am only a few years older than you." Alastor explained for what felt like the millionth time.
He did not know why it bothered him so much. The nickname of sorts was, on the one hand, endearing but at the same time, he hated the implication.
"A few hundred years." Y/n teased.
Turning, she made to continue down the hallway.
"I'll see you in the morning!" she called to him, waving over her shoulder, "All dressed up and ready to fight! I promise."
Though Alastor had some doubts as to the veracity of her words, they were proven wrong as he stepped outside the next morning. There Y/n was, not in her normal sweatpants and tank top but sporting what could only be called armor.
Chains dripped off her and in the gaps between them, Alastor could just make out a pair of ripped, light blue jeans with holes cut into the knees and a form fitting black top. She grinned at him as he approached, her teeth sharper than he'd ever seen them.
"See, I told you." she hummed placidly as Alastor came to a stop beside her.
The hour was upon them and yet, she showed no fear. Y/n's eyes were fixed on the place where the angels would come through, where the portal always appeared.
"I am fucking terrified." Y/n admitted.
"You don't look it."
"Oh yeah?" she smirked, turning back to him, "And how do I look?"
Alastor said nothing and Y/n gave him a light nudge.
"Fear isn't a bad thing." she sighed, "Just gotta remember who you're doing this for."
"And who might that be?"
"You, of course."
Alastor's breath caught in his throat.
"And everyone else here at the hotel." Y/n continued, seeming not to notice, "Everyone else in all of Hell, really. But mostly you, and people like you."
"Your family."
The word was sharp on his tongue, sour.
"My family." Y/n confirmed.
The portal was opening now, the first few exorcists beginning to trickle through. Y/n looked up at Alastor once more, her grin wider than it should have been as she began to transform.
"Ready, Old Man?" she asked as saliva began to drip from her elongating face.
Alastor watched in awe as before he knew it, a monster stood before him. He had always known Y/n was no bark and all bite, it was one of her defining characteristics. This, however, was different.
Limbs bent at odd angles, claws sharp, ready for blood. In some strange sense, she was beautiful. In every sense, she was powerful. Alastor understood now why Charlie had paired them together for the battle's fateful start. How she had known this aspect of Y/n and Alastor hadn't was, however, beyond him. In this moment? It did not particularly matter either.
"Just don't die." Y/n hissed softly, her breath curling hot from her mouth.
Alastor's grin grew.
"You don't either." he quipped back.
No, I won't let you.
-----
NEXT PART → Addict pt. 2 (Yandere!Alastor x Gen Z!Reader)
A/n Did this fic make it obvious I was born and raised in Brooklyn? If not, Hi. I am from Brooklyn. My family is generationally from Brooklyn. This reader is aggressively based on myself as a gen z Brooklynite. Also, I don't live there anymore bc gentrification pushed me out. Also I am sorry this one got a bit chaotic, it just came with the territory I fear.
Would you be willing to write Alastor being told he has to take his 7 year sabbatical, and he keeps using any moments he has to watch the reader from the shadows.
I'm just imagining a scene where he tries to tap their shoulder but his deal physically holds him back.
A/N I LOVE THIS OH MY GOODNESS. 11/10. I HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE FOR YOU. Also I felt like this needed so much prep for it to work right that there is a part one. It is linked here tho so don't worry.
Close Enough to Touch pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: ANGST. Emotions? In my Radio Demon?
Word Count: 3,422
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Previous Part (You don't need to read it to get what is happening here but I would recommend it): Close Enough to Touch (Alastor x Reader)
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Things had been good and, for the first time in Alastor's existence, 'good' hadn't just meant 'going according to plan.' They had been genuinely good. That was the worst part of it all.
Deals in Hell could take on a number of different forms, a myriad of dynamics. Alastor's? Well, his was like owing someone a favor.
It hung over his head persistently, constantly. He waited daily for the other shoe to drop.
For almost eighty years, he was allowed to be, to exist, to run rampant and wild among the worst of the worst. It was such a long time, he almost started to believe his part of the bargain would never come. Maybe that was why he had made such a foolish mistake. Maybe that was why he had thought he could build a life.
It had not been on purpose but, sometimes the best of things are stumbled into rather than sought after. One deal with the wrong Overlord and suddenly, she was there.
Well, she had been there before the deal as well, just not in such an... imposing way. She had stood behind Husker, whispering words of wisdom into his ear. It had only been when Alastor had ordered her away from the cat demon, to make things more 'fair,' that Husk had begun losing.
This had intrigued Alastor but not much. It was obvious, he had thought, that Husk had been cheating. That he and the girl had established some code and that somehow, she was able to see Alastor's cards. It would only be after much time that he would learn how foolish an assumption that had been.
The girl had sat quietly, patiently, completely still in the corner. That had been the agreement. Alastor said he would allow her to stay if and only if she did not move or make a single sound and, since the girl had - for some inexplicable reason - refused to leave, that is what had happened. Alastor had set his shadow on her to make sure she held up her end because if she didn't, well...
But, much to Alastor's disappointment, she had complied. For hours she had not even made a single sound. That was until Alastor had finally turned the game around enough to achieve his true purpose. Husk had nothing left to bet and so, Alastor had suggested the man's soul.
At these words, the girl had jumped to her feet.
"Don't you fucking do it Husker." she had warned.
Of course the foolish, power hungry, demon had and, of course, he had lost. The easiest people to trick were always those who wanted something, wanted it enough to make them blind to anything else.
He had expected this easy win. Alastor had walked into the casino anticipating his exit would be accompanied by a new soul under his command. None of that was a surprise. What was a surprise, however, was that this new soul seemed to have some... baggage? It seemed to come in two parts.
Sure, Alastor's deal was with Husk but Husk and that girl, Alastor later learned her name was Y/n, came as a package deal.
Alastor's first instinct had been to believe they were a couple but was quickly proven wrong. Yes, they handled one another with love, but it was never romantic or sexual in nature. It was always only ever the urge to protect, as if they were somehow connected by birth.
Before long, Alastor realized he didn't really care how the pair were connected, he just wanted Y/n gone. She was a nuisance to say the least.
Somehow, as if she had some sixth sense or had been a lawyer in a past life, Y/n always managed to show up right as Alastor was about to enact his contract with Husk.
"What are you doing?" she would patiently ask and, once Alastor had been forced to explain his intent, she would proceed to explain to him exactly why Alastor's request or how he was handling Husk was outside the confines of Husk's deal in some way.
She would keep the same even tone, the same perfect posture. Then she would say something like:
"Okay, I understand that. What I don't understand is why hitting him needs to be a part of this. Your contract stipulates that you own Husker's soul, not his body. Therefore, you are not allowed to corporeally harm him, I would think."
Alastor would argue, but their discussions always seemed to end one of two ways. Either Alastor would disappear with Husk using his shadows and just finish whatever had initially been occurring or, he would be practically forced to stop. Him, the great and feared Radio Demon, metaphorically beat into submission by Y/n. A demon with no power, no respect, no following, just a conscience and a well timed statment.
In a word, Alastor hated it. In several more words, Y/n quickly became the bane of his existence. This left him with a choice. Alastor could either convince Y/n into making a deal with him for Husk's safety, or he could kill her.
The first option was just bad all around. Y/n was clever and she wouldn't be easy to get into a deal in the first place. She had an eye for the details and even if Alastor somehow managed to convince her to give him her soul, he was sure she would figure out a way to use their deal to make his deal with Husk essentially null and void. Husk was useful. Y/n was not. The first option was essentially a non option.
The second option, however, was not entirely bad. Sure, Husk would hate him for all eternity if he ever found out it was Alastor who had killed his precious sister, for he was certain by now that the pair were siblings and not lovers, but it was starting to seem like that was a given of their situation no matter what Alastor did.
She would be gone, out of the way, no longer a nuisance. There would only be one noose tied around his neck instead of two.
That was why he had invited her out that night under the guise of making friends. Alastor figured he would get Y/n drunk, get her to let her guard down, and bam! It would be over before anyone even realized what was happening.
He was almost there. He could tell, the way she swayed ever so slightly on her bar stool. Alastor had been about to suggest they take their little party somewhere else, and after an evening of mindless chatter he was more than ready for this to all be over with, when Y/n spoke, breaking the silence before he could.
"If Husker had to have sold his soul to anyone, I am glad it was you."
Alastor caught the shock a second too late. His brow furrowed ever so slightly before he straightened it out again. If Y/n noticed, she made no verbal observation. His surprise garnered no physical reaction.
"Whatever do you mean, my dear?"
The question was meant to be a threat but it seemed the only thing drinking had stopped Y/n from being able to do was hold her tongue. She shrugged.
"Just that... I don't know, I can tell."
"What can you tell?" Alastor asked through gritted teeth.
He just needed to get through this conversation. He just needed to last a few more minutes, and then he was free. It would be mask off madness, his hands would be drenched in her blood.
Y/n laughed, her cheeks flushed pink from the drink. She looked up at him, a wide smile gracing her features.
"You have a good heart."
It stopped him dead in his tracks. Of all the things Y/n could have said in this moment, it was the last thing Alastor expected to hear from the girl.
Some joke about him being a pushover would have been more appropriate. Even laughing the whole thing off, claiming the original statement was a joke, would have been better. Instead, she had chosen the exact wrong words.
You have a good heart.
"I do, do I?"
Alastor spoon fed amusement into his voice, suddenly incredibly on guard. With teeth bared, he fought the memories threatening to bubble over.
How had she known? She must have known, must have done her research, must have... How had she known?
It was not the first time Alastor had heard the phrase. It was not even the first time the phrase had been directed towards him but here in Hell, after all these years, it was the most important time he had ever heard it.
You have a good heart.
He had almost forgotten. Wasn't that what his mother would tell him when he was crumpled to the floor, curled over in grief, as a child? He had almost forgotten, weren't those the last words that she had ever said to him? How could he have almost forgotten?
Memories echoed. Y/n must have known. There was no way she would truly think something like that about someone like him, so she had to have known. This had to be a detailed and considered planned attack. Otherwise... otherwise none of it made sense.
Alastor raised his glass to his lips. Y/n nodded, insistent as anything.
"I see you." she hummed softly.
He nearly scoffed, she saw him? Alastor could have laughed. Whatever she thought she saw, he knew it wasn't him.
"Underneath all the..." Y/n paused, she waved her hands wildly through the air, gesturing at his whole being, "persona, you've got a good heart. I'm sure of it."
There was something so sincere about the way she said it. Alastor leaned forward on the bar, his full attention on Y/n.
"What makes you say that?"
There was no underlying malice, no forced amusement. Not this time. This time, there was only a question.
Y/n looked at Alastor for a moment. Her eyes like x-ray, he nearly cowered in their imposing vision. It was like she was looking through him, but not in the sense that she didn't see him. More like she saw all of him, every inch, every aspect.
"Well," Y/n began, taking a deep breath, "I don't know! It's gonna sound stupid."
Alastor said nothing. Sometimes, saying nothing was enough. Y/n relented.
"Fine!" she groaned, "I just have, I don't know, a sort of intuition for these sorts of things. My mom always told me to trust my gut, that I had a good one and Hell seems to have... made it more real. I know you're a liar. I almost had you chalked up to being a fraud but, you're not. There is something beneath it all, an underlying current. There is something driving you, some underlying care. I am not sure what it is, but I know it's there. I feel it in my very bones. You're a good person. Somewhere, under all that bravado, you have a good heart."
It was easier to think about that, about the beginning. When they were just two sinners damned to an eternity of suffering, there were fewer things at stake.
He had been cruel, and she had been useful. A nuisance, but useful. He had been powerful and she had taken the time to understand, she hadn't ran with her assumptions.
The little house on the edge of Pentagram City? Those quiet nights basking in nothing save the light of the moon and each other? The way her mouth moved when she spoke, the way she pronounced words with every syllable? These things were off limits.
It was easier to think about the beginning because the love hadn't been there yet. He hadn't known the question, and she hadn't been the answer.
Alastor locked the door and threw away the key. He did not have another choice. The other shoe had finally dropped.
He had fooled himself. He had deluded himself into thinking that she could absolve him of everything, including his deal. Y/n was just so good at getting stains out that somehow, it had made sense.
It had made sense, but it hadn't been true. There had only ever been so many home cooked meals he was allowed to enjoy. Alastor had dug his grave, and now he must lie in it.
All it had taken was one word, and he went dark.
He had begged Rosie, he had pleaded with her. Him! Alastor Hartifelt, the Radio Demon, Hell's most feared Overlord had begged (hands and knees) to be allowed to say goodbye.
But Y/n was not his wife and Rosie? She could be a bit old fashioned.
That was her excuse, anyways. Alastor was almost certain the answer would have been no either way.
It would have been one thing if there was a time limit, but there wasn't. Alastor did not know how long he was to remain unseen, only that he had to. In this present situation, he had never been so grateful for his shadows.
Under the cover of his own self made darkness, Alastor watched. He watched as minutes turned to days and days to weeks.
"I'll be back in a few hours." he had said, "I just have some business to deal with."
Y/n had given him that look, the one that told Alastor she was reading him like a book, a book meant for five year olds none the less. It had vaguely offended him at the time, as it always had. Now he'd give anything for her to look at him at all.
Y/n had given him the look, before nodding once.
"Okay." she had lightly replied, "I'll have dinner ready when you get home."
It always made Alastor fell guilty when she did that, but Y/n insisted and when she insisted upon something, it happened. It was how she showed love, she had told him. Her father had always made sure there was dinner ready on the table because that meant he was taking care of his family. Now Y/n tried to do the same.
Alastor did not know what she had seen in him that day. He did not know if she had known where he was going. The deal even was an unknown. For all Alastor knew, despite never mentioning it to his paramore, she knew.
He did not know how long she had waited, dinner kept warm in the oven and table set. How many hours she had watched the clock, if nerves had ever started to creep in or if she had known he was alright.
What Alastor did know is that the next morning, she woke up at the table. He watched her rub her bleary eyes, throwing her gaze haphazardly around the room. He heard the sigh that left her lips and regretted every single time he had come home too late because of a meeting or a fight or the simple urge to wander the city streets at night. That was time they would never get back, and now they had no time at all.
But Alastor watched, her angel. Incapable of action, he waited.
Y/n continued the normal routines of her life. She went to work, she had Husk over for dinner, she watered the flowers on the kitchen sill. Every night she curled into bed and Alastor imagined falling down beside her.
Never again, he swore, would he evade her touch. Never again would he ask for physical space from the woman. It didn't matter how overwhelmed or overstimulated he got, Alastor swore that so long as he was returned, he would never deny it again.
There was an empty space next to Y/n, an Alastor shaped space. He longed to fill it.
It was two months in that it finally happened, that she finally broke.
Alstor was following their, now normal, routine. Y/n would go about her evening tasks - the cooking, the dishes, brushing her teeth, the book before bed - and Alastor would follow in her shadow, in his own shadow.
Things were different tonight, however. Teeth brushed, Y/n had headed into the living room. She had sat down. She had gone to grab her book and then her hand had frozen, her fingers nearly brushing the cover.
She had stayed there for a moment and then, she had let out a heavy sigh and put her outstretched hand to her head. There, in the living room, she had caved in.
With decisive movements, Y/n got to her feet. Alastor followed diligently as she made her way to the kitchen and, grabbing a chair to stand on, opened the highest cabinet. There, hidden at the back, was a bottle of rye.
Y/n was not much of a drinker. She had seen what the drink had done to her mother, had done to Husk, and she had no desire to take part in such destruction. On occasion, with friends as she had been that first night they had spent in one another's company, that night when things had changed, she would indulge in a drink or two, even get drunk maybe, but never alone.
The whiskey was his, hidden away so Husk would not see it when he stopped by for a visit. Alastor had tried to explain to Y/n that hiding it wouldn't stop him from finding something somewhere else but no matter how many different ways he had stated that fact, Y/n had been adamant. She refused to be part of the problem and Alastor always stopped himself short of explaining how at least if Husk got drunk and passed out in their little home, he wasn't wandering on the street somewhere.
She pulled the bottle, stepping heavily down from the chair. Alastor was relieved to see that Y/n had at least grabbed a glass before she made her way to the table.
Y/n poured herself a drink and downed it in one go. Then, she poured herself another, and another. And Alastor could only watch.
He could only watch as hours later, Y/n dragged herself down the hall to the bedroom. Only watch as she collapsed on top of the covers.
Y/n curled into a ball, making herself as small as she physically could, holding her legs tight to her chest. Alastor watched her back, the curve of her waist, the way her hair fell.
Y/n's shoulders began to shake ever so slightly. It was then Alastor realized she was crying.
Big emotions were never easy for Alastor and Y/n, if she was anything, was a person full of big emotions. He had seen her cry before, had even been the cause of her tears on one or two fatal occasions.
Alastor took a step foward.
Physical touch, that was what always calmed her down. More than anything, when Y/n was hurting she just wanted to be held.
"Please." she whispered into the darkness, her voice cracked and broken, "Please, come home. I need you. I need you here."
Things had been good. Things had been so very good.
Alastor swore that if someone had been listening closely enough, they would have heard a crack emanating from somewhere deep inside his chest. Such a feeling had to be accompanied by sound. A tree was falling and a tree always made noise, but Alastor was incapable of noise because Alastor was, as Rosie put it, 'off the air.'
Instinctively, almost without realizing it, Alastor reached out. Her shoulder was right there - right there. If he could just tap it, he knew she'd know. With that intuition? She would know.
It was like there was a wall. His fingers crumpled against an invisible wall. Alastor was so close, and he couldn't. She was there before him - right fucking there - and worse, she needed him. She was right fucking there and worse, he needed her.
Alastor had known it was dangerous, finding love in Hell. He just hadn't realized exactly how deadly it could be.
There was something on his face, it was tickling him. Alastor reached up, his fingers came away wet.
In all his time in Hell, Alastor had never cried.
How strange, he thought to himself, examining the tear where it dangled perilously from the tip of his finer, how strange.
-----
NEXT PART → Close Enough to Touch pt 3 (Alastor x Reader)
A/N I think this is getting a third part honestly... I want to explain why Y/n wasn't mad at alastor for taking husk's soul and why she didn't hate him off the bat and i also want to do their reunion in the future!!!!
Hiiiiiii, this is my first time for putting in a ask. I'm not sure if I'm doing it right, but. I thought of something funny. You can totally take it however you want to!
Vox x reader where Vox is messing with readers' hair and accidently cuts off a piece of hair. (Because he's got really big claws, lol )
idk lol. I didn't think that far into detail I thought it was funny, tho
A/N This is such a silly little idea. He would be so nervous. Also guys, this request is from like a year ago. I am sorry I have been slacking.
What Love Is (Vox x Reader)
Pairing: Vox x Reader
Warnings: Fluff but also anger, mentions of suicide, mentions of death and violence. All of it is canon typical I feel.
Word Count: 1,570
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Things had been crazy, to say the least. As it turns out, the battle against the angels had only been the beginning. One had to take the quiet moments when they could be found in hell, especially when war had been declared on heaven mere hours before. That is how they found themselves in each others arms now.
Vox and Y/n had been an item for a long time, almost as long as they'd both been in hell. It made sense, they matched. A media overlord who had been a highly beloved television personality in life, so much so that he had been accused of starting a cult, and an actual cult leader. Vox did the impersonal, he did the large and overarching. Y/n? She was all grassroots. She was knowing people by name. She worked on things behind the scenes.
Y/n and Vox had been an item for a long time, but they weren't public about it. She was not an overlord, she wasn't one of the Vee's and, frankly, she had no interest in being either. Instead, she had a small following of devoted demons who she protected, who she fought for. A small group of devoted followers, most of whom had died for her when they had all be alive.
Vox might be admired, but Y/n was beloved. The group of those she was beloved by was, of course, always, spearheaded by her lovely partner - not that he'd ever tell her that.
So now, in the aftermath, they lay on the couch together now in Vox's penthouse apartment. Legs tangled, eyes half closed, Y/n watched the people of the city from on high and tried not to think about them as being ants. It was an unbecoming and unhelpful stance for her to take, after all.
"I need you to help me," Vox was saying, his fingers fiddling mindlessly with a strand of Y/n's long hair, "I can't get the other overlords to join us on my own."
While Vox's form was sleek, put together, modern, Y/n's was quite the opposite in many ways. She looked like a martyr, she was a devil in disguise. With long, softly curling hair and a simple white dress, with slender soft fingers and a pleasant, round face, she seemed almost innocent. She was a 1970s dream. If someone encountered her not knowing her history, they would have questioned the powder burns on her skin, the poisonous quality of her touch, the dulcet tone with which she spoke.
If Alastor was there, Y/n was certain he would have made one snide remark or another. Thankfully, Y/n had demanded he not be present if they were to be spending time together - she was, after all, a woman who valued her privacy - and so it was only the two of them in the wide, open world. She hummed softly.
"I don't know." she said at last, her voice almost sickly sweet.
Vox looked down slightly, her blood red eyes meeting his.
"You don't know?" he repeated incredulously.
Y/n sighed.
"Vince," she began, and Vox stiffened. Y/n only ever called him by his human name when they were about to fuck, or she was being very serious. Considering they had just finished having sex not too long ago, he feared it was the latter.
"Vince," Y/n said again, shaking her head slightly, "you could kill everyone with this plan of yours. I mean, attacking Heaven? You could still take back your declaration of w-"
"And you have an issue with killing everyone?" Vox interrupted, anger biting at the corners of his voice, "Didn't you lead a mass suicide with your followers?"
Y/n nodded.
"But I went with them." she clarified, "It was different. We were trying to get down here, which was a successful mission on all accounts. Vince, we don't know what happens to sinners when they die. The princess could be right, we might get redeemed, but if we haven't been good in the afterlife, there is no chance of that. When sinners die, they're just gone. I asked people to step with me into a new world. You're asking them to end their existences for practically no reason. To feed your ego."
"But what if we win?"
"Yes, what if you win." Y/n nodded, "What would you do then?"
"I..." Vox trailed off.
"Exactly."
The anger was an old foe. Vox had dealt with it all his life, all his afterlife too for that matter. It bit at his chest, it wound its way through his veins down to the tips of his extremities.
He took a deep breath. Y/n had told him long ago that his anger had no place with her and he tried, god did he try, to keep it at bay when she was around.
But now? Right now? In this moment? When everything he had ever worked for, ever wanted was right at his finger tips? For her to say a thing like that? It was too much.
His hands trembled, locking down on the section of Y/n's hair that had still been laying precariously across his palm. The sound echoed in the silence
snip.
His blood ran cold, the world suddenly having been thrown into sharp relief. It was just a conversation. It was just someone who loved him expressing their concern. She was just trying to take good care of him. They had promised one another, hadn't they? They had promised to take good care of one another.
Vox's hand now trembled for a very different reason. His eyes fixed on his own treacherous claws, he opened the one still grasping Y/n's hair.
The section he had separated from the whole stood still on his open palm for a moment before it trickled like water down onto the couch. Vox tensed, he dropped his hand, he moved back slightly.
Y/n, feeling the motion, turned to look at him with a questioning gaze.
"Are you alright, heart?" she asked.
"I..." Vox shook his head, "I didn't mean to."
Y/n's brow furrowed with confusion, she watched him before surveying their surroundings. It took her a moment to find the small pile of hair on the couch. She looked back at Vox, her expression betrayed nothing.
She may look like a martyr, she may have died with her cult just as the police arrived which might have made her a martyr to her ideals, to a certain extent, but when push came to shove, Vox knew exactly how much of a monster the woman could be. It was part of why he loved her, part of why he was so devoted to her. It was also part of why he found himself to be almost scared of her now.
It wasn't that he thought she would do anything to him, no. It was more so that Vox knew he couldn't handle her hurt, her pain, her anger. He never wanted to face any of those things and he never seemed to know how to deal with them when he eventually did.
Hair holds memories Y/n always said, that's why I refuse to cut mine. I want to remember everything. I want to always carry all of it with me.
He waited for the yelling, for the tears. Instinctively, Vox squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn't until Y/n laughed, that he opened them again.
Vox watched in confusion as the partner of his afterlife buckled over, giggles wracking her body like sobs. She gasped for breath, trying to calm herself down.
"Ah! I'm so sorry!" she managed to squeeze out at last, "It's just... Oh, Vince, baby, it's just hair!"
Vox's eyes were wide as Y/n caught her breath at long last.
"But... but you..."
This was the side of him that she treasured the most. This was the side of him no one else got. The stuttering, the stumbling, the effort, that strange missteps, the certainty that even the smallest mistake could send the world caving in. These were her favorite parts of the man, they were the only ones she didn't have to share.
Gently, Y/n raised a hand, placing it gently on her lover's cheek. Almost instinctually, he leaned into it. Y/n smiled softly, the lightest chuckle leaving her.
"I am sorry." Vox said at last, burring his face into her open palm.
"No apologies necessary, my darling." Y/n shook her head.
He had never known such love, never known a gaze like hers that could make someone feel so complete, so whole, so home. Vox understood in these moments how Y/n did the things he did and why, in someways, she was so much more successful.
"But your memories..." Vox began, but trailed off, unsure of where to step next.
"You've merely added to them. I will be forever marked by you."
Vox had to admit, he liked the sound of that.
"I am forever marked by you." he admitted softly and Y/n nodded.
"That's what love is."
She said the words as if they were easy, as if they hadn't been together for five decades with never a mention of something like that. Vox's heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his chest.
"That's what love is." he repeated at last and Y/n smiled.
Hiii could you please write Vincent Whittman (human vox) X reader who completes him on his heterochromia? I really like the idea that he'd hate it and people would bully him for it but he'd have a close friend who thinks it's pretty :>
A/N duh??? obviously?? of course i can write this???? thank you for asking???? <3 <3 Also, I know you asked for a close friend but I did not do that. I had this idea from your request and it needed to be made real. If you want me to do a rewrite that is closer to what you actually asked for, please please please just let me know and I will get to it immediately.
Contact (Human!Vox/Vincent Whittman x Human!Reader)
Pairing: Vox/Vincent Whittman x Reader
Warnings: Uh, the Y/n got a little stalkery in this one guys. I think the request was asking for fluff??? Its kinda fluffy, more like hurt/comfort (nearly) tho.
Word Count: 3,303
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To say Y/n was a fan would be an understatement. She was utterly obsessed.
True, he was just a weatherman, but he was captivating. His smile, his personality, his voice, and god his eyes. Yes, there was a reason Y/n tuned into the news for the weather reports every day and it wasn't just to know the forecast.
He was enthralling and Y/n knew that if his producers ever gave him the chance? Vincent Whittman was capable of so much more.
She knew it was coming, that somewhere down the line, someone who could actually do something about his position would appear and suddenly? The world would know his name. Y/n treasured the present moment. For now, in her mind's eye at least, he could be hers. He was this little thing, this blade of grass fighting its way up through the dirt and the muck. He was hers.
That wasn't to say Y/n was delusional in any way, no. She knew that Whittman wasn't actually hers, not in any way that mattered. That was just how it felt, to see and know this little spark before it became a flame. That was part of why she took the chance.
It was crazy, and she knew it was crazy when she did it. The add in the newspaper, the job, all of it. It would have been better if she had simply let it be a dream and instead? Y/n sent herself spinning.
Just for fun. She told herself, I'll apply just for fun.
Suddenly, 'just for fun' was far too real. She had gotten the job. Suddenly 'just for fun' meant she was the news station's newest secretary, newest grunt runner for coffee and whatever else the real stars of the show might need. Suddenly, her little spark? The flower she was watching struggle for the chance to bloom? Well, suddenly he was right next to her.
It would be so easy to talk to him, except then she would need to be seen. Y/n was never supposed to be seen by Vincent, only to watch him and so? Watch him she did.
She hung around dark corners, she hesitated outside conference rooms when she heard his voice emanating from within.
On the rare occasion he would actually ask something of her? Y/n would always find herself suddenly incapable of speech. She would stutter, cheeks flushed pink and eyes averted.
If Whittman ever noticed, he never made any remark and so Y/n was never forced to change. Things continued, an odd sort of stasis, for months. That was until a single, fatal Wednesday.
Y/n had just been walking down the hall, bringing coffee to one of the company's CEOs, when it had happened. Wrong place, wrong time. The door before her had burst open.
Hands trembling in surprise, Y/n had almost dropped her delivery. She had frozen, watching with wide eyes as Vincent himself had stormed out of the very office that marked her final destination.
"Fine!" he was grumbling, just loud enough to be heard. His voice was thick with anger, "I do everything perfectly and you still won't give me the goddamn promotion? Fine! Fine. I'll just go somewhere else, I'll..."
Having seen Y/n, Vincent froze. His normal smile and politeness gone, he glared at her. Y/n's heart pounded in her chest. It was so loud in her ears that she swore he must have been able to hear it.
They stayed like that for a moment, a predator and its prey. It sent shivers down her spine. Then, he scoffed. He turned on his heel and stormed down the hallway.
Y/n watched him, she watched his back until he disappeared. It was only after his footsteps had faded completely out of earshot that she found herself capable of movement once again.
Taking a few halting steps, Y/n smoothed her skirt before knocking on the office door.
"Come in." the office's occupant said and Y/n obliged.
"Oh, lovely. Thank you." Bob hummed, gratefully taking the mug from her hands and enjoying a long sip.
Then, he sighed.
"Is everything alright?" Y/n tentatively asked.
She knew Whittman had asked for a promotion and been denied. What she needed were the details. What had been the promotion? What had he wanted so desperately and why on god's green earth had he been denied whatever it was? Did this doltish man not see what he had?
"Yeah." Bob sighed, leaning back in his patent leather desk chair and running and hand through his hair, "Vincent's just throwing a fit, as usual."
As usual? How many times had this happened? For how long had Whittman been denied what was, in Y/n's mind, rightfully his?
"I see." she placidly hummed, hands folded before her, "Is there anything else you need?"
"Hmm? Yeah, actually." Bob straightened himself up and, grabbing a stack of papers from his desk, held them out towards Y/n, "Can you bring him this? I know you're new still, but you know where his office is, right?"
Y/n's blood ran cold in her veins. She wanted more than anything to say no.
There was no way, after the reactions she had witnessed, that the papers being held out to her said anything good. This meant that if she were the one to deliver them to Vincent, his only associations with Y/n would be her shyness, her shock, and whatever bad news she was asked to deliver.
She could pretend that she did not know where he was, but then Bob would just give her directions. She could ask to go home early, pretend she had some family emergency or something of the like, but then he would probably just ask her to get the files to Vincent on her way out.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Y/n nodded.
"Y-yeah." she stuttered, "I mean yes, I know where his office is. I'll get these to him right away."
The office door before her felt like a monolith. It was just like every other in the building - soft, warm wood with a frosted window - except none of the other office doors made Y/n feel this way.
Y/n had tried not to snoop, but she couldn't help herself. The papers in her arms? Vincent Whittman's new contract, labeling him as a weatherman and nothing more for at least the next two years.
None of this had been thought through because Y/n had never believed she would get the job. It was supposed to be for fun, something she did for no real reason other than the impossible 'what if.' Then it had suddenly become all too real. Now she was truly facing the consequences.
He was supposed to stay on the other side of the screen, worlds away. Y/n was only ever meant to watch as he rocketed towards his inevitable fame. It was all ruined. It would all be ruined the minute she handed these papers to him and it was all her fault.
She took a deep breath.
"Mr. Whittman?" she tentatively called, knocking gently on the door.
There was no reply from within.
Maybe he wasn't there. Maybe she would be allowed to escape, her dignity and self image intact as she left the contract in his inbox.
There was a thud from within the office. Whatever hope Y/n had been holding onto vanished.
She cleared her throat.
"Mr. Whittman?" she asked once more, accompanying her words with another knock, "I know you're in there."
Y/n had no idea what possessed her to do so but, when no reply came, she tried the knob. It turned easily in her hand, the door had been unlocked.
The office was dark, the windows shuttered and the lights all turned off. Y/n took a nervous step in.
"Mr. Whittman?"
There was one light, emanating through the cracked door of the ensuite bathroom. Well, cracked wasn't really the right word. Ajar was more like it. Y/n could see him, his back to the door.
Vincent had discarded his customary brown jacket as he hunched over the sink. He seemed to be fiddling with something, though Y/n couldn't quite make out what.
"Shit." he hissed as whatever the thing was fell from his grasp, "Goddamned...."
"Mr. Whittman?"
He spun around.
"The fuck are you doing in here?"
Y/n flinched slightly at his tone, at the language, from her own nerves. She let out the slightest exhale of air.
"Um, I have your new contract?" she offered lamely.
Vincent scoffed. He turned back to the mirror.
"You can throw that straight in the trash for all I care. Whatever you do, just do it quickly and get out."
Y/n slowly stepped further into the office. Although her destination was his desk - which was incredibly neat, unbelievably organized - her eyes stayed fixed on Vincent and what little she could see of him through the door.
He appeared to have picked something up from inside the sink, most likely whatever he had dropped earlier, and was continuing to fidget with it. His fingers clawed at his face hopelessly.
"These damn fucking things." he muttered under his breath in frustration.
Once she reached the desk, he was completely obscured by the door. She dropped the contract unceremoniously onto his desk, the papers splaying out ever so slightly from the impact. Y/n felt slightly guilty to have marred his order in this way but she made no move to fix it.
"I'm just going to leave this here." she announced, "Then you can do what you want with it from there."
"I told you, just put it in the trash can."
"I don't want to be held liable for your temper."
Her voice was much closer to him now and Vincent turned. The girl was standing in the doorway, leaning slightly against the frame. The contrapposto position of her body position caused her blue skirt to sway every so slightly against her ankles, further emphasizing her shape.
He had seen her before, there was no doubt about it. One of the new hires, just another no-name secretary. A girl who would probably be gone by the end of the month no matter how good she was at her job because her employment relied on the whims of far too many men.
Y/n wasn't sure where the sudden confidence had come from, but she wasn't mad about it. It was perfectly timed. Maybe that is where it had come from in the first place.
If he really was planning on tearing up his new contract, that meant Vincent was leaving. If Vincent was leaving? Well, it was now or never. Y/n smiled cheekily, nodding her head in the direction of the sink.
"You need some help with that?"
Vincent turned momentarily to the sink before meeting her eyes once more.
"You're Miss L/n, right?" he asked at last, though he knew the answer already, "The new hire?"
"Please, call me Y/n. At least right now, Mr. Whittman."
Given the informality of the occasion, she thought it was alright to ask. Eyebrows raised, Vincent let out a little scoff. He crossed his arms.
Y/n straightened herself up, sensing his discomfort, embarrassment even. She folded her hands in front of her in an attempt to display politeness, respect.
"What is it you are trying to do?" she asked.
He gave her an analytical look that lasted longer than Y/n would have wished. It took everything she had not to cower before him. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his previously perfect hair.
"Uh, sure. Maybe you might actually know what you're doing."
Y/n smiled and nodded as Vincent stepped to the side, revealing the bathroom to her. There, on the counter, was a contact case. She took a step closer.
Resolutely, she turned to her superior.
"This would be easier if you were seated as you're quite tall. Could we move to your desk?"
Vincent nodded, snapping up the contact case as Y/n moved into the office itself once more. She flipped the light switch by the door, throwing the shadows out. Then, she made her way over to the desk where Vincent was already seated.
"My hands are clean." Y/n promised, "Would you mind turning on your desk lamp?"
As Vincent complied, Y/n took the contact case into her own hands, examining its contents. Inside, there were two contacts, one plain and the other with a bright green hue.
"You don't want to wear your glasses anymore?" Her cheeks flushed pink as her eyes shot to Vincent, the question suddenly seeming too familiar and quite impertinent, "I am so sorry, you don't have to answer that."
"No, it's... fine." he replied after a momentary pause, seemingly disgruntled, "Their some newfangled thing. 'Colored contacts.' Apparently Hollywood uses them all the time."
"I see." was all Y/n said in return.
Gently, she put one of her fingers into the side of the contact case containing the clear lens and pulled it out. Y/n then turned to her patient.
"Don't blink while I am trying to do this, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Taking a deep breath, Y/n leaned forward. Her skirts brushed his knees, her face inches from his own. Vincent wanted to look away but, he couldn't. He was grateful that Y/n was most likely too close to him to be able to see that he was most definitely blushing.
It was the closeness, yes, but it was more than that. Y/n was pretty, beautiful even. He could tell she was a bit headstrong too. That was why he was certain she wouldn't last a month here.
Someone was bound to ask her for a... special favor, and when she inevitably refused? If the person had the right position or even the right connections within the network, she'd be gone.
"There we go." Y/n hummed as she pulled away, "Does that feel alright?"
Vincent leaned forward slightly, blinking repeatedly. It was an odd sensation, to put something purposefully in your eye. He looked up at Y/n.
"Yeah it's fine. Can you...?"
Oh how he hated this. Vincent did not like to ask for help and even more than that he hated any portrayal of vulnerability. Right now? He was definitely vulnerable.
"Good." Y/n smiled.
Turning back to the contact case on the table, she began to repeat the same series of actions.
"So, why the colored contacts?"
Y/n did not look at him as she asked this question. Her eyes were fixed on the task at hand, too fixed. This time, she offered no apology either.
Vincent sighed.
"Apparently my heterochromia is too distracting or some shit." he mumbled, looking away, "I don't know. I get it. If it was nice it would be one thing but..."
Expecting agreement from the girl, he looked back over at her. Y/n's face displayed no emotion as she fiddled with the green contact poised on her finger.
"Ready?" she asked and he nodded.
Once again, she leaned forward, her breath hot on his cheeks. Almost losing her balance, Y/n fell forward slightly, catching herself with her free hand on his thigh. The touch sent sparks through him, unexpected as it was. She reeled back, face hot and flushed.
"I am so sorry! I am so sorry."
"No, no it's fine." he brushed her off, trying to distracted from the heat rising once more in his own cheeks, "Let's just try again, Y/n."
Her name was foreign on his lips and his utterance of it seemed to surprise her, even though it was she herself who had asked him to use it.
Y/n hesitated ever so slightly before nodding. She leaned forward and Vincent felt every muscle in his body tense.
"So," she softly began, trying to distract from the earlier accident, "I take it this means you aren't really going to throw the new contract away."
Contact in, she pulled away. Vincent shook his head.
"No." he agreed solemnly, "I am not."
"Well, that is good to hear." Y/n smiled ever so slightly, "I'd miss seeing you around."
They stayed frozen in silence for a single, tense moment, locked in one another's gaze until Vincent turned. Clearing his throat, he pulled himself from his chair.
"Uh, thank you. For the help, I mean."
"Anytime, Mr. Whittman."
"Call me Vincent."
He wasn't sure why he had said it, but it felt... right. Y/n hesitated before she nodded, smiling.
"Alright. Anytime, Vincent."
Vincent stood for a second, unsure of quite what to do, before he turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom. Face to face with the mirror, he examined his new look carefully.
All at once, it was everything he had ever wished he was. All at once, it felt so irrevocably wrong, so disconnected from himself. It was like looking at a picture of someone else.
"You like?" Y/n called from the other room.
It wasn't that he didn't like it. Vincent had always hated his condition. Nothing good had ever come from it after all, only pain. And besides any of that, if he finally looked the part, maybe he would finally get that promotion.
"Yeah." Vincent tried and when he decided it was right, he said it again, "Yes."
"Good, I'm glad."
Y/n was at the door now, her hand on the knob. Heart thundering in her chest, she took a deep breath.
"They look handsome on you, green eyes. But for what it is worth..." she trailed off.
It was now or never. She had to get the words out before thinking about them too much or they would stay locked forever behind her teeth.
"For what its worth," she began again, "it is better to change the world for you than change yourself for it. And I like your natural eyes. They're incredible. That is, I think they're beautiful the way they are."
Y/n did not see Vincent for the rest of the day. In fact, she did not see him until the next afternoon.
She had been asked to bring a copy of the revised script for the next broadcast to the newsroom as quickly as possible and so, she had run. Bursting through the doors as quietly as she could muster, Y/n paid no heed to her surroundings. She simply found the man she was meant to report to and handed him the script she was meant to deliver.
It was only when she turned, intent on heading back to her post, that she caught sight of him at long last.
Vincent was preparing to go live. He was straightening his jacket, adjusting his cuffs, smoothing his hair. When he looked up, as if by fate, their eyes met.
Blue and green. Y/n smiled, giving him a little wave.
It was Vincent's turn to smile ever so slightly, he couldn't help it. He gave her a nod of greeting.
"And we're live in three... two..." the camera man pointed his finger to Vincent and he immediately assumed his persona.
"We have a lovely day ahead of us folks." he confidently announced, "Bright sunny skies, warm temperatures, not a cloud in the sky. Truly a day right out of a book, the ideal summer Thursday. And this wonderful forecast? Well I am happy to deliver you the news that it is supposed to last all week. If we keep heading this direction, this will most certainly be a perfect August. Remember: Trust us with your weather."
Loved the virologist reader x alastor parts you did :)))) was wondering if you could write about how their dynamic was before they died? Married fluff lmao
A/N you got it bestie except idk if fluff is the word for how i pictured the relationship. more like taking care of yet slightly annoyed by one another at all times. Also I know I have gotten so so so many requests to continue this story, this is the earliest one I got so I am doing it first. I will get to the other ones, just later. Also, all the other requests are very similar to one another so I think I might just combine them into one.
Till Death Do Us Part pt. 4 (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: Cannibalism, murder, and canon typical violence. Also a flashback. Human experimentation.
Word Count: 2,200
Description: Lucifer asks Y/n what her life with Alastor was like before he died.
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"So," Lucifer began, "what was it like?"
They were seated at the bar, Alastor having disappeared to one place or another. Y/n relished in the brief respite, she tried not to trouble herself with where the man might be hiding.
With him gone and with Charlie and Vaggie off prepping for their trip to Heaven, that left Angel, Husk, Nifty, Lucifer, and, of course, Y/n to their own devices. Nifty had run off somewhere with a knife, probably to chase rats or roaches or something of the sort. Husk was behind the bar as always, Angel fucking with him from the other side of the oaken divide.
At the other end of the bar sat Lucifer. At the other end of the bar sat Y/n. She lifted her glass of water, admiring the ring of condensation it left on the wood.
Y/n had many vices, but alcohol had never been one of them. She had tried it once or twice, had occasionally been forced into a glass of wine at one of Alastor's events or another, but left to her own devices? Y/n was not a fan.
The way it dulled the senses, the spinning. It was interesting for a while but not enough so that it captures her attention or intrigue. All it really ever seemed to do was lead to mistakes in the lab and Y/n couldn't have that, now could she? No, not when she was so close.
She sighed, fingering the cool glass. More than anything, Y/n wanted to be up in her room, running tests on the sample Lucifer had promised her. She was really going to have to be more careful.
Yes, he had agreed to give her some of his hair. Yes, he had promised to treat her fairly. However, and here was the catch, Y/n had also agreed to do something for him. She had agreed to help him make Alastor angry and, as he had announced earlier, apparently that meant he needed to understand her history with the man. Despite Y/n's protests, Lucifer had refused to give in.
"After we chat, I will give you you're... hair." he had stated firmly, discomfort evident in his tone.
That was how Y/n found herself here, now.
"I don't know." she mumbled, taking a sip of her water, "Annoying?"
Lucifer rolled his eyes as she set her glass on the table once more. He leaned forward, his elbow to the wood, and rested his head on his hand.
"I am gonna need more than that."
"I don't even know why you need to know anything." Y/n groaned, throwing her head back in irritation as her hair spun her chair in a circle.
"Because, uh..." Lucifer paused in thought, "think of it as evidence."
At this, Y/n stopped. She sat up, she turned to face him, she looked him firmly in the eye.
"Evidence?"
"Uh, yeah." Lucifer nodded, "Evidence. I have a... oh fuck, whats it called... uh..."
"Hypothesis?" Y/n supplied after a moment, leaning forward in her chair.
"Yeah! Yeah, that." Lucifer cleared his throat and, straightening up, began to illuminate his words with minor hand movements, "I have a... hypothesis of how best to get on his nerves bu-"
"You need more evidence before you can test it?" Y/n asked, her hands gripping the edges of her seat.
She nearly trembled with excitement. A conversation? Bland, irritating, a waste of time. The gathering of evidence to conduct an experiment? She was in heaven. Not only did was the king of Hell going to give her a sample of his hair, not only did he seem to have a distaste towards Alastor rivaling her own, but now he wanted to conduct an experiment with her? This day could not get any better.
Lucifer leaned back, vaguely alarmed by the demon before him who was practically vibrating with excitment.
"Yes." he hesitantly replied.
"Great! I love the research stage. What do you want to know?"
"Um, well, uh, just what your marriage was like?"
"Okay, I've already said annoying. You need details so, how was it annoying..." Y/n thought out loud, her finger resting on her bottom lip, "Oh! I know. Okay so, the deal was that I would monetarily support him and he would get me human subjects to experiment on. Additionally, we would marry one another which would give each of us more legitimacy socially and serve to get our families to leave us alone. I had been under the impression that it would be in name alone, but then Al kept imposing more and more on me."
"Like what?" Lucifer asked after a moment.
"Like living together."
"What was that like?"
The house was lovely. It was all whitewashed wood and grand windows, wide open gardens, and a charming wrap around porch. It was genuinely lovely. Sadly, its beauty seemed to go to waste as the home's inhabitants rarely found themselves in the house itself but, instead, tended to occupy the two sheds built in the back of the home's extensive property.
A basement would have been better, but it was the south. There was too much flooding for their graveyards to be full of buried bodies in Louisiana, opting instead for mausoleums, let alone for basements to be a thing. Both Alastor and Y/n were quite fond of their home, however, and so, the sheds it was.
The one to the right had been Alastor's. Y/n had hired contractors to build it for him when they had been married. After it was done, she never really gave it much thought. Why would she when the left shed was there for her enjoyment.
Y/n did not leave the left shed unless forced. She slept there, worked there, even took her meals there. It was her heart, her true home. It was her lab.
It was where she found herself now, carefully recording the effects of a new type of acid on the body once ingested by a human being.
"So, how do you feel?" Y/n asked, her pen poised carefully above her clipboard as she stood before her latest victim.
He was a man. White, mid to late thirties. He was chained to the wall behind him, writhing in pain.
"Make it stop!" he was yelling, his voice raw and ragged from his dissolving vocal chords, "Please, make it stop!"
"Please, answer my question. You're not being very helpful." Y/n scolded, unperturbed by the man's evident suffering, "What does it feel like - to have your insides liquified?"
"Bad!" the man managed to get out between heaving sobs, "It feels bad! Please help me!"
Y/n sighed in irritation.
"Come on, I am gonna need to hear more than that."
There was a knock at the door. Y/n ignored it.
"If you move, do your organs slosh around? Does your stomach feel different than, say, your throat? Can you tell if it has reached your kidneys yet?"
Another knock, this time more insistent. Y/n threw her head back, groaning in irritation. Turning, she slammed her clipboard down on her over crowded desk and made her way to the door.
There was no surprise when she opened it to see Alastor standing there with a plate of something steaming in his hands, only further irritation.
"What do you want? You're interrupting."
The man chained to the wall screamed again only, this time, his voice seemed weaker. Alastor peered into the space behind Y/n and observed for a moment before fixing his attention back on his wife.
"Work going well?" he asked lightly and Y/n scoffed.
She crossed her arms, tapped her foot. She did all the things she was supposed to do when you wanted to make sure someone knew they were interrupting.
"It was."
"I brought you some lunch."
Alastor held the plate forward. Y/n regarded it for a second before meeting his eyes again.
"Do I want to know what it is?"
Y/n knew of Alastors... proclivities. True, she saw no difference between humans and, say, pigs, but that did not mean she liked having knowledge of what exact meat her meal contained at any given moment. Just because she had no moral issue with cannibalism didn't mean she liked the way human flesh tasted.
"Probably not."
She sighed, hesitating for a moment before grabbing the plate and placing it on a table near the door where several other uneaten dishes rested. Alastor caught sight of the flies and sighed.
"Please bring those in later."
The man had stopped screaming almost entirely now, merely letting out a steady stream of teary whimpers behind Y/n.
"Okay, bye."
Y/n moved to shut the door but was stopped by Alastor's hand, placed firmly upon the wooden surface.
"What!" Y/n groaned, "You're making me miss everything! I am going to have to run this again."
"Don't you always have to run an experiment multiple times?" Alastor asked lightly, "To verify the results?"
"I mean, yes," Y/n grumbled, "obviously, but this was my last test for this acid. I was about to get to move onto the fun part."
"Which is...?"
"Trying to bind the acid to a viral body in order that it might be infectious? Duh."
"Oh yes, of course."
"So?"
"I just wanted to remind you that we have that gala tonight, for the donors to the network."
"Do I have to go?"
Alastor gave Y/n a look and she immediately succumbed. It was, after all, part of their agreement.
"Fine." she sighed, "Just come and get me when I need to get ready. And you owe me a new test subject. Can I go now?"
Alastor said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows. Y/n sighed, shrinking into herself somewhat. She scuffed her foot against the floor.
"Thank you for the meal." she softly stated, sounding as if she had rehearsed her words a hundred times before because, well, she had, "I will see you later for the party."
"The gala." Alastor pointedly corrected.
"The gala." Y/n repeated with a small nod.
"I'll see you later this evening, my dear. Enjoy."
"Well then." Lucifer hummed, watching the girl beside him carefully, "What were the gala's like?"
As she had spun her tale, she had seemed to fall in on herself in a sense. Her shoulders had curled forward, her spine had too. Eyes downturned, she had watched her fingers absently as they fiddled with the condensation on her glass.
Y/n shrugged.
"I don't know." she mumbled, "Boring? The dresses were uncomfortable, there were all these... all these rules, the people were boring." She took a breath, "They... I hated them. I always felt out of place, like I was doing something wrong. After we got home from them I'd always get a lecture. I wouldn't be allowed outside until I practiced getting whatever I had gotten wrong right."
Lucifer leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Seems like Alastor was pretty controlling."
Y/n shrugged again.
"I don't know, it wasn't all bad. I got my test subjects and I got to do whatever I wanted for the most part. Al never pressed things like making sure I slept inside or having us share the same bed like normal people. I mean, he tried to, but really the only things he wouldn't let go were either tied to our deal, or related to food. And, I mean, I did die because he wasn't there making me eat anymore so... it wasn't all bad. Just annoying."
"Does this deal feel different than the one you had before?"
Y/n hesitated for a moment before she nodded once.
"It's worse. He wont let me work on my project at all anymore."
"Well, I think I have a few ideas." Lucifer announced, his hands hitting the bar as he pulled himself to his feet.
Y/n looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips.
"You do?"
"Yes." Lucifer nodded, "I need some more time to think, but let's chat again tomorrow. Okay?"
"Okay. May I have my sample now?"
She enunciated the words carefully, purposefully. With her hands held out to him the way they were, she seemed almost like a child, expectantly waiting for their good behavior to be rewarded.
"Uh, yeah." Lucifer had nearly forgotten about that little part of their deal, "How much do you need?"
"Oh, just a strand or two."
With some hesitation, Lucifer lifted a hand to his head. Steadily, he pulled a few of his hairs from his scalp and placed them in Y/n's outstretched hands.
She immediately pulled her hands to her chest, turning away. Lucifer watched in mild horror as Y/n carefully examined each strand before producing a small paper bag from somewhere and placing them within.
Y/n grinned a wicked grin. At least three of the five strands had bits of skin and scalp attached at their roots. That meant DNA, or whatever the Angel equivalent was. It was perfect.
hello!! can i please request a vox x bat! fem! reader? maybe the plot can be like the reader just fell into hell, and Vox finds her after having an argument with Valentino, causing them to break up for like the millionth time, and Vox sees a pretty bat sinner and decides to kinda fake date to get back at Val but ends up actually liking her?
i’m so so sorry i know this is like a very rambly and long request but no one makes bat readers :( thank you!!
A/N I love this request. Not entirely sure if you want it to end with frustrated vox and supportive val or vox and the reader falling for one another so... maybe I try and do a bit of both? I am leaning more towards vox being pissed off that val is good with it bc that'd be funny.
ALSO ALSO ALSO THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME A BIT SO IF YOU, @nxrdamp WANT ME TO REWRITE IT DIFFERENT I 100% WILL JUST SAY THE WORD AND IT WILL HAPPEN!!!
Strawberry Kiss (Vox x Bat Demon!Reader)
Pairing: Vox x Reader
Description: Vox decides that the best way to get back at his on again off again boyfriend Valentino for breaking up with him again is by pretending to date his childhood friend, only to realize he has bitten off a bit more than he can chew.
Warnings: Fake dating trope. This ended up being pretty suggestive so that too. I hope that is okay. The request kind of got away from me, I really hope you still like it. Also it became kinda angsty. I had a lot of fun writing this.
Word Count: 3,581
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"You're fighting with Val again?" Y/n asked in utter disbelief, her glass of strawberry wine poised halfway to her lips.
"Yes!" Vox groaned in response, slumping forward on his desk, "I just... he's so sensitive i-"
"You mean to say that you are thoughtless, right?" Y/n cut him off before he could say another word.
"What?" Vox exclaimed, his voice taking on a nearly whiny tone.
Y/n placed her glass down on the table, pulling her legs up into her chest. She crouches casually on the chair, her wings crumpling slightly behind her, rustling ever so softly as she moved.
"You like, don't think before you speak sometimes buddy." Y/n shrugged, "He's not too sensitive, you can just be, well..."
"What? What can I be?"
"Kind of a dick sometimes?"
Vox sat up, unamused. Without looking, he picked up a blueberry from the bowl on the table between them and flicked it towards Y/n. She caught it, of course, and popped it in her mouth without a second thought.
There were a few rare occasions where true friendships could be formed in Hell. This was not one of them.
Y/n and Vox had been tied to one another their entire lives. Their parents had been friends. When they were kids? They were always being forced to keep track of one another, to look out for each other.
At first the pair had hated it but slowly, as time had passed, they had found a specific sort of comfort, a distinct type of camaraderie, with one another. There was nothing quite like having a steadfast alibi, someone who would vouch for you no matter the situation. They were attached at the hip.
It hadn't just been when they were kids either, no. Vox had been the face, but Y/n had been the planner, she had been the eyes and ears. She schemed for him, figuring out the patterns his desired victims followed, putting them into sticky situations, making sure that the only option for them would be death when Vox arrived on scene.
It was fun, a game. She liked the hunt, she liked to tease. Her best skill was always finding the exact thing that was most needed in the sea of darkness.
As Vox had climbed higher, he was sure never to forget his origins. No, Y/n wouldn't allow it. She didn't follow him around like a dog or anything, but she always seemed to appear places. He would open the door to his newest office, and Y/n would already be sitting lazily in his chair, feet on the desk.
He couldn't get rid of her even if he wanted to which, in all actuality, Vox did not want to do. She was useful, he wouldn't have been able to get where he was without Y/n's ever present aid and besides any of that, they were friends. He enjoyed her company, her stupid jokes, her complete and utter lack of respect when dealing with him. It kept Vox in line, it reminded him why he wanted what he wanted and made sure he was close enough to his audience that he would actually be able to achieve his goals.
She had even died with him, loyal to the end. Vox never really understood it. She didn't want money, had no interest in power or influence. Y/n never asked for anything from him save his time, his company, his honesty - all things she was bound to receive regardless. Still, she stood by him.
Of course he had offered her a position as one of the Vees, even offered to help her figure out a name to match the others, a moniker Hell could know her by. Of course, Y/n had declined.
She still showed up, of course. Every day. No job, no pay, Vox supposed the girl simply had nothing better to do. In a sense, he was grateful but it also confused him. It was one of those mysteries he tried not to touch, worried that in recognizing it, she would fade into oblivion, never to be seen by him again.
"Rude." Vox scoffed and Y/n laughed.
She had always had the most incredible laugh. It was infectious, and you could always tell when she was faking it because when she wasn't? She snorted. Maybe that is why her laughter was so great: not necessarily how genuine it was but because who does that? Who actually snorted when they laughed. Well, Y/n did. Vox loved it.
Vox crossed his arms, feigning hurt.
"You know, when you showed up for a chat I thought it was going to be to comfort me, like a good friend does."
"Don't kid yourself," Y/n brushed him off with a wave of her hand and a teasing smile, "I was just hanging around. You're the one who showed up wanting to chat."
"Just hanging around in my office."
"Oh, you love it. Now, what happened?"
Vox sighed, releasing his arms and letting them fall to his sides. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he swiveled gently from side to side.
"It doesn't matter." he groaned, "What does matter is that I want to get back at him."
"I was actually looking for you in regards to that." he admitted.
"Yeah? Need me to dig you out of a hole again?" Y/n teased.
"No," Vox replied sharply, perhaps a bit too quickly, "I was just wondering if you would like to help me."
Y/n leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. Her face was cool, resolute, unreadable. It wasn't often that Vox directly asked her for help, after all. This was serious.
"Vox, I know you." she began, "I am always just going to assume it is your fault."
"But?" Vox asked after a moment, breaking the tense silence between them.
Another grin, one a bit too wide, split across Y/n's face. She was excited.
"That does not mean that I am ever going to pass up on a chance to cause trouble with you. So, what's the plan?"
That was how they found themselves where they were now: seated on the couch in the meeting room at the top of Vee Tower, readying themselves. Velvette and Val were sure to be on their way up for their weekly progress meeting and everything had to be perfect for their arrival.
"Tell me how you want me to sit again?" Y/n asked and Vox's cheeks flushed pink.
"Just... on... me?"
"Oh, yeah."
She was teasing him. Y/n was not only the only soul in Hell Vox allowed to push his buttons, she was one of the only souls in Hell who even knew he had buttons to press.
"Come on." he grumbled, "Let's just get this over with."
"Hey," Y/n raised her hands in defense, "this was your idea, remember? We don't have to do this."
Vox shook his head.
"It will work. I am sure of it."
The plan was this: Valentino had always been a tad... suspicious in relation to Vox and his oldest friend. He had dropped hints here and there. They came in the form of jokes, mainly, but jokes that held a deeper meaning.
"Where were you?" Val would asked and when Vox responded with something to do with Y/n, it would be followed by a response like "Oh? Were you fucking?"
The way Vox saw it, Y/n intimidated Valentino in some way. The jokes? Val was fishing for information.
Maybe it was her shared history with Vox, maybe the man was just more insecure than he made himself seem. Whatever it was, Vox was certain that the way to get to him, to really make the moth demon squirm with jealousy and regret, was by Vox finally doing something with the bat demon.
And so they would stage a hookup, maybe fake date for a bit, until Valentino caved. Until he came to Vox on his knees, begging, because if that didn't happen? Vox wasn't going back.
"Okay, whatever you say."
There was only one downside to the plan and it was that something had been off with Y/n since he had requested this favor of her. True, she hid it well, but Vox had known the girl all her life, all her afterlife. He could tell.
The hesitation in her voice was shrouded by bravado, but it was still there. The multiple chances she gave him to get out of his own plan were more telling, however.
Y/n had always been the type of person to go all in. Once the ideas were in place, they were going to be carried out. She did not stop halfway through. In fact, there had even been one or two times where Vox had backed out of a plan and Y/n had forced him to carry it out. It always went well, they always achieved whatever it was they had wanted to achieve and so, Vox trusted her. He trusted her opinion, her judgement.
The fact that she was giving him a way out yet again spoke volumes. What it said? Vox wasn't quite sure. He was certain of one thing, however, and that was that whatever negative impact this choice may have that Y/n saw a possibility of was something he would have to face.
But that was an issue for later Vox. Now? Valentino was what mattered.
Vox was pulled from his swarming thoughts by the feeling of warmth on his thighs. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes flicked forward.
"What?" Y/n asked, her knees resting on the couch on either side of his thighs as she hovered her body above his, "This was what you wanted, right?"
Y/n looked down at him and Vox looked up at her. They were frozen like that, locked in one another's eyes, until Vox looked away. His eyes flitted to the door.
"Yes. Let's just... let's just get this over with."
Y/n was silent for a moment.
"Okay, if you say so." she shrugged before lowering herself onto his lap.
It was electric. Vox turned his head away from her fully now, unable to look. He nearly hit her stomach with the edge of his screen.
They had known one another since they were kids, that was all. It was awkward, it was weird. In Vox's mind, Y/n was always going to be that gangly little kid with scraped knees and missing teeth. Her hair was always going to be fighting its way out of whatever style her mom had put it in that day and her dress was always going to be ruined with grass stains.
Vox closed his eyes, his mouth trembling ever so slightly from the force with which he held them shut.
"Hey, are you okay?"
There was no teasing in her voice, no malice or fun. It was just Y/n, pure and simple. No pretenses, no facade, no... no anything. It was just Y/n. That was the problem.
"Hey." she said softly once again and as she spoke, he felt the cool touch of her fingers on the far bottom corner of his screen.
It felt foreign as she turned his face to hers. It felt... not wrong but off. Like it was forbidden, like this was something they were never supposed to have done.
"We don't have to do this."
Vox opened his eyes. He hadn't meant to and he regretted it as soon as he did because the face before him was not the one from his memory.
Maybe it was just lust. Maybe it was just that it had been a long time since he and Valentino had done anything together, since before their fight even, and Vox wasn't a person interested in hookups. If it didn't happen with Val, it didn't happen. So maybe it was just that, pent up desire. Or, maybe, she really just was that beautiful. Maybe this is what she had looked like all along and Vox had just been too blind to see it.
"I know."
They stayed like that for a moment, her hand on his cheek, their eyes locked. Vox couldn't help it, he looked the one place he wasn't supposed to. Vox looked down.
"Fuck."
Legs spread, ripped jeans straining around her legs, utterly defined waist, and those soft, sweet lips that were so often smiling turned down at their edges from concern. It was everything, everything he had never allowed himself to want. Everything that he had placed just out of reach, had covered up and hidden under decades of disguises. It was everything.
He felt Y/n's muscles tense.
"I knew this was a bad idea."
She sounded so dejected. Vox had never heard her sound like that before. When he was at last able to raise his gaze to her again, it was to see that Y/n had turned away, that her arms were now tense in her lap.
"Why?" Vox asked, strangely breathless as he watched her.
Y/n tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear, but refused to meet his eyes.
"Because, I..." she trailed off.
What was she supposed to tell him? That she felt she had loved him all her life? That she knew he could never want her? That this whole situation was tugging on her heart strings like nothing had before and that she physically hurt from the strain?
"I just knew." was what Y/n, at last, settled on, "I'll go."
Y/n moved to lift her legs and get off of him, but found herself stuck under the strength of Vox's hands which were now clawing at her shins, holding her in place. Y/n turned and, much to Vox's surprise, he discovered that her eyes were rimmed with red, tears threatening to spill at any second.
Sure, he had seen Y/n cry before. Over a scraped knee, a broken toy, that sort of thing. He had never seen her cry for another person though, over something real.
"No."
Y/n exhaled sharply, leaning her head back in an effort to keep her tears at bay. When she lowered it again, it bore a look of complete un-amusement, of complete self-preservation.
"Why not?"
Her voice was sharp and controlled. Vox shook his head.
"Because I don't want you to."
Y/n accepted nothing less than complete and utter honesty from the man. Why, especially in this moment, would he give her anything else?
Her eyes widened, her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. Then, as if a switch had flipped, the momentary expression was gone, replaced with apathy and mild annoyance.
"Why not?" she asked again through gritted teeth.
She was too present, too physically unavoidable. Vox couldn't help it.
It felt like some long held in release, under a constantly building pressure, that was finally given an exit. His lips against hers. Cool, cold, undefined against the unerringly existent, the inescapably warm. It was what it all had been leading up to, wasn't it?
"Finally!"
Valentino's voice cut through the air, leaving marks on both Y/n and Vox's cheeks.
Slowly, reluctantly, they pulled apart and turned, simultaneously, to face their adversary. The Moth in question was surprisingly laid back, seemingly releived.
"Yeah, it's about time." Velvette pointedly remarked, sliding discretely out of Valentino's shadow and typing furiously on her phone as always.
Hurriedly, Y/n removed herself from Vox's lap and, to his surprise, he found himself mourning the sudden absence.
"It isn't what it looks like." Y/n insisted, showing forth a remarkable moment of vulnerability as she waved her hands frantically before her.
Velvette laughed, barley deigning to glance up from the device clutched in her clawed fingers.
"Yeah, sure." Val rolled his eyes.
With little hesitation, the pair took their seats at the long conference table which occupied the center of the room. Every fiber of Y/n's being wanted to look over at Vox right now, to make sure he was alright, to figure out what exactly had just occurred between them but she couldn't. Her head wouldn't turn, her spine felt as if it had been frozen into a single rod of steel.
There was a rustle from behind her, the sound of clothing being smoothed by indelicate hands.
"What do you mean, 'finally'?" Vox asked, his voice clouded with irritation but portraying something more helpless beneath it.
Val and Velvette shared a look before the former shrugged.
"I mean, we've all seen this coming for decades now." he drawled.
"Yeah," Velvette pointedly added, "I was beginning to think Vox just didn't have the balls."
Y/n's voice was caught in her throat. She felt trapped. She felt like a prey animal out in an open field, watching the predators surround her. Unconsciously, her wings began to cave over her shoulders, protecting her.
"But I thought..." Vox began but trailed off, unable to find the words.
"He thought you would be jealous." Y/n finished for her oldest and dearest friend, "This was..." she cleared her throat, letting her arms cross protectively over her stomach, "he was trying to get you back."
Her heart felt like it was splitting in two. There was a second of silence that seemed to drag on for generations. Then, Valentino laughed.
"Jealous?" he repeated, "Voxy, I have been trying to drop hints about this to you. There was no 'us,' I was never here to be retrieved in some way by you. You think that I want to be pinned down? Hell no! I was just having some fun."
Only now did Y/n seem able to move again. Slowly, she turned her head.
Vox seemed somehow disassembled. His clothes were wrinkled, despite his earlier effort to smooth them. His eyes were wide, shocked, empty.
"Vox, I-"
"Get out."
"What?"
Y/n was fully facing him now, fury beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach.
"You heard me, get out."
Vox wouldn't meet her eyes, he wouldn't even look at her. Y/n gritted her teeth, spreading her wings. She advanced.
"You know, this was all your stupid ass idea." she hissed, coming to a stop before Vox and digging the tip of one of her fingers deep into his chest to add force to her words, "I gave you every out I could."
"Fuck off."
Y/n scoffed. She knew he could be immature at times but this?
"I told you this was going to end poorly."
Vox had no snappy comeback this time and Y/n turned, her wings splaying out behind her as she did the way the skirt of a dress might have.
"Whatever."
There were tears pressing hot behind her eyes now. That was one thing about anger Y/n had never liked. Sure, it could make you feel powerful, justified, in some way vindicated, but it also always ended in tears. Always.
She groaned, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes before turning on Vox again.
"You know what? No. Fuck you. Ugh!" she stamped her foot, eyes momentarily glancing to the ceiling before coming back to rest on Vox, "To think I actually... fuck you, Vox."
Vox watched as Y/n turned away again. There was an emptiness, there was a sense of being outside of himself. He was watching everything as it occurred from afar, merely a spectator in his own life.
Y/n had paused now, closer to the door.
"If you're filming?" she was saying harshly to the grinning Velvette, "You better hope you delete it after or I am coming for you."
"Oh, oh no! I am so scared!" Velvette teased.
Y/n was radiating fury, it came off her in hot waves. Then, it was gone.
"You know what?"
Her voice was suddenly calm, cold. She smiled.
"You know what? I am done." Y/n laughed, holding her hands up in surrender, turning to Vox once more, "I have done everything for you. I have never asked for anything in return, you know why?"
Vox didn't answer, he didn't move a muscle.
"You know why?" she said again, letting her hands fall back to her sides as the anger began to creep back in, "Because I loved you, you fucking idiot. That is why I knew this was a bad idea, but I still did it! I still did it for you. And this is the thanks I get? You telling me to fuck off? After everything? Vox, you would be nothing without me. You would have lived and died a fucking weatherman. It is not my fault that Val doesn't care. It is not my fault that he does not want you. You, however, seem to have decided that it is, so that's it. I am done. Good luck with whatever you do next."
It was just as Y/n's hand grasped the ornate door handle that Vox finally found his voice again.
"Wait!"
She didn't want to. Y/n wanted to storm out, she wanted her rage, her fury. It felt so good. She didn't want to, but she couldn't help it, she stopped.
"Please, can we just talk?"
----
PART TWO → Strawberry Kiss pt. 2 (Vox x Bat Demon!Reader)
A/N Sometimes writing for Vox is so awkward because he does not have a real face. Also, this is nothing against people who snort when they laugh. I actually snort when I laugh and my friends always say that they love it because they can tell when I am actually laughing and it always makes my mom and my partner laugh when I do it so I used that here. Also I finished this while I was drunk. Hope its okay.
