Show & Tell
#extradirty
Discoholic 🪩
Monterey Bay Aquarium
No title available
pixel skylines
hello vonnie
roma★
No title available
sheepfilms
noise dept.
Keni
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
will byers stan first human second
NASA
Xuebing Du
oozey mess
Product Placement
wallacepolsom
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from Türkiye
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Italy
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States
@thatradiosubaruu
Salutations Wonderer!
You can call me Oli or Oliver. Whichever you prefer! I’ve been a liker of Alastor since the pilot! I also like cars a lot if the blog name wasnt obvious 💀💀😭
I am 21 and a trans male! My blog may contain NSFW so minors are NOT welcome in any way. You will be blocked if i catch you. 🫡
Stay tuned for more! RadioSubaru canon 🗣️🗣️
This is fucking stupid
An Alastor commission I had the great luck to create!! He's making you dinner, just don't think too hard about the weird flavor you can't quite place. It's finger licking good.
Once a mama’s boy…
Little doodle for mother’s day ✨
the deer was caught ~ 🦌
DANCE PARTNERS
I think Mimzy would have loved this 1931 Lil Hardin Armstrong hit about transactional relationships, because I'm sure Mimzy was exactly that kind of gal and I love that for her.
Lay Me Down Where the Trees Bend Low — Human Alastor ♡
♡ Tone: fluff/slight angst/smut (near the end)
♥︎ afab!reader :: slow build/slow romance :: making out :: first kiss :: gentle kissing :: gentle sex :: biting :: mentions of blood :: loss of virginity :: cunnilingus :: p in v :: he misses his mother sigh :: he loves you dearly.
♡ Summary: By the river, you meet a boy who carries more than he says, love and consequence begin to blur, long before either of you realize it.
♥︎ Authors note: I took my time writing this. I'm not sure how in character this is, as I am only learning more and more about his character. Hopefully, I captured everything well. Totally didn't cry to this song while writing this.
(At the start, the reader is around 18 and he is 19, by the end, she is 20 and he is 21)
♡ Words: 6689
What was a girl like you doing all alone in the woods before sunset?
No one could truly explain that, you adored wandering at this hour.
Your skin glimmered in the sunlight that bathed it in gold, your hair shining brightly and fiercely as the sunlight danced on the water.
Your youth was evident, with a soft and flawless face, sharp eyes, and a warm, full smile. You had long since removed your boots, tossing them onto the soil beside the tree that towered over the river, swaying gently as the warm breeze played with its branches.
You lifted your dress slightly, walking close to the water as it caressed your bare feet, compared to the heat, this felt like paradise.
You held onto your white dress, wading further in until the water reached almost to your knees. It wasn’t a deep river, but it was enough to be a nuisance for you and those who had to cross it every annoying morning.
Your voice was soft, sweet, and melodic, humming a tune you had heard only once or twice in your life, your feet gliding over the rocks beneath as you watched frogs leap and bound in front of you, even though the sun made it hard to see.
Then, out of nowhere, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention, and you turned around sharply, squinting as your heartbeat raced, it felt as if someone was watching you..
Clutching your dress tighter, you quickly turned your gaze toward the sound..
Frightened, you began scanning your surroundings until you heard the rustling of leaves..
A deer appeared, its body adorned with leaves and branches, occasionally wagging its tail before it made its way to the river for a drink.
You felt a wave of relief wash over you, sighing as you approached it cautiously, trying not to startle it, eager for a closer look. You could sense it was just as frightened as you, as innocent and naive as you.
When it lifted its head, you flinched, stepping back slightly before losing your balance on a large rock, ultimately falling into the water and sending it scampering away.
"Fuck! Hold on! No..!" You muttered under your breath, as if the deer could hear you..
You were soaked, still perched in the water as your white dress danced with the ripples, your hair slightly damp as well. It clung to your sweaty, wet form as you struggled to rise.
Then.. you heard that familiar rustle of leaves and branches again, but this time, you didn’t bother to look back, assuming it was just that same old deer with those impressive antlers you had spotted moments earlier.
Once you managed to stand, you attempted to wring out the excess water from your dress, squeezing your chest and wrinkling the fabric as water dripped back into the river once again.
That was until something truly caught your attention.
A guy was standing on the opposite side of the lake, his gaze fixed on you as your eyes met, pausing in a mix of curiosity and fear.
The sun was shining, low in the sky, melting into that warm golden hour glow that made everything feel softer, slower, almost dreamlike. It illuminated your skin even more boldly now, accentuating the curves of your body, the droplets on your skin evaporating and being replaced by the humidity.
The dress clung to your stomach and chest, highlighting the prominent hills that rested there.
He stood beneath the light as well, the rays cascading over him gently, settling into the richness of his dark skin and transforming it into something warm and radiant rather than harsh or defined. It was a subtle kind of glow, as if the sun had chosen to linger on him a bit longer than on everything else.
His brown curls fell in soft, loose waves, slightly tousled in the most effortless manner, leaning more heavily to one side of his face.
Every so often, a strand caught the light and turned briefly golden before slipping back into shadow.
He wore glasses that softened his expression even further, the lenses glimmering faintly whenever he moved, as if they were capturing fragments of sunlight.
There was something almost unfair about how effortlessly still he appeared in that moment, as if he didn’t even have to make an effort.
Just being there, under that light, felt sufficient, serene, warm, and magnetic in a way that didn’t demand attention, yet drew it in effortlessly. It was as if the world had dimmed just a bit so he could shine in it like that..
The air didn’t shift immediately, which was the odd part, it remained warm, still thick with the heat of the river and the late sun, as if nothing had disturbed it at all.
Only your heartbeat gave you away, too loud, too abrupt, too conscious of itself in your ears.
You found yourself staring at him longer than intended, standing on the opposite bank as if he had always belonged to the scenery, while you were the one who had intruded upon something ancient and unchanging.
The water between you didn’t feel like water anymore, it seemed broader than it should have been, as if it had expanded just to emphasize the distance.
You attempted to speak, but at first, no words came out, instead, your fingers clenched around the fabric of your dress, wrinkled and heavy with river water, cold against your skin, contrasting with the warmth still lingering on your face.
Eventually, your voice emerged, smaller than you wished. “I didn’t hear you there.”
He didn’t respond right away, his gaze remained fixed on you, steady and unreadable, not indifference but rather an attention that had already made a decision before you even spoke.
Then he shifted slightly, just enough for the sunlight to catch the side of his face again, the gold flattered him, softening him, blurring the edges of whatever burden he carried.
“I know,” he finally replied, his voice drifting lightly across the river as if he wasn’t trying to be heard at all, yet somehow still was.
A pause ensued, you swallowed, glancing down at the water near your knees, watching the current swirl around you as if it were indifferent to what had just transpired.. but when you looked back up, he was still observing you.
Not your face this time, he seemed to notice the finer details instead, the way your dress hugged your curves, how your hair clung just a bit to your shoulder, and the way you stood there barefoot, as if you were meant to exist only in this moment.
"You’re far from the road," he remarked, not really asking. You frowned a little, trying to regain your composure, attempting to make this feel normal in your mind.
A stranger in the woods.
That’s all it should be.
"I like it here," you replied, though your voice came out softer than you meant. It caused a shift in his expression, not quite a smile, but something more nuanced, like recognition or an unspoken agreement he was reluctant to acknowledge.
He glanced past you for a moment, toward the trees on your side of the river. The way his gaze moved made you think he was counting something invisible.
When he spoke again, his voice dropped a notch. "Most people don’t come here alone."
A breeze swept through the trees, slow and purposeful, lifting the damp fabric at your knees. Suddenly, you felt acutely aware of your vulnerability in the simplest way, no boots, no solid ground, no distance from anything.
"C’est dangereux ici."
It wasn’t a warning meant to frighten you away, but rather something he had learned too early in life to dismiss. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more deeply instead of just observing.
"Are you saying I shouldn’t be here?" you asked. For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face, as if the answer was too complex to articulate clearly.
His hand lifted slightly, not reaching for you, but gesturing toward the space between you both, then it fell back to his side before it could become anything more.
"I’m telling you," he said slowly, "you don’t see everything that’s here."
The words lingered between you, heavy in a way that felt different from the sun shining behind him, deeper in the trees on his side of the river. A branch shifted without any wind.
Just once... just enough to catch your attention... and for the first time since you had plunged into the water, you found yourself uncertain if what you were witnessing was the start of something new... or the moment just before something had already been decided.
The river flowed steadily between you, slow enough that you could almost convince yourself it wasn’t dividing anything at all, merely existing in its own tranquil rhythm. You were still standing in it when you finally asked him his name, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, even if a part of you only realized afterward that your curiosity had nothing to do with being polite.
He regarded you for a moment before responding, not hesitating, just in that calm manner of his, as if weighing the significance of his words.
There was a pause, the kind that didn’t require anything to fill it.
"Alastor," he added afterward, as if it was just as important as the first part and didn’t need any emphasis to hold weight.
You whispered it under your breath once, then again a bit clearer, testing it without considering why, and he didn’t interrupt you. Just observed, calm in a way that made it seem like nothing about you was odd enough to comment on.
Then his gaze returned to you.
"And you?"
"[ Reader ]."
You said it effortlessly, though hearing it spoken aloud in this place made it feel slightly different, as if it belonged to the river now just as much as it belonged to you. He repeated it once, not slowly, not thoughtfully, just to ensure he had it right, and then gave a small nod as if that was all it required.
The light had begun to fade as you stood there, the sun sinking behind the trees, softening everything around you. Neither of you moved immediately, as if the conversation hadn’t quite given you direction, and the ensuing silence felt comfortable. It lingered, shared between you, like a moment neither of you was ready to disrupt yet.
The quiet persisted for a while, not empty but settled, as if neither of you felt compelled to chase it away. The river continued to flow past your legs in a steady rhythm, its coldness now noticeable, yet you remained unmoved by the bank.
It was odd how swiftly the thought of leaving had lost its urgency, as if the moment had stretched itself out without asking for permission. He shifted his weight slightly, crouching closer to the water’s edge, one hand resting casually on his knee while he gazed at you. There was nothing harsh in his expression, nothing demanding, just that same unwavering focus that suggested he wasn’t easily sidetracked.
"Do you come here often?" he inquired. It wasn’t intrusive, it felt more like he was placing the question gently between you rather than trying to extract anything from it.
"Sometimes," you replied, your gaze dropping to the water as it flowed past your ankles. "When it’s peaceful like this."
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense without needing further explanation. "It gets quieter as evening approaches," he remarked. You looked up at him then. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
He hesitated before responding, his eyes briefly drifting to the trees behind you, as if he were checking on something unspoken. When he returned his gaze to you, his voice was steady.
"It all depends on what you’re accustomed to hearing."
That made you stop, a sensation you couldn’t quite grasp yet, as if the words had grazed something deep within you. The woods behind you remained just trees, mere shadows and branches fading in the dim light, but for a fleeting moment, you felt more attuned to them than ever before.
You shifted in the water, the dampness of your dress becoming more pronounced as it cooled against your skin. "And what do you usually hear?" you asked, your tone lighter than the weight of the question.
A subtle expression flickered across his face, neither a smile nor anything easily definable.
"Things you tend to overlook after a while," he replied.
His answer didn’t shed much light, but it didn’t seem intended to. The river surged again, a bit louder for a moment as the current swirled around a rock near your knees. You glanced down, then back up, realizing without much thought that the light had shifted while you were distracted. The golden hue was now thinner, stretching and fading into cooler tones at the edges of the trees.
"I should probably head back soon," you mentioned, though you remained still.
He nodded once, as if he had anticipated that response, but he didn’t seem hurried.
"The road’s that way," he said, tilting his head slightly in the direction behind you.
You followed his gaze for a moment before returning your focus to him. He hadn’t moved from his spot, still firmly planted on the opposite bank, as if he belonged there, regardless of whether you chose to stay or go.
The instant you stepped out of the river, the air felt different against your skin, lighter in a way that made you acutely aware of how cold the water had been. You didn’t look back immediately, instead, you bent down, picked up your boots from where you had left them by the tree roots, and held them to your chest for a moment longer than necessary before turning toward the path.
The fabric of your dress hugged your body and then released with every step as you began to walk, gradually picking up speed, the sound of the river fading behind you while the woods enveloped you once more in their embrace.
When you glanced back for just a moment, he was still there on the opposite bank, watching you intently. He said something then, just as you turned away completely, something in French, spoken softly enough that it didn’t carry clearly across the water.
You caught only fragments of it, enough to realize it wasn’t loud, enough to understand it wasn’t meant to pursue you; it lingered behind as you walked, tangled in the trees, the distance, and the sound of your own footsteps crunching over dirt and leaves..
And then it vanished.
A year transformed everything without ever properly announcing its presence, the woods appeared unchanged from afar, but you understood them differently now, the paths, the bends in the light, the way the air shifted before evening settled in. You no longer stumbled here by chance.
You came because he did. The grass around you was tall that afternoon, dry and sun-bleached, swaying gently in slow waves whenever the wind swept through it, rising almost to your shoulders when you sat down, concealing everything except the small circle you and he had created just by being there often enough.
You were still in the same white dress, though it felt different now, softer, less new, familiar in a way that stemmed from repetition rather than memory.
Alastor sat across from you, one knee bent, his forearm resting casually over it, the white shirt he wore catching the light effortlessly, sleeves rolled up as he always did when it was warm, a few buttons undone at the collar.
Over it, he wore a deep red vest that contrasted beautifully against the pale grass and sunlight, not loud, just present in a way that made him seem more anchored to the place than anything around him. For a while, neither of you spoke, sharing a silence that no longer needed to be filled.
Then he let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting off into the distance, not quite focused on you.
“I didn’t spend much time in that house after,” he remarked.
You didn’t interrupt, instead, you shifted a bit in the grass, listening as his fingers absentmindedly traced the dry stalks beside him.
“Mon père…” he began, pausing as if the words still carried a heavy weight. “He believed silence could make things vanish.”
By now, you had picked up enough French that you didn’t need him to translate every thought in your mind.
Some phrases still came to you in their original form, and his voice made them easier to grasp. “He didn’t appreciate it when I stayed quiet,” he added, his tone softer. “Comme si ça le provoquait.”
You turned to look at him, really looking this time.
“And did it?” you asked gently.
He let out a sound that was almost a laugh, but it lacked any real humor.
“Oui.”
The grass swayed around you both, indifferent to the weight of the conversation.
“He used to say I would come to understand him one day,” Alastor continued, his voice now lower, less steady than before. “But he never waited for that.”
Alastor leaned back a bit, gazing up at the sky through the swaying grass.
“He didn’t require reasons,” he said, speaking slowly so his words landed clearly between you. “Just certainty.”
You remained silent for a moment, allowing the words to linger without trying to lighten the mood.
Then, softly, you asked, “Is that why…?” You didn’t need to finish, he understood.
His gaze returned to you, and this time it held something more vulnerable, laid bare for a moment longer than usual. “Yes,” he replied simply.
Then, after a breath:
“He didn’t allow me the choice to become someone else in that house."
The wind swept through the grass once more, taller this time, gliding over both of you in a gentle caress. You could hear the distant hum of insects, the heat of the day still heavy in the earth beneath you. You didn’t reach for him, and he didn’t reach for you.
But the space between you felt different now, no longer distant... like something that had already been understood, even if it took a year to voice it.
The wind brushed through the grass again, this time more slowly, as if it were weary of pushing against anything. He didn’t look at you immediately after he spoke, his gaze lingered somewhere far off, fixed on nothing in particular, as if he were trying to place the memory outside of himself to ease the weight in his chest while discussing it.
“It wasn’t just the house,” he finally said, his voice lower now, less steady than before, yet still composed. “It was everything within it. The way he spoke to her… the way she stopped responding.”
Alastor shifted slightly, running one hand through the dry grass, letting it slip back through his fingers. “She didn’t leave,” he added softly, almost as if he were stating something that had never quite made sense to him. “Even when she should have.”
You remained still, listening, not interrupting the slow emergence of his words, as if they had been trapped for ages, waiting for the chance to breathe. His jaw tightened a bit before he pressed on. “And I used to think that meant something good about her,” he said, a subtle edge creeping into his voice, not quite anger, but more like unresolved feelings finally finding their expression. “But it didn’t.”
The grass bent around his arm as the wind picked up again. “It just meant she stayed too long.” He swallowed hard, then glanced down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else for a moment.
"And when I finally grasped the truth..." he began, then hesitated. You didn’t urge him on, the silence between you expanded, yet it remained unbroken. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.
"I couldn’t remain there after that," he confessed. "Not once I understood what staying truly meant." The way he articulated it lacked any theatrics, refusing to inflate the moment into something grander than it was.
Alastor leaned back a bit, allowing his shoulders to sink into the grass beneath him, his gaze drifting upward once more.
"I didn’t intend for it to happen," he added after a pause, his tone almost ethereal now. "I don’t think people like him ever believe anything will return to them."
He took another pause, then let out a slow breath.
"And when it finally did... he was at a loss for how to handle it." That was all he said for a while, the field remained tranquil except for the whispering wind and the gentle rustle of grass around you both. The sun hadn’t shifted much, yet everything felt a bit denser now, as if the air had absorbed something and was unsure how to let it go.
You finally broke the silence, choosing your words with care. "And your mother?"
His eyes flickered at that, a glimpse into something deeper within. "She stayed," he replied simply at first.
"Until she didn’t." He didn’t elaborate, and somehow, he didn’t need to. The silence that followed wasn’t void, it was rich in a different manner now, as if something had been placed between you that couldn’t be articulated again.
"Until she was gone too."
After a while, he turned his head slightly in your direction, not fully, just enough to acknowledge your presence.
"I didn’t turn into what he expected me to be," he murmured softly. "But I didn’t emerge unscathed either." The wind stirred once more, weaving through the tall grass until it enveloped both of you like a curtain that didn’t quite close, and for a moment, neither of you uttered a word.
The wind eased once more, as if it had chosen to cease its interruptions. The grass surrounding you both swayed and straightened in a gentle rhythm, and for a time, neither of you uttered a word, not because there was a lack of things to say, but because the silence had begun to feel like an integral part of the conversation itself.
He shifted slightly next to you, just enough to alter the space between your shoulders, neither closing it off nor breaking it, but changing it in a way that heightened your awareness of him.
When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you, not with intensity or scrutiny, but with that calm steadiness he possessed when he simply wanted to be present.
“You keep gazing at me as if I’m saying something unspoken,” he remarked after a pause, his voice low and almost contemplative.
“I’m not,” you answered, though uncertainty lingered in your mind about the truth of that statement.
That caused him to exhale softly, a hint of a smile forming but never quite materializing.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in just a bit, not in a rush, but enough that the air between you thinned, transforming from mere emptiness into something shared. Your fingers brushed against his again, this time slower and less hesitant, as if you were discovering the contours of him without needing to articulate why… he didn’t stop you.
What lingered with you more than anything was that closeness, where the world around you faded at the edges, it wasn’t like a kiss that arrived out of nowhere. The space between your breaths shifted from feeling like distance to embodying an understanding that was hard to define.
And in that intimacy, something peculiar coursed through you, a sense of him that transcended the present moment, a weight of unspoken words. Paths not taken, a history you couldn’t visualize but could almost feel pressing gently against the moment.
It wasn’t about his words. It wasn’t even in his face, it was in the way he remained motionless when you were close enough to catch every detail, as if he was accustomed to bearing more than what was visible, and didn’t know how to let it go, even here, even now.
You lingered there a moment longer than you intended, close enough that it felt like your breaths were intertwined, close enough that leaving would have meant recognizing something was coming to an end.
When you finally pulled back just a bit, it was enough to see him clearly again, he looked at you the same way he had before, but with a softness now, as if something unspoken had passed between you without needing to be articulated. Neither of you labeled it, but it lingered there nonetheless.
Between you, silent, and undeniable.
The river didn’t feel the same as it did the first time you visited, but not in a way you could easily articulate. It was still just water, still just shore and light and movement, yet now it felt like a place you knew how to return to, like somewhere that had begun to recognize you both instead of merely holding you for the first time.
You were already half in the water, barefoot and carefree about it now, the hem of your dress darkened slightly where it had brushed the surface too many times to remain dry. He was a little further out, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp already as if he had been there longer than you, which he probably had.
“You always act like it’s cold every time,” he remarked, glancing back at you.
“It is cold every time,” you shot back immediately. He shook his head slightly, as if that was a lost cause he wasn’t keen on pursuing. “Non, tu refuses juste de t'y faire.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does, mon amour!” he declared, as if that settled the matter. You stepped in further, then instantly regretted your boldness when the water rose higher, and you reacted too visibly to it.
Alastor observed you for a moment, then shifted just enough to face you more directly.
“Do you see?” he remarked, a subtle smile playing at the edge of his lips. “You're always like this.”
“I’m not like anything!!” you retorted, splashing a bit of water in his direction more out of principle than intent.
This time, he let it hit him without flinching, merely blinking once before regarding you as if you had validated something for him.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Exactly like that.”
You squinted at him. “You’re unbearable in two languages.”
That made him genuinely laugh this time, a short and easy sound that carried slightly over the water as he stepped closer, allowing the water to swirl around him as he came within your reach. “You enjoy it,” he stated.
“I do not enjoy it.”
“Yes, you do!” he insisted again, quieter now, as if it was less about debating and more about observing. Before you could reply, he flicked a bit of water back at you, not much, just enough to make you flinch and instinctively retaliate without thinking.
It turned into something spontaneous again, just movement and reaction, small splashes breaking the surface between you, laughter punctuating it in quick bursts.
“You initiated it,” you charged.
“I didn’t initiate anything,” he replied calmly, catching your wrist lightly when you got too close, not holding it for long, just enough to steady you when the ground beneath the water shifted.
“You did.”
“That is objectively false.”
“Objectively,” he repeated, amused.
You attempted to pull your hand back but instead slipped slightly, and his grip adjusted immediately, steadying you without making it a big deal, something practical, as if he had anticipated your loss of balance before it even occurred.
“Be careful,” he said, quieter now.
“I am careful,” you replied, though your voice had softened a bit. He released you after a moment, once he was sure you were stable again, but didn’t fully step back, the space between you remained small, the water shifting.
"T'es toujours comme ça," he whispered.
"What does that mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.
He looked at you, then down at the water lapping at your feet. "It's like you don’t trust where you’re standing."
You frowned a little. "I do trust it."
Then, as if he were addressing the river more than you, he said, "Not really."
You didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, you studied him for a moment, the way he seemed more at home in the flowing water than on solid ground, as if nothing here astonished him anymore like it used to astonish you.
Then you splashed him lightly again, not as a reprimand this time but as a way to shatter the silence.
He let out a laugh through his nose.
"You’re impossible," you remarked.
"And you’re still in the water," he countered.
"...so are you."
"Yes," he replied simply. "I am." Smiling at you cheekily.
That day, you had spent it at his place, in the cabin hidden deep in the woods that only the two of you knew about.
The darkest secrets were sheltered within those walls.
The ones only you and he were aware of.
The windows were wide open, he was in the kitchen preparing something before he finally washed his hands and made his way to you in the living room. This summer was relentless, you were fanning yourself with your hand while your dress was bunched up over your thighs.
He settled next to you, gazing at you with that same grin he always wore, fangs just barely peeking out from beneath his soft, plush lips that you loved to nip at and draw blood from.
"What?" you asked, turning your head towards him while you angrily fanned yourself. He knew you didn’t mean it that way, he understood that your irritation was solely due to the heat.
"Just admiring.." he chuckled softly to himself, then added, "tu es tellement belle.." His hand reached out to you, gently caressing your cheek as he let himself get lost in your gaze.
You smiled, leaning in towards him before sitting back modestly, adjusting your dress and leaning in for a kiss on the cheek, but before you realized it, his lips found yours instead.
He chuckled into the kiss, deepening it as his hands slid up to cradle your face, ensuring you wouldn’t pull away or anything.. which he knew you wouldn’t.
Your tongue slipped into his mouth, tilting your head to grant him better access, and you couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss, your hand trailing up his chest and lightly wrapping around his neck to feel the pulse racing beneath his skin.
When you finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless, desperately trying to regain your breath as saliva dripped down his chin.
You leaned in, licking it up before placing another gentle kiss on his lips.
A finger traced along your thigh, sending shivers down your spine, but panic surged through you as you felt his hands slipping under your dress.
Your fingers wrapped around his slender wrist, halting him.
He looked at you with a pained expression, immediately pulling back and adjusting his hair and clothes slightly.
"I'm sorry.. I shou—"
"Do you really want this?" you asked sharply, wanting to draw the truth from him so he could be honest without fearing you might use him for your own benefit and leave him behind.
"You’ve told me that.. you’re not really into this and I just.. want you to feel free, not pressured into anything like this."
He blinked once, then twice, before cupping your cheek with one hand, brushing your face with his thumb as he peered over his glasses, pushing them up with his other hand.
"I am absolutely sure, mon amour," he reassured you. "Only if you want this too.. of course"
You smiled, gently placing his hand against your cheek with your own, before pressing a kiss onto his soft, warm palm.
"More than anything."
Alastor laid you down on the pristine white sheets of the bed, while the handmade curtain from his beloved mother fluttered in the breeze from the open window, allowing fresh air to flow in as he kissed you passionately and deeply all over your body.
Your dress eventually slipped off, and most of his clothes followed suit, leaving you both clad only in your undergarments.
He gazed at you, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over your figure, making you look like a dream.
And you thought the same of him, his physique was something else entirely.
It made you want to devour him right then and there.
He leaned down, planting soft kisses on the curves of your breasts while maintaining intense eye contact, occasionally glancing at your other breast as he suckled on one.
His hands explored every inch of your body, thighs, waist, chest, arms, and legs.
His hair brushed against the insides of your thighs, locking eyes with your covered mound, which was already glistening, revealing the outline of your sensitive clit and soft folds, clenching around nothingness.
"Before I... do something... I want you to know that I've never... um... done anything like this before," he confessed, looking at you before averting his gaze slightly, a rare sight of him feeling shy.
"Neither have I," you replied. "But... if it feels strange or uncomfortable... I'll let you know, okay?" You smiled warmly at him, and he nodded, already hooking his fingers around the waistband of your undergarments, slipping them off with a soft shlick as he tossed them onto the bed.
It felt eerie to be doing this in such a dimly lit room, adorned with deer antlers on the walls and crooked crosses scattered about.
Yet, you felt an unexpected sense of comfort...
He stared at your cunt, licking his lips in anticipation, before he gently brushed a finger against your slick folds, drawing a whimper from you.
Instantly, he glanced at you, worried he might have caused you pain, but when he noticed your brows furrowing and your lips pressing into a thin line, he understood perfectly what he was doing to you.
He leaned closer, his lips grazing your clit, relishing your warmth and wetness as you squirmed beneath him, silently begging for more.
"More.. please.." you pleaded, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed it away from his face, tilting your head to the side.
He complied, enveloping your clit with his lips, suckling on it as lewd sounds escaped your throat and from the man nestled between your thighs.
His tongue danced over you, moving up and down in a rhythm that made you see stars.. your fingers gripped his hair tighter, tugging slightly at his scalp to grind against his face.
Alastor gazed at you with intensity, as if you were his entire world.
Alastor observed every reaction of yours as his unturned nose brushed against your pubic bone ever so gently.
"I'm..." before you could complete your thought, you hit your peak, arching your back as his hands encircled your thighs, drawing you closer to his face, allowing you to ride out your orgasm.
Your hands clutched the sheets, moaning his name repeatedly as he watched you become vulnerable with him.
As you began to pull away from his grasp, overwhelmed, he released you, placing a soft kiss on your thigh before straightening up.
"You did so well for me, ma chérie, good girl.. such a good girl for me.." he murmured gently, smiling in the dim light as he observed you twitch and struggle to form words.
He joined you, shedding the last piece of clothing as you gazed at him in awe.
The way his cock shimmered and twitched under the moonlight made your mouth water.
You were aware of what sex entailed, and so was he, but the intricacies of it were still a mystery to you, while he possessed a wealth of knowledge.
You swayed your hips, unsure of the reason behind it, yet the desire to have something inside you was overwhelming, you craved the sensation of him filling you up.
"You are absolutely stunning.. I feel so fortunate to have you all to myself.
Just me. No one else." He groaned at the last part, leaning forward to press his hard cock against your stomach, using his knee to spread your legs wider, capturing your lips in a kiss, encouraging you to hold onto him as you did.
Suddenly, his tip brushed against your entrance, and a squeak escaped your lips at the sensation.
"Shhhh.. take it slow," he murmured into the kiss, allowing your fingers to dig into his back gently while his hands tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp to help soothe you.
Then, gradually, he began to push inside, letting your body adjust to the stretch as you broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, both of you panting, fighting the urge to thrust hard into you.
"Shhh.. I’ve got you.. breathe, you’re doing so well for me, ma chérie. Always so.. good for me.. just relax for me.. come on, I know you can do it." He huffed, his hips faltering.
You inhaled deeply, allowing yourself to relax further so he could slide deeper into you, oh god.. he wasn’t even halfway in and you already felt so full.
You winced in pain again, your fingers digging into his back as you squeezed your eyes shut, while his dark gaze bore into you.
"It.. h-hurts.." you whimpered.
"I know, love.. I’m sorry.. I promise it’ll feel better once you relax a bit more for me."
And you did, letting him fully bottom out as you both sat there, still trying to sync your breathing with his to fully calm down.
Your cunt fluttered around him, eliciting a shaky moan from his throat, beads of sweat already forming on the back of his neck.
Your breathing began to slow, and you finally adjusted to the sensations below, boldly rolling your hips against his, eliciting simultaneous moans from both of you.
"Y-you can move..." you granted him permission.
And that was all he needed, he carefully pulled out of you slowly, just halfway, then pushed back in, whining at how your pussy was enveloping him.
He started with a gentle rhythm, allowing you to acclimate to the feeling.
"F-faster..! God.. hggghkk.. so good..!" You pleaded, your legs wrapping around his hips as he began to thrust into you harder and faster, his hips colliding with yours as he held you tightly, suckling on your breasts while you both moaned in bliss.
You bit down hard on his shoulder, making him groan, a droplet of blood landing on your chest, which he quickly licked clean.
Naturally, he had to reciprocate.
He bit into your collarbone fiercely, drawing blood as well, but only he suckled on the wound, his eyes locked onto yours, his hips mercilessly slamming against yours.
"You f-feel so good... so good for me... that's it... hah... let me hear you, scream as loud as you want, n-no one can hear us here... absolutely no one..! Fuck... mon ange... tu es mon ange."
He murmured against your skin, until another orgasm hit you like a freight train, arching your chest toward his face as you clenched around him, your pussy nearly milking him before he pulled out just in time.
Spurts of cum splattered across your stomach as his hips jerked, panting and huffing as he tried to steady his own heartbeat.
God, you looked stunning like this.
Hair tousled, sweaty, and panting just like him, struggling to catch your breath as you trembled from the aftershocks.
Once you both were cleaned up and snuggled in bed, he held you tightly, so close it felt almost surreal. You smiled to yourself as he mumbled something into your hair, inhaling your scent before finally drifting off to sleep.
Such a shame his mother is no longer around.
She would have adored you.
the art spam has ended. I hope to draw something else soon 🫡
found you!
Crying over this gorgeous birthday art from my friends!! Thank you for helping make 31 so lovely. 💕
Art by @/jbeatworld, @adelie-in-blue , @aceontheline , and @thatradiosubaruu
Valentine’s Day Alastor!!
Bleeeh ✨
𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫
➤ Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Epilogue
𝐂𝐖: P in V, Pregnancy sex, Clit stimulation, Boob touching, Kissing, Smoking, Non Sex-Repulsed! Alastor, Vulnerable! Alastor, Pregnant! Reader, Murder, Racism, and Death, This is set in the late 1920s, Alastor speaks French (I used a translator, forgive me for any mistakes), Time skip, Angst!!!
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: It’s silly, to think that Alastor, your husband, the father of your unborn child, could be responsible for all the Missing Person posters strewn haphazardly across New Orleans. There is no way the man sobbing into your shoulder is the Bayou Butcher, a murderer, a senseless killer. He is a good man who just so happened to commit a terrible act to protect what little family he has left — or at least you desperately hope so.
A solid chest pushed against your back, a sharp nose nestled in the crook of your neck, and a pair of hands shakily slid under your nightgown, past the frilly border below the plump flesh of your thighs. Long, slender fingers sprawled apart to cradle the swell of your belly, your eyes flying open with a sharp intake of breath, but you were already awake.
You were conscious long before you felt the mattress dip behind you with a soft creak.
You were conscious long before you felt your husband crawl under the blankets to join you, his heavily pregnant wife, in bed.
You were conscious long before you felt another presence in the room at all.
Sleepless nights were your new reality. You spent most of your time laying on your side with your eyes closed, the window cracked open, trying to lull yourself into a peaceful slumber with the outside ambience. You no longer worried about the Bayou Butcher, not even when Alastor took a while to join you in bed, leaving you alone for hours on end.
Ever since the pastor married you and Alastor 7 months ago, he made it perfectly clear that you had nothing to fear. And though it was relieving, not having to look over your shoulder every time you went out on a stroll, your mind was far from being at ease. That fateful night you married your childhood best friend was haunting you.
A loud, concussive bang that left your ears ringing.
A pained cry amongst a chorus of shocked gasps.
The distinctive, acrid stench of burnt gunpowder.
The walls and floorboards splattered with crimson.
Each day, each week, each month that passed, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t escape that fateful night — your wedding night, which was supposed to convene in celebration and happiness. Your mind refused to allow you to forget what transpired. The memory was ingrained in your mind, tormenting you, leaving you exhausted and aching most days.
You were at Ms. Hartfelt’s home, sitting at the dinner table with Alastor and Mimzy, just freshly wedded. You were supposed to celebrate your union with a lovely dinner, one so graciously prepared by your mother-in-law. She was ecstatic to be able to call you her daughter after years of watching you grow up with her one and only son.
In fact, she had cradled your face in her loving palms and admitted to you in that sweet, honeyed voice of hers that she couldn’t wait to become a grandmother, that she couldn’t wait for the day a living and breathing testament of your love ran around her home, before pressing a motherly kiss on your cheek and pulling away to start dinner.
You couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was the last thing she told you before everything happened.
You were only a measly month pregnant then, but as Alastor’s lips moved across your neck, you wished you would have told her that she didn’t have to wait. You wished you would have told her that she was going to be a grandmother, and soon, reaching behind you with a singular hand, nimble fingers tentatively holding his forearm.
“A-Al,” You shakily whispered, hips shifting, his desire stirring to life against your rear.
One hand ascended, cupping the underside of your swollen breast, a thumb brushing a soft peak.
The other descended, skittering past the seam of your panties, a singular long, slender finger sliding through your folds.
“Chéri,” Alastor murmured into your neck.
Arousal churned in your belly, neck craning, your lips brushing his as he lifted his head up.
“Oh,” You whimpered at the sensation of his finger teasing your bundle of nerves.
Alastor wasn’t the only one afflicted with sleepless nights. He took a while to join you in bed, and not just because you decided to retire early, but because that night that had ended in tragedy, in grief and mourning instead of happiness and celebration, was also tormenting him. He lost his mother, his maman, and he did something awful.
That awful thing Alastor did, that’s how he made it perfectly clear to you that you had no need to fear the Bayou Butcher.
And you couldn’t stop thinking about it, like you couldn’t stop thinking about Ms. Hartfelt’s words.
He had done something that should have sent you up and running, but there you were, in your new bed, in your new home, letting Alastor touch you.
Letting Alastor feel you with the same hands you had seen doused in blood — blood that wasn’t his. Blood that belonged to someone you should have been upset to lose, or at least angry, but you weren’t. Because that someone had done something worse than what Alastor had committed in turn, which was taking your mother-in-law’s life.
It was accidental, involuntarily, what your dad had done, but he was 100% at fault. There was no doubt in your mind about that.
The bastard could rot in Hell, for all you cared.
He had no loving bone in his body. Your mom had only stayed with him for two reasons and two reasons alone: fear and financial support.
She was free of your dad and his controlling ways now, and all because he decided to track you down on your wedding night, kick down Ms. Hartfelt’s door, and storm in with his shotgun in an attempt to intimidate you two before dragging you back home — but at what cost? At the cost of a precious life and a harrowing truth?
When he decided to point the barrel of his shotgun to your husband’s chest, Alastor decided to try to wrangle it out of his hands.
“Oh my lord! What is happening?”
“Please, sir, you don’t have to do this.”
“Go on and get your ass up from that chair, girl, you’re comin’ back home with me.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll get up, but can you put the gun down first? Please, you’re scaring everybody. And does mom know you’re here? She wouldn’t be happy about this. It’s wrong. Please.”
“She don’t know a thing, but it don’t matter. What matters is we’re leavin’.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Shut your trap, boy. I ain’t talking to you.”
Your dad refused to put his shotgun down, but the demeaning term was what ultimately spurred Alastor on to wrangle it out of his hands.
That was the worst decision he could have made. Alastor was strong, but so was your dad. He did intense labor for a living. It took a lot of strength and willpower for your husband to push your dad away from the kitchen, let alone angle the barrel of the shotgun away from his chest, but nothing could have prevented what happened after that.
In a tragic accident, the shotgun went off and it just so happened to be aimed in Ms. Hartfelt’s direction, who was standing there in shock.
“Oh God, Ms. Hartfelt!” Mimzy cried out, ears ringing, the stench of burnt gunpowder thick in the air. “This can’t be happening!”
She was struck, right in the center of her stomach, and you dived in and caught her before she could hit the kitchen tile.
“Maman?” Alastor instantly pulled away.
And, like a coward, your dad tucked tail and darted out the door, dropping the shotgun in the process, running away from his mistake.
“She’s bleeding! Oh my God, she’s been shot!” You sobbed as you pressed your hand on her wound, wedding dressed stained crimson.
Alastor was quick to join you on the ground, panicked, in disbelief, hands falling on top of yours as Mimzy searched around for bandages.
However, by the time Mimzy found something to wrap Ms. Hartfelt’s wound in, it was too late. She had gone limp in her son’s trembling arms, muscles relaxed, eyes void of life. Your dad had taken your mother-in-law’s life, and though you weren’t surprised when Alastor stood up and went to grab the shotgun, you were frightened.
“A-Al? What are you doing?” You tried to protest, to plead to him, trying to stop him from making another rash decision. “Where are you going?”
“To do what I must do,” Alastor turned around to face you and Mimzy. “Mimzy, dear, please make sure she stays put. I don’t want her running after me and getting herself hurt.”
“O-Of course, Al,” Mimzy nodded solemnly. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
“What? You two can’t be serious right now… this is… this is insane!” You sputtered, but he turned on his heel, determined and resolute. “Alastor, please, you don’t have to do this. You’re the one who’s going to go and get himself hurt!”
“If something happens to him, oh, I swear on the good lord that I will bury you, too,” You turned to Mimzy, upset, livid. “You’ve both lost your minds!”
The police in New Orleans were useless, you knew that, of course you did. But the look on Alastor’s face when he returned later that night, curly hair plastered to his forehead, broken glasses hanging around his neck, and his Sunday best doused in more blood continued to haunt you. He was calm, unfazed, as if he hadn’t just taken a man’s life.
The blood on his hands meant nothing to Alastor.
He had washed it off in the kitchen sink like grime.
He hadn’t cringed or grimaced at it, he had just acted as if it was a meager inconvenience as he cleaned the crimson ingrained under his fingernails.
His sins weren’t keeping him awake at night.
He could care less about what he had done.
When Alastor crawled into bed hours after you did, when he pressed himself up against your back and initiated intimacy in the dead of night, just like now, you knew he was simply trying to keep his mind off of her. And, while you were still uncertain about it, you had a sneaking suspicion that Alastor was also trying to assure you that he would never harm you.
How? You didn’t know. You just knew that his touches were tender and reverent and nowhere near as firm or bold as they used to be.
You just knew that Alastor had killed your dad. He had made your mom a widow, and while he was financially supporting her with the money he had made selling his mother’s home — a decision he only made with her death — he saw the look on your face. The question you wanted to ask but had yet to summon up the courage to do so.
Was it possible that you had managed to get married to the Bayou Butcher?
Had you married a murderer, a methodological and senseless killer, the same one that had been tormenting the streets of New Orleans for quite some time already?
Or were you simply being paranoid because he wasn’t distraught over what he had done?
Alastor could tell that you were uneasy. Conflicted. You were so easy to read, but with his mother’s death, he was at a loss over what to say or do. He didn’t want to admit that he had intervened in your love life, and if was forced to do so, you wouldn’t understand his reasoning behind killing all those men Mimzy had tried to set you up with.
However, the way you looked at him, even as he teased your soft peak with his thumb and rubbed your bundle of nerves with his middle finger in slow, sensual circles, arousal churning in your belly, slick coating your inner thighs. He saw it. And he despised it. It was keeping him awake at night, too, but, what could he do?
Alastor was torn between his grief and how you felt in regards to his bold decision to go after your dad.
The tremble in your limbs wasn’t helping, either. It made him feel as if his touch instilled fear in you, though he knew that wasn’t the case.
Uneasy or not, you made no move to push him away. You were receptive to his touches, actually.
Still, he had to fight hard to stave off the feeling as he sought comfort in you, the only person who could quell the ache in his heart now. It loomed over his head almost menacingly, like the dark clouds he saw steadily collecting in the night sky before he came back inside, threatening to spoil his mood at any given moment.
“As-tu froid?” Alastor inquired beneath a whisper, ring finger joining his middle finger, applying more pressure to your clit. “Are you cold?”
“Y-Yes,” You lied through your teeth, making his heart lurch in your chest.
“Would you like me to help you with that, mon amour?” Alastor tried his best to not let his voice waver, rich brown pools regarding you.
You hesitated, but eventually, you moved the hand on his forearm down south, reaching for his desire.
“Yes, please,” You moaned out as you gripped the outline of his erection through his sleep pants. “Need to feel you inside of me.”
“Lift your leg up, then, won’t you?” Alastor asked you, tucking your panties into your inner thigh.
“Okay,” You complied, moving your hand away from his pants and kicking the blanket off of you to lift your leg up, entrance fluttering.
You turned away from him, slightly arching your back, waiting, anticipating.
And, before you knew it, you had your husband’s length sliding in and out of your walls, cockhead repeatedly hitting that special spot inside of you. One arm had a firm grip on the back of your knee, helping you keep your leg wide open, the other was nestled under your waist, a warm hand reverently holding the swell of your belly.
His face was buried in the crook of your neck, breaths coming in hot and shallow, goosebumps littering your flesh.
Alastor’s thrusts were quick, the bedframe rattling, the mattress creaking with each cant of his hips, but he was gentle nonetheless. Ever since you started showing, he refused to be rough with you, afraid of hurting you or the baby. The two of you were the only family he had left, and he didn’t want to risk losing either of you by being careless.
You sucked in your lower lip between your teeth, trying to muffle your pleasure.
The window was cracked open, after all.
But as the hand on your belly slid down, fingers finding your needy clit once more, you relinquished your lip with a high-pitched mewl.
The feeling of his cockhead and his fingers working in tandem were edging you towards the brink of ecstasy, the coil in your belly growing taut, walls gradually tightening around his length.
You thought Alastor was getting there, too. His hips began to stutter, like they usually did when he was nearing his peak, thrusts sloppy and discordant.
After a while, though, you realized you were wrong.
He wasn’t close to coming undone anytime soon. He was simply trying to coax himself there.
It wasn’t until Alastor’s hips and his fingers came to a halt, his shoulders started shaking, and something warm and wet trickled down your neck that you understood what was wrong, however. He was crying. Alastor was crying. What could have been a sweet release ebbed away like a falling tide at the rare occurrence unfolding on your shoulder.
“Alastor, sweetheart… ?” You reached behind you, nimble fingers finding the mess of curls on his head. “Is everything all right? What’s wrong?”
You didn’t know what to think. The broken sobs that tore through his throat, you never knew he was capable of producing such a raw, desperate sound. Alastor hardly cried when his mother passed away in his arms, and though it probably could have been from the shock, you were still taken aback nonetheless. He wasn’t one for vulnerability.
In fact, Alastor took so long to join you in the bedroom because, when he wasn’t spending every waking moment trying to keep himself occupied, he was sitting out back, staring into the night with a lit cigarette lodged between his lips. You asked him about it once, and his response was that he didn’t want to stress you or the baby out.
“Je suis désolé,” Alastor’s words were muffled against your neck, but you figured he had to be apologizing, and that struck a chord in you.
It was times like these where the thought of him being the Bayou Butcher seemed absolutely inane. Murderers weren’t complex. They were senseless killers. They couldn’t form meaningful connections or care about anybody but themselves. They only cared about appeasing their selfish urges, which tore families apart in the most gruesome of ways.
How could someone who chose to suffer in silence in an attempt to be mindful of his wife and his unborn child’s health be the Bayou Butcher?
It was silly, to think that Alastor could be responsible for all the Missing Person posters strewn haphazardly across New Orleans. There was no way the man sobbing into your shoulder could have done that. He was a good man who just so happened to commit a terrible act to protect what little family he had left — or at least you hoped so.
“What? Are you apologizing? What on God’s green earth are you sorry for?” You sputtered as he let go, pulling his softening length out of you, making you wince a bit. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He moved back, unraveling his arms from your body, your hand consequently falling from his hair.
“I… I need a second,” Alastor hastily said, tucking himself in his pants and jumping out of bed, face angled away from you. “I’ll be right back.”
You immediately protested at that, planting your elbows on the mattress to lift yourself up.
“Hey, wait a minute, don’t you go running off on me now!” You reached down to fix your panties, or at you least tried to, the swell of your belly standing in your way. “A-Alastor, come on! Slow down!”
Being heavily pregnant was not easy. It was hard getting out of bed, but you managed to do it.
“Jesus H. Christ,” You huffed as you smoothed down your nightgown and put on your slippers. “I hate being pregnant… makes everything difficult.”
You heard a door slam shut, your nostrils flaring with a heavy sigh. Alastor stepped outside.
“And I hate how allergic men are to feelings,” You waddled your way out of the bedroom, one hand on your belly, the other on the nearest wall. “The world would be better off if they weren’t.”
You didn’t know what time it was. It was too dark to check on the clock softly ticking away in the living room. But it was late, too late to be rattling the foundation of your home by slamming doors and storming outside to find temporary relief in a box of Lucky Strikes, which you were certain Alastor had smoked enough of already.
His poor lungs needed a break.
And frankly, so did your swollen ankles, despite having been laying in bed for hours, your fingertips latching onto the doorknob.
“Alastor,” You huffed, the stench of tobacco penetrating your senses, your nose crinkling.
“I told you I’d be back in a second,” Alastor responded, voice strained. “Go back inside, the smoke isn’t good for you or the child.”
He was sitting on the porch, staring out into the darkness, a lit cigarette wedged in between two long, slender fingers.
“Put it out, then. It also isn’t good for you,” You scoffed, anchoring yourself on his shoulder so you could sit beside him. “You’re a radio host now, remember? Gotta take care of your vocal chords.”
“You are… insufferable,” Alastor simply opted to say, taking a drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, snuffing it out with his slipper.
You rolled your eyes at that, but you held your tongue, especially as his face came into view.
Dark rings surrounded his puffy eyes, and his caramel skin was stained with streaks of tears that had recently been wiped away.
You pressed your side into his and placed a hand on his back, thumb caressing a shoulder blade.
“Maybe… but, I am your wife,” You tentatively started. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Alastor was quick to say, inspiring annoyance in your chest.
“There’s a lot, actually. In fact, we never really spoke about what happened, or why it did, at least not properly,” You tried again. “I mean, you… well, you know what you did. I don’t have to say it out loud. I can imagine it’s weighing on your soul, coupled with your mother’s loss.”
You felt his back tense against your palm at the mention of what he had done.
“I don’t think about that. I don’t think about that at all,” Alastor turned to look at you, eyes void of any decipherable expression. “Forgive me for saying this, but I do not regret it, either. Not one bit.”
“What do you mean you don’t regret it? That was my dad —” You started, but he cut you off.
“Who you held no fondness for,” Alastor scoffed. “And need I remind you, he kicked down my door, pointed a shotgun at my chest, and then killed my mother and let her bleed to death like a coward.”
“I may have despised him, but I didn’t want him dead!” You sputtered, angry tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “And you killed a man, a human being, how do you feel nothing?”
“Christ, woman, my maman is dead because of him! Why should I feel remorse for what I did?” Alastor suddenly cried out, startling you, your hand falling away from his back and to your side.
“Alastor,” You breathed out.
“My mother, my maman, she’s gone and she’s not coming back,” Alastor continued. “And if I could, oh, I would resurrect that wretched man just to kill him again, and again and again and again.”
You couldn’t believe your ears.
“I understand you’re upset, but you can’t just say those things and not expect me to be the least bit concerned,” You shook your head. “You’re in pain, yes, but it’s not normal —”
“Oh, if anyone is upset, it’s you! You’re upset because I did something so unforgivable and abnormal in your eyes. You can’t stomach that your husband, the father of your child, is capable of committing such gruesome acts with the same hands he dares to touch you with.”
You let out a gasp as Alastor grabbed your arms, brows scrunching together, teeth baring in a strained smile, tears trickling down his face.
“And I’m not in pain, I’m in anguish, woman!” Alastor shook you, your heart kickstarting. “Every day I wake up, I sit at the kitchen table to drink my coffee, and God immediately takes the seat across from me, only to tear my heart out of my chest and eat it like a pomegranate in my face.”
You hadn’t seen him lose his bearings since that fateful night, and in truth, it intimidated you.
“I didn’t want to make your mother a widow. She is a lovely woman who was dealt a bad hand in life, much like mine,” Alastor laughed bitterly. “Your father was a reflection of mine, too. A hypocrite. A fragile, white man who married someone he believed to be lesser to feel more powerful.”
But you didn’t know what to say, especially as the words continued to tumble from his lips.
You silently stared at him with wide, glossy eyes.
Each admittance was a lash at your heart.
In all the years you had known him, you had never seen him so broken, so distraught.
“But I did what I did, and there is no point in ruminating over something neither of us wish to think about,” Alastor shook his head. “I just miss my maman, that’s it. I miss her, and I’m sorry for frightening you. Forgive me, but I miss her. I can’t believe that she’s gone.”
You also didn’t know what to think about the blunt nature of Alastor’s confession. Hearing him outright admit he would kill your dad over and over again if he was granted the chance wasn’t something you wanted to hear, but you understood it. His mother had died in such a painful and tragic manner. Your brain could make sense of that.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I’m just concerned, okay?” You reached out to grab his face. “And I think you should stop forcing yourself to suffer in silence. It’s not healthy. Also, we agreed to be there for each other, for better or for worse, and I… I love you. A lot. I want to help you. That’s it, Alastor.”
Rich brown pools stared intently into yours, brows still scrunched together, lips closing and opening like a fish out of water.
You had never uttered those words.
His grip on your arms softened, his throat bobbed, and you swore you could hear his heart pounding violently against his ribcage.
“I love you and I want you to be okay. I want to be able to put this behind us, or at least figure out a way around it,” You continued, thumb wiping away his tears. “We’re having a baby soon, a living human being, and we can’t keep… operating like this. It’s not good for us. It’s tearing us apart.”
Before the two of you tied the knot, before the two of you spontaneously got engaged, before the two of you started fooling around, you had always held a soft spot for Alastor. You had liked him for a long time, but even then, you hadn’t uttered those three words to him. You hadn’t been together for long enough, but still.
“Do you hear me, Alastor Hartfelt?” Your eyes fluttered, blinking away your tears. “I love you, and you can’t be running away from me and smoking your career away. I won’t allow it.”
If Alastor wasn’t crying enough before, he certainly was now, his face nestling in the crook of your neck and his hands sliding away from your arms to embrace you, long, slender fingers shakily gripping the back of your nightgown. You wrapped your own arms around his shoulders and buried your face in the mess of curls on top of his head.
You inhaled his familiar scent. It was rich and earthy and distinctly him. Your husband.
“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let loose on you,” Alastor spoke into your neck once the tears subsided. “And I thought you disliked me. Surely you cannot love someone you dislike?”
He pulled back and lifted his face from your neck, forehead meeting yours and sharp nose grazing your cheek, but he refused to meet your gaze.
Almost as if he was flustered.
You tilted your head and pressed a reverent kiss on his lips, soft and sweet and feather-like, before smoothing your hands across his chest.
“I dislike that you made me waddle after you a little bit before I was about to experience a mind-numbing orgasm,” Your shoulders shook with a bout of laughter. “But I love you anyhow.”
He let out a snort at your vulgar words.
“How uncouth of you,” A grin tugged at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, making your heart flutter. “If you’d allow me, though, I would like to make it up to you.”
Your eyes flitted down, nimble fingers mindlessly fiddling with the buttons on his sleep shirt, chest vibrating with a pensive hum.
His offer was tempting, but it was late.
After finally discussing what had happened, sort of, kind of, you felt exhaustion creep into your bones for the first time in 7 long, grueling months.
“I think I’ll have to take a rain check,” You told him, locking eyes with him once more. “I have no idea what time it is, but I must admit, I’m starting to feel a bit tired — oh my fuck.”
Alastor pulled away from you, hands sliding away from your back to grip your shoulders, concerned.
He opened his mouth to ask you what was wrong, especially as your face twisted to form a grimace. Instead of offering him a verbal response, however, you grabbed one of his hands and placed it over the swell of your belly, where you felt a painful jab just moments ago. Realization dawned on his features. The baby was up and kicking.
“Jesus H. Christ, this baby can kick!” You huffed. “I’m hoping these last two months go by quickly. I mean, I got kicked in the ribs a few days ago — do you know how painful that is?”
The feeling of your swollen belly always seemed to do something to Alastor — but when he felt the unmistakable imprint of your child’s tiny foot meet his palm? Oh, it was as if your previous exchange had never occurred. Long, slender fingers sprawled apart, and laughter bubbled up in his throat, finding joy in the powerful kick you could only groan at.
“While God hasn’t been kind to me as of late, I do constantly thank him that he made me a man,” Alastor grinned wickedly. “I will never know what it’s like to be kicked from the inside out.”
You rolled your eyes at that, unamused.
“How fortunate, to be a man. Worse awaits me,” You hummed. “I can’t wait to be split in two in a room full of strangers!”
Alastor opened his mouth to say something, but then the night sky above suddenly rumbled, a sign that rain was soon to come.
Oh, and your neighbor, who lived quite a ways away, suddenly decided to announce herself, annoyance simmering beneath your skin.
“Susan! Hi, hello, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?” You drawled, making Alastor turn around. “Isn’t it late to be taking a stroll? I mean, we don’t live in the best area, you know. There are… disagreeable folk out here.”
Susan. She was a 60-year-old woman with nothing better to do than complain, even though she constantly claimed that her time was ‘precious.’ You had probably interrupted her beauty sleep with your yelling earlier — somehow — the grimace on your face deepening.
“Oh, I just made the long trek over here to ask if you two lovebirds are done with your squawking, since you woke me up!” Susan flailed her arms about. “And now it’s going to rain, fantastic! I just got my hair done yesterday, too. I swear, if the rain ruins it, I’ll be sending a bill your way, just you wait!”
Alastor sat beside you once more and reached up with a singular hand to rub his temples, annoyed, unimpressed at her audacious behavior. If the exhaustion hadn’t suddenly caught up to him, too, he would have ventured to offer her an unsavory word or two, but he held his tongue.
“Okay, well…” Alastor started, relieved that it was dark and her vision was poor enough to not see the dry tears on his face. “We were about to head inside, actually. So, I can assure you that you won’t have to worry about any more ‘squawking.’”
Susan didn’t bother responding to his statement, which made you slightly bristle, but you weren’t surprised. She was a rude, entitled woman.
You were happy to see her off, though, your shoulders slumping with a sigh of relief as the sound of her shuffled footsteps slowly faded away.
“God, I know this is awful of me, but sometimes I wish the Bayou Butcher would take that woman,” You admitted underneath a whisper.
Your husband merely shook his head.
“Come now, let’s get you inside, before it starts raining,” Alastor stood up and offered you both his hands, which you gladly took. “If you catch a cold, your mother will never let me live it down.”
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @foxykatniss123 @diffidentphantom @archangelle426 @activesplooger @nesryn @sarcastic-wit @4dadesperate @mushythemushroom04 @wonderlandangelsposts @karolinda007-blog @mothiekat @thatradiosubaruu @aurorab-0-realis @madamedesalaunier @mercilessscorpion2 @safination @aslayerofmonsters @kezibear @scootlerdoodler @abadonkori @lilsleepybear1029 @idkyetwow @kurokitsune93 @lassblair-blog
Cover art for my next smut oneshot...Alastaur (deer taur Alastor!) comes out of the woods to collect his annual human sacrifice, but instead of a young monk that he immediately eats alive, he finds Daphne!!
Non-puritan version on bsky
Finally finished this Alastaur/Daphne piece for the upcoming Human Sacrifice AU....where nun Daph is left on an altar to be devoured by the local forest demon but things don't go according to plan.....
See the grown up version on bsky
Deer lives in my mind 🦌♥️
Summer Fit! 🩷🖤
Amy's ready for the Summer! Plenty of dates with Husk are planned 🤭🩷
