Content: light fluff, smut with a bit of a plot, p in v, (alastor receiving) oral, fingering
Summary: The two of you were trapped in marriages arranged by your parents, though neither you nor Alastor could stand your spouses. One evening, after a pair of explosive fights drove you both to your breaking points, causing you search for comfort in each other, only for everything to change that night.
Word count: 3,283 words 18,928 characters
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You and Alastor had been inseparable since childhood, tethered together despite your parents' constant warnings that he was a dangerous influence. However, the moment you turned eighteen, they took more control. They handed you over to a man they had chosen for you, a man you utterly despised.
By some cruel twist of fate, Alastor was trapped in the exact same cage, bound to a woman he hated just as much. Society expected you both to play the parts of perfect, obedient spouses, but behind closed doors, your lifelong bond remained unbroken.
Your breaking point came on a humid evening. Your husband, John, had just launched into a cruel tirade, cursing you out simply because you were resting instead of serving him dinner. For the first time, something inside you snapped. You stood your ground, looking him dead in the eye, and told him you were tired of him and his bullshit.
Being the arrogant fool he was, John sneered and told you to pack your things and get out. You didn't hesitate. You left happily, the front door slamming behind you.
You went straight to Alastor’s house, but as you approached, the front door flew open. His wife came storming out, shrieking a string of ridiculous, dramatic insults into the night air.
Ducking behind a nearby bush, you waited out the storm until she finally climbed into a cab and sped away.The street fell quiet again.
Slipping out from the shadows, you walked up the porch steps to Alastor’s firmly shut door.
You knocked softly, your voice a gentle contrast to the night's chaos. "Alastor?"
The latch clicked, and the door swung open in a matter of seconds.
"Y/N?" Alastor asked. He looked down at you, his sharp features softening with a flicker of genuine concern. It was far too late for a casual visit, yet he didn't hesitate to step aside, inviting you into the warmth of the foyer.
"Hi…" you murmured, stepping past him. You slipped off your coat and hung it on the familiar wooden rack. "I saw what just happened…"
Alastor let out a heavy, uncharacteristic laugh. "Ah, yes. I told her I wanted a divorce."
Your eyes widened… You were shocked, but it made sense. He had always told you bad things about her.
"Really?," you said softly, walking over to the living room and sinking into the cushions of his couch.
He followed you as he nodded, sitting down close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you here, dear?"
"I finally snapped," you admitted, a small, victorious smile tugging at your lips. "He told me to pack my things and get out."
Alastor’s signature grin widened, sharp and full of genuine pride. "That's my girl."
The words made your heart flutter, sending a familiar thrill through your chest. He always had a way of dropping those little phrases.. casual, yet heavy enough to make your breath hitch.
Seeking the comfort you had been starved of for years, you leaned over and let your head rest against his lap.
His hands moved into your hair instantly. It was a well-worn routine between you. For months, the two of you had carved out these secret moments behind your spouses' backs, retreating to his living room just to talk, to breathe, and to remember who you were.
You shifted, turning your face upward to look into his eyes. "Why have we settled for bad lovers for so long?"
"Because we are nice… in a way," He replied, his long fingers carding through your hair with gentleness. "We try to see the good in people, even when they do absolutely nothing to deserve it."
You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the absurdity of it all washing over you. "I think we're just idiots."
Alastor’s laugh joined yours, a warm, resonant sound that filled the quiet room. As the laughter faded, a deeply comfortable silence settled over the two of you.
With your head still in his lap, your mind drifted back to the cold reality of your marriage. John hadn't kissed you, hugged you, or had sex with you in ages. Every single time you had tried to walk away in the past, he would weaponize your own guilt, spinning a web of words until you finally crawled back. But tonight was different.
You looked back up, locking eyes with him. "I think I'm going to divorce John."
"You should," Alastor said, his voice dropping to a rare, serious tone. "You deserve far better than what he has given you."
You hummed softly in agreement and sat up, the lingering anger from the fight still boiling deep in your chest, mixing with a sudden adrenaline.
You turned to look at him, and found him already watching you. The silence between you grew thick. You studied the sharp lines of his face, the intensity in his gaze, and before your mind could even process the thought, you leaned in. Your lips pressed against his.
Alastor didn’t hesitate. His lips met yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, his body twisting toward you.
One hand slid to the nape of your neck, while the other cradled your cheek. When you broke away for air, gasping, he didn’t let you go far. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you back in with a low hum that vibrated against your mouth.
The kiss deepened, messy and desperate, the kind of kiss you’d both been denied for years. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you shuddered, gripping the front of his shirt.
“Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you..”
You surged back into the kiss before doubt could creep in, your fingers tightening in his hair. His breath was ragged against your mouth, his pulse thundering under your fingertips where they brushed his neck.
Then, you pulled away just enough to shift forward, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him, knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The hitch in his breath was soft, his hands flying to your hips like they were drawn there by instinct.
Alastor’s lips trailed down from your mouth, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your jaw, then lower, under your ear. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, just enough to make you gasp, before his mouth moved lower again, tracing the line of your throat.
His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks, and you arched into him instinctively, craving more. But you refused to let your hips rock forward, no matter how badly they ached to.
If this was happening, you wanted him to guide you. To choose this without hesitation.
His grip shifted suddenly, one hand sliding around to the small of your back, pressing firmly until your hips rolled forward against his.
The friction drew a ragged gasp from your throat, swallowed immediately by his mouth as he kissed you again, deep and claiming.
You could feel him, hard beneath you, and the way his hips lifted ever so slightly to meet yours sent heat pooling low in your stomach. Your breath came in short, uneven pants against his lips, your fingers twisting tighter into his hair as if you could pull him even closer.
When he finally broke the kiss, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then lower, lingering on the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
Without hesitation, you reached for the hem of your blouse, pulling it over your head in one swift motion before tossing it aside. His gaze traced the newly exposed skin with a reverence that made your skin prickle, his fingers flexing against your hips as if resisting the urge to touch.
Then, with deliberate slowness, his hands glided up your sides, the warmth of his palms searing through the thin fabric of your bra. His thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, drawing a shiver from you before his arms wrapped fully around your back.
The clasp gave way under his practiced fingers, and the moment the straps slipped from your shoulders, he pulled you against him, bare skin meeting the soft fabric of his shirt. His exhale was unsteady against your collarbone, lips trailing along the curve of your shoulder as if memorizing the feel of you.
Your fingers trembled slightly as they worked the buttons of his shirt. The fabric parted beneath your touch, revealing the lean muscle beneath, the faint scars of the life you knew so well.
Alastor didn’t move to help, didn’t rush you; he simply watched, his breath uneven, as you pushed the shirt off his shoulders. It pooled around his elbows before falling to the floor, forgotten.
Your hands roamed then, tracing the ridges of his collarbones, the dip of his sternum, the lines of his abdomen. His skin was warm under your touch, and when you leaned in to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along his throat, his pulse jumped beneath your lips.
You slid off his lap slowly, your legs unsteady, and stood. He followed without hesitation, sliding his pants down before letting his hands meet the waistband of your skirt.
There was no pause, no question.. just the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted to stop. The fabric whispered against your thighs as he pushed it down, letting it puddle at your feet. His palms skimmed up your bare legs, rough calluses catching against your skin, before he pulled you against him.
Alastor backed you into the nearest wall, his hands tangling in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The plaster was cool against your bare back, a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of his chest pressed against yours.
His hips pinned you there, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your thigh, and you arched into him with a breathless moan. One of his hands slid from your hair, trailing down your side to grip your hip, fingers digging in.
Your fingers traced the straining outline of him through the thin fabric of his boxers, relishing the way his hips jerked into your touch. Alastor gasped, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as your palm pressed firmly against him. His breath came in ragged bursts against your collarbone, fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair.
"She never did this for you, did she?" you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
He shook his head desperately, a whimper escaping his throat when you stroked him again, slow and deliberate.
"Never," he choked out, voice wrecked. "She never-"
His words dissolved into a groan as you slipped your hand beneath the waistband, fingers curling around his bare length. Hot, hard, and already leaking.. just the feel of him sent a pulse of want straight to your core.
You tightened your grip, thumb swiping over the slick head, and his knees nearly buckled.
"Fuck," he hissed, hips stuttering forward into your hand.
His fingers scrambled against the wall beside your head, nails scraping plaster. Every tremor, every choked noise, you cataloged them greedily, drunk on the power of reducing him to this.
His breath hitched when you dropped to your knees, fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers. The fabric slid down his thighs, pooling at his feet like an afterthought.
You didn’t hesitate, just leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh, relishing the way his muscles twitched under your lips. His hand fumbled into your hair, tangling tight.
"You don’t have to-" he started, voice rough, but you cut him off with a slow lick up his length, tongue dragging from base to tip.
The groan that ripped from his chest was raw, unfiltered, his hips jerking forward instinctively. You hummed against him, savoring the taste, the weight of him on your tongue, before taking him deeper.
His fingers tightened in your hair, a ragged "Fuck-" escaping him as your lips stretched around him.
You set a punishing pace, hollowing your cheeks, one hand gripping the base of him while the other anchored itself on his hip. His thighs trembled under your palms, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps above you.
Every sound he made, every choked curse, every broken whimper, fueled you, made you take him deeper, until your nose brushed the wiry hair at the base of him. His hips stuttered, his grip bordering on painful, and you pulled back just enough to glance up at him through your lashes.
Alastor’s pupils were blown wide, his lips parted as he stared down at you with something between awe and desperation.
“God, you’re-” His words fractured into a groan when you swallowed around him, your tongue pressing firmly along the underside of his cock.
His hips jerked forward, instinct overriding restraint, and you let him, relaxing your throat as he fucked into your mouth with shallow, uneven thrusts. His hands trembled where they gripped your hair, his breaths coming in ragged bursts.
“Y/N, I’m- fuck, I’m close,” he warned, voice wrecked.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you hummed around him, the vibration dragging a broken curse from his lips. His fingers tightened, tugging just enough to make your scalp sting, and then he was cumming, his hips stuttering as he spilled down your throat.
You swallowed every drop, your fingers digging into his thighs to steady him as his knees buckled.
When you finally pulled back, licking your lips with deliberate slowness, Alastor slumped against the wall, his chest heaving. He looked utterly undone, hair mussed, lips swollen, his skin flushed from his collarbones to the tips of his ears. His gaze dropped to your mouth, and he shuddered, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you again.
Alastor exhaled sharply, still catching his breath, then pulled you up by your arms. His lips crashed into yours before your feet fully settled on the floor, tasting himself on your tongue. You whimpered into his mouth, fingers gripping his bare shoulders as he backed you toward the couch again.
His hands slid down your sides, pausing only to hook his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. The fabric barely had time to hit the floor before he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you the last few steps.
The cushions sank under your combined weight as he laid you back, his mouth trailing down your neck while one hand slid between your thighs. His fingers were calloused, rough in a way that made you arch off the couch when they brushed against your clit.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with disbelief. His touch circled lazily, until your hips bucked upward in frustration.
His fingers dipped lower, sliding through your slickness with agonizing slowness before pressing inside without warning. You gasped, back arching off the couch as he stretched you, his thumb circling your clit in a relentless pace.
"Alastor-" you choked out, nails scraping down his bare chest.
His name sounded like a plea, a prayer, and he grinned before curling his fingers just right. The sensation punched a ragged moan from your throat, your hips jerking against his hand.
"That's it," he murmured, watching your face with predatory focus.
His lips traced your jaw, teeth nipping at the tender skin beneath your jaw as his fingers moved faster, deeper. Every thrust dragged another sound from you.. whimpers, gasps, his name fractured into pieces.. until your thighs trembled around his wrist.
Then, just as the tension coiled unbearably tight in your stomach, he withdrew his fingers entirely.
Your whine of protest was cut off when he shifted between your legs, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
"Look at me," he ordered, voice rough. "Look at me while I'm inside you."
Your eyes snapped open, meeting his darkened gaze just as he moved forward, filling you in one smooth thrust.
The moment he buried himself inside you, the world narrowed to the heat of his body, the press of his hips against yours, the ragged hitch of his breath against your lips.
You gasped, fingers scrambling against his shoulders as he held himself still, letting you adjust, though the wild look in his eyes betrayed how little patience he had left.
"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, his forehead dropping to yours. "You feel-"
You rolled your hips experimentally, cutting him off with a choked groan. His hands tightened on you instantly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pulled back slowly before thrusting back in.
The stretch burned in the best way, the fullness stealing your breath, and when he did it again, harder this time, you arched off the couch with a cry.
His rhythm was relentless from the start, deep, punishing strokes that had you seeing stars within seconds.
Every snap of his hips drove a gasp from your lips, your nails carving crescents into his shoulders as you clung to him. The air between you grew thick with the sounds of skin against skin, of ragged breaths and choked moans, the couch creaking beneath you with each thrust. Alastor’s lips found yours again, swallowing your whimpers as his pace grew erratic, his control fraying at the edges.
You could feel it when he tipped over the edge, his muscles locking, his rhythm stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that vibrated against your collarbone. His release pulsed inside you, hot and dizzying, and the sensation alone dragged you over with him.
Your back arched off the cushions as pleasure ripped through you, hot and consuming, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you trembled beneath him.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Alastor’s breath against your neck, his weight a comforting press as your limbs slowly stopped shaking.
Then, with a quiet, satisfied hum, he rolled onto his back, taking you with him until you were sprawled across his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns along your spine, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
His fingers stilled against your spine, pressing to anchor you there against him. You didn’t want to break whatever this was, this fragile, perfect thing you’d stumbled into.
"You should stay," Alastor murmured eventually, his voice rough with sleep and something deeper. His thumb traced the curve of your shoulder absently, like he was memorizing the shape of you. "Not just tonight.."
Your breath caught, not just at the words, but at the way he said them. Not a question, not a plea. A statement, firm and unshakable, like he’d already decided for you.
You lifted your head from his chest, meeting his gaze. The usual sharpness in his eyes had softened, replaced by something vulnerable.
"Stay?" you echoed.
Alastor’s fingers tightened against your hip, his gaze unwavering.
"Stay," he repeated, softer. "Move in with me.. Let John feel the weight of what he lost."
Your lips parted, but no words came out. The weight of his offer settled over you.. it seemed too good to be true, yet too real to dismiss. His thumb traced the curve of your hipbone, a silent patience as he waited for an answer.
You nodded, slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your waist again.
"Okay..," you whispered.
His fingers tightened instantly, pressing into your skin as if he needed to confirm the whole situation was real.
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A/N: hello my darlingsss!! i hope you enjoyed this one even though it's shorter than my last few pieces.. i just felt like writing something smutty. i hope you loved it, and as always, feel free to give me some suggestions in my asks! 🙂↕️🤍
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WITH THE POWER OF LOCK IN i finished these pages almost in one night
also i made this animation if you didn't see it. Check it out. i spent 5 hours on it.
A little bit about relationships between Alastor and Carmilla. First of, I think Carmilla does care about any overlord and considers them... well, not friends, but people that are worth to be worried about. After her family, of course.
And she does care about Alastor too, and she would even have a soft spot for him... if he wasn't acting like a feral brat first few years, being especially mad that Hell has some formalities and he was tricked into accepting them. That behavior killed that soft spot before it could grow.
Though, by now she's learning to handle Alastor and their "love language" is trolling each other, and Carmilla starts liking it, especially when she manages to get on Alastor's nerves with something that isn't paperwork.
So, she thought that Alastor would be insufferable about his new "partner" and decided to poke at it first, considering that she had to bring that up anyway. But Alastor's reaction wasnt' what she expected, at all. It set her off and she started looking closely at him...
Alastor didn't know Vox applied for being an overlord. If he knew, he probably said something different and Vox would've gotten a protege status. But Vox decided that he doesn't need to tell Alastor about it and that Alastor would tell how "good" he is, and they don't need to discuss it. When Carmilla crumpled that paper, Alastor understood what had happened. And like, There aren't many overlords at this point, it's been like 30 years since Alastor wiped out old folks, so they need more new overlords. And Carmilla didn't have any real reason to deny Vox's application. But she did anyway, because Alastor didn't want him here, and that fact kinda gave Alastor feeling that he has an ally. Like, Rosie is good and all, but she owns his soul and also fucked up the last time they've seen each other.
Not like Alastor is gonna tell anything to Carmilla, but the fact that him not wanting to see Vox is enough to deny a potential new owerlord is... comforting.
And Carmilla can see and understand much more than Alastor realises.
one day i will drop my lore about Carmilla... one day...
Alright, do you feel it? Can you- can you smell it? Not- not yet, but on the tips of your fingers.. it's near it's almost here.
A tiny-tiny flicker of hope.
AU Masterpost
If you read from a reblog, check the original post/masterpost, there may be a link to a new part. Or may not.
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Pairing: Human alastor (before his murderer era) x fem reader
Content: mostly fluff, (reader receiving) oral, smut w a massive plot idk
Summary: After Alastors mother died, he sat at her grave for months. It was a repetitive cycle. Eat, work, grief, sleep, repeat. That was until she showed up.
Word count: 9,288 words 52,914 characters
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Throughout your young adulthood, Ms. Hartfelt’s downtown flower shop was your sanctuary. Ms. Hartfelt herself was an angel, radiating a warmth that could soften the coldest soul within ten feet of her, and you were no exception.
Before her, you were a woman of ice and ink, always tucked away with a book, aloof and uninterested in the messy business of love or friendship. But the moment you met her, it was as if your heart finally bloomed, trading its sharp edges for kindness.
You became a Monday afternoon regular, stopping in for a dose of light before heading to your shift at Melanie’s Boutique. You were a permanent part of the shop's rhythm. That was until the autumn of 1924 when everything changed.
You knew the diagnosis had come with the first heat of summer, but the speed of her decline was a cruelty you hadn't braced for.
The transformation was haunting: the frantic, chest-racking coughs, the way her vibrant cheekbones sank into hollow shadows, and the flickering "Closed" sign that began to appear more and more often during business hours.
Then, the world went quiet.
On November 14th, 1924, Ms. Hartfelt’s light finally went out.
Standing in the crowded church for her funeral, you felt like a ghost yourself. Despite the sea of mourners, the air was heavy with a staggering silence. You weren't just there as a loyal customer or a Monday regular; you stood there with the hollow, aching grief of someone who had lost their chosen kin.
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Months had slipped away, and your visits to her grave had become a quiet, evening ritual, a few times a month to share the silence of the cemetery. But this Tuesday morning felt different.
Driven by a restless energy, you arrived early, clutching a warm tea from the Creole Moon Café in one hand and a lush bouquet of gardenias in the other. The rain began to spill from the gray sky, soaking through your coat, but you didn't move to seek cover.
Through the mist, you saw him.
A man stood by the headstone, his silhouette sharp against the rain. He looked disheveled, draped in a profound, heavy sorrow that seemed to pull at his very posture. As you drew closer, recognition clicked into place: it was Alastor, Ms. Hartfelt’s son.
You hesitated, caught between the urge to give him his privacy and a strange, magnetic pull drawing you toward him.
You stepped forward, but your heels slowed in the damp grass as his voice drifted through the rain, a sound so thin and brittle it seemed the wind might carry it away.
"Mom... I’m tired," he murmured. It wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was the bone-deep weariness of a man who had been navigating a dark world without his compass for far too long.
The intimacy of the moment made you hesitate, but the gardenias felt heavy in your hand, a final gift that needed to be delivered.
You moved into his peripheral vision and knelt, placing the white blooms against the cold stone. The stark brightness of the petals looked like fallen stars against the dark, wet earth.
Alastor’s head snapped up. His hair was plastered to his forehead, droplets of rain trailing down his face like unbidden tears. He didn't speak at first. He simply studied you, his gaze tracing your soft features and the quiet kindness in your eyes.
Through the smell of wet earth and rain, the faint, comforting scent of vanilla drifted from you to him.
You finally decided to break the silence.
"She was a wonderful woman," you began softly. You knelt in the damp grass beside him, your knees pressing into the wet earth as you carefully arranged the gardenias against the headstone.
Alastor’s breath hitched.
Your tone, gentle and steady, carried an echo of his mother’s own warmth. He turned his head slowly, his eyes red-rimmed. "You knew her?"
"I was a regular at her shop," you explained, a faint smile touching your lips as memories of those bright Monday afternoons surfaced. "She had this way of making the world feel a little less gray. She never failed to bring light into my days."
Alastor looked back down at the gardenias, his voice a raspy whisper. "She had a way of doing that. She loved gardenias because they reminded her of happiness..."
"...because they always bloom, even in the hardest winters," you finished in unison with him.
The shared words hung in the air. Alastor froze, his gaze snapping to yours. The synchronicity seemed to break something brittle inside him. A single tear escaped, trailing through the rain on his cheek as he let out a breathless laugh. "You said it... just like her."
You didn't offer a platitude. Instead, you reached out, the back of your hand catching the tear and wiping it away with a touch as light as a petal.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling as if he were afraid the moment might shatter. He reached up, covering your hand with his own and drawing it down, his thumb brushing tentatively over your knuckles.
You let him hold your hand, the silence between you stretching out, no longer heavy, but comfortable. Finally, you spoke again.
"She wouldn't want you to stay here, wallowing in the shadows forever. You know that, don't you?"
He dipped his head, a flicker of guilt crossing his tired features. "I know. I just... I don’t know how to stop. She hasn’t left my mind for a single hour."
"I know it's hard," you murmured, nodding.
You hesitated for a heartbeat before offering a lifeline. "How about this? Meet me at the Creole Moon Café every morning. Just for a routine."
He went silent, searching your eyes, before a slow nod steadied his shoulders. "I would love that."
"7:00 AM sharp," you said with a small, encouraging hum.
You hadn't known him before today, but helping him felt like the only way to honor the woman who had helped you.
"I'll be there," he promised. And as he looked at you, a genuine smile pulled at his lips, the first real light to touch his face in months.
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The next morning arrived in a flash. You woke at 6:30 AM to the familiar sight of sunlight dancing through your lace curtains, casting intricate patterns across the floor. There was a newfound lightness in your step as you prepared for the day.
You chose a mauve pink dress, the fabric soft and flattering, with flowy sleeves that felt like a gentle breeze against your skin, and paired it with crisp white gloves and matching heels.
You stepped into the Creole Moon Café at 7:01 AM, just a minute past the hour. The staff greeted you with knowing smiles, and your usual chamomile tea was placed on the table before you even had to ask. It was the kind of local rhythm that had once felt monotonous but now felt like a warm embrace.
Fifteen minutes passed, the steam from your tea curling into the air, before the bell above the door gave a chime.
Alastor stepped inside.
The transformation was striking; gone was the disheveled man from the cemetery. He wore a sharp white button-up tucked into brown slacks, a silver watch glinting on his wrist.
His eyes scanned the room with a lingering hint of nerves until they landed on you tucked away in your corner.
The moment his gaze locked onto yours, his face didn't just brighten, it beamed.
He navigated the tables with a purposeful stride and came to a stop beside you, smiling down with a warmth that felt like a tribute to his mother’s memory.
"May I?" he asked, hovering politely. Even in his grief, the manners his mother had instilled in him remained unmovable. He wouldn't dream of taking a seat without a lady's permission.
You nodded, leaning your chin into your palm, your gaze following his movements with a quiet curiosity.
"Good morning," you hummed, your voice bright and inviting.
"Good morning," he replied, his eyes lingering on you with genuine appreciation. "You look lovely."
At his words, a soft dusting of pink touched your cheeks. "Thank you," you murmured, offering him a shy, genuine smile.
The waiter soon drifted back over, surprised to see a new face in your usually quiet corner.
Alastor kept it simple: black coffee, no sugar. You watched him as he ordered, mentally filing that small detail away. As the waiter retreated, Alastor rested his arms on the table, the sharp lines of his white sleeves contrasting with the dark wood.
He glanced down at your hands, which were curled comfortably around the porcelain cup, the steam rising in lazy ribbons between you.
"Tea?" he asked, his curiosity light and genuine.
"Chamomile," you answered with a small, affirming nod.
He hummed, a low sound of approval as he tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that wasn't heavy, but rather deeply observant.
"Suits you," he mused. "Calm. Gentle."
"I take that as a compliment," you replied, feeling your smile widen just a fraction more under his steady gaze.
"It was meant as one," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours.
A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn't need to be rushed or filled with small talk.
It was Alastor who broke it, his gaze lingering on the way the morning light caught the mauve of your dress.
"You look... so pretty today," he said, the compliment once again falling from his lips with a sincerity that felt almost breathless.
You couldn't resist. A playful glint sparked in your eyes as you leaned forward, deciding to test the waters of his composure.
"I wasn't pretty yesterday?" you teased, your grin widening as you watched him.
The effect was instantaneous. Alastor froze, his coffee cup halfway to his lips.
"Oh..." He stammered, his eyes widening in a brief moment of genuine panic. "I-I never said you weren’t pretty yesterday... I just... I haven't seen you in the sunlight until now."
A deep, endearing blush swept across his face, clashing with his polished appearance.
You couldn't help yourself. A soft giggle escaped you, the sound light and airy in the quiet corner of the café.
"I was kidding, Alastor," you said softly, reaching out to tap the back of his hand to reassure him.
“Oh... I knew you were,” he countered, though the lingering flush on his cheeks betrayed the lie. He quickly pivoted, his grin broadening as he listened to the tail end of your laughter. “Your laugh is... beautiful.”
“And you’re just full of compliments this morning, aren’t you?” you teased, tilting your head.
“I suppose I am,” he admitted, his gaze steady and sincere. “But only because they're true.”
The playfulness softened into something more intimate. You paused for a beat, really looking at him for once.
“Hm... you’re very handsome with a smile on your face,” you noted softly. “You look happy.”
The compliment seemed to land deep. He took a slow breath, his expression turning thoughtful. “Thank you. I think... I think I am.”
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a man finally coming up for air.
“That’s good,” you replied, your own smile turning warm and encouraging.
The morning hours vanished as if they were nothing. You sat there, your hands wrapped around your warm cup, completely lost in the rhythm of his voice and the way he looked in the soft morning light.
Eventually, your eyes drifted to your watch. 11:47 AM. You felt a small pang of regret, a heavy reluctance to break the moment.
"Oh! We've been here all morning..." You said with a laugh, though a slight flutter of anxiety stirred in your chest. "I should probably get going.. I'm 17 minutes late to work.." You said, slowly standing from the table.
"Oh.. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept you so long.." he said, a look of genuine guilt crossing his handsome features. "Where do you work?"
You giggled softly, charmed by his concern. "Don't apologize, silly, it's not your fault. I work at Melanie's Boutique."
Alastor nodded, his eyes sharpening as if committing the name to memory. He reached into his pocket for a notepad, jotting something down with elegant precision before sliding a small slip of paper toward you.
Alastor's Private Line: 930726
"My home line.." He said with a smile that reached his eyes.
"I'll call you," you promised, tucking the number away like a precious secret.
"I'd like that," he began, his voice dropping to a warm, intimate pitch. "Tonight?"
You nodded. "After work."
Then, without thinking, he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, pulling back with a wide, triumphant grin. "I'll be waiting," he said.
Before you could even catch your breath, he turned and stepped out of the cafe, leaving you behind with a racing heart.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
You arrived at the boutique breathless with apologies, your conscience prickling until Melanie finally laughed and gave in. To ease your guilt, she let you stay an extra hour, which meant you didn't step through your front door until nine o’clock that night.
After a quick change of clothes and a silent, hurried dinner in the kitchen, you finally retreated to your bedroom. You sat back against the headboard, the slip of paper clutched in your hand as if it were a rare treasure.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you dialed the numbers, the mechanical clicks of the rotary phone sounding loud in the quiet room.
The phone rang twice. He picked up so fast it was as if he’d been sitting with his hand already resting on the receiver.
“Hello?” he asked, his voice laced with a quiet tension.
“Hi,” you spoke, and the smile on your face was so wide it was audible in that single word.
“Hi,” he replied, and you could practically hear his relief through the line. “I’m glad you called.”
You hummed softly, leaning your head back against the wall. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he said, his tone dropping into that smooth, resonant pitch that made your skin tingle. “But a man can’t help but worry when a woman like you has a thousand reasons to forget a man like me.”
"A man like you is quite hard to forget, Alastor," you countered gently.
You heard a soft, melodic chuckle on the other end. "I suppose I should thank my mother for that, then. So, tell me... did Melanie forgive your grand tardiness, or do I need to go down there and charm her tomorrow morning?"
You laughed softly, your eyes drifting to the lace curtains as you spoke. “She didn't mind, silly... In fact, I just stayed back a little late, but I think she just told me to do that to make me feel better.”
“Well, that’s good...” He nodded, his voice a low hum through the receiver. “I would hate for you to have a hard time because of me.”
There was a brief silence as he thought for a moment.
“What'd you do after work?”
You grinned, touched by the genuine interest in his voice. “Well, I got home, changed my clothes, washed up, and then ate dinner,” you said, resting your cheek against the wall behind you. “All while thinking about a certain someone.”
His breath caught for a moment, the line going quiet as if he were carefully considering if it was truly him. “Who?” he teased, his voice dropping to a hopeful whisper.
“Oh... just the handsome man I had breakfast with this morning,” you hummed.
He laughed softly, a sound of pure relief and joy. “That man is very lucky.”
You giggled, the sound light against the receiver. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. He spent all morning talking to a sweet woman and now gets to settle in her thoughts?” he said. “Sounds lucky to me.”
You giggled again, and for a moment, a comfortable silence settled over the line. The weight of the day seemed to lift as you lay there, just listening to the faint crackle of the connection.
“How was your day? What'd you do?” you asked curiously.
“I went back to the studio after leaving you,” he began softly. “Had a few recordings scheduled for tonight, just voice-overs for next week’s broadcast.” He paused briefly. “Then I came home early. Didn’t feel like going out.”
You nodded, picturing him in a quiet house. “What'd you do when you got home?”
“I made tea,” he said. “Not as good as the café’s is… I burn it sometimes... then I read for a bit. A novel by William Faulkner.”
You hummed in approval. “The Sound and the Fury?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding a bit surprised. “The Sound and the Fury. I’m on Benjy’s section.” It was a melancholy story, fitting for his mood lately, but your recognition caught him off guard. “You’ve read it?”
“Mhm,” you replied.
“You’ve read it all the way through?” he asked gently. Most people found Faulkner’s style too challenging and gave up by page fifty. “I’m impressed,” he added sincerely. “It’s… heavy. But beautiful in a sad way.”
“It is. And yes, I did read it through.” You nodded, shifting to lie on your stomach and twirling the coiled phone cord around your finger.
Another long pause stretched between you, intimate and still.
“What else did you do today?” you asked, genuinely curious about the quiet corners of his life.
“I took a walk,” he said. “Just around my property. The garden needed tending… but I didn’t do much.” He sighed softly.
His mother’s roses were still blooming. their reds vibrant against green leaves, but weeds had started creeping between them. He hadn't touched them yet. Not since she passed.
“Then I ate dinner alone,” he added quietly. “Cold sandwich.”
You laughed softly, the sound muffled by your pillow. “Then?”
“I waited,” he said simply. “For you to call.” There was a soft, weightless pause. “Then you called.”
“I did,” you said, your feet kicking softly in the air behind you as you relaxed further into the bed.
“I’m glad,” he said again, the words sounding like a mantra he couldn't quite give up on.
“I like hearing about your day..” you admitted softly. You weren't ready to hang up; you wanted to pull more of his world through the receiver, even the small parts. “Tell me something else.”
“I lit candles earlier,” he shared, his voice sounding more relaxed now. “The vanilla ones from the boutique on Royal Street. They make the house smell nice.”
You grinned, the coincidence making your heart flutter. “My favorite.”
“No wonder,” he said softly, a smile evident in his tone. “The candle smells sweet… soft. Not overpowering.” He seemed to be thinking for a second. “Do you wear perfume? Or is it just soap and lotion?”
“All of the above. I stack them so they are overpowering,” you teased.
“I can picture that,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to a smooth register. “You’d smell amazing. Like something fresh from that bakery on Bayou Street.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound intimate through the receiver. “Do all your things smell like vanilla? Your clothes, too?”
“Yes,” you said, a small, private smile on your face. “Vanilla fabric softener.”
“That’s lovely,” he said gently. “You’ve made yourself smell like home.”
He paused, the hesitation clear in the silence that followed. “I bet if I hugged you… I’d just breathe in vanilla.”
“Probably,” you giggled, the sound echoing softly in your quiet room.
“I’d like to hug you,” he admitted, his honesty catching you off guard in the best way possible.
“Would that be okay?”
Your heart grew fuzzy, a warm glow spreading through your chest. “Of course.”
“I hope we can do that soon,” he said softly, the longing evident in his tone.
“We will,” you promised, lying back on your bed and turning the phone to speaker with a satisfying click.
He heard the rustle of your sheets as you settled into the mattress, and the silence that followed was cozy and thick with unspoken promise. Just two people, miles apart but perfectly connected, lingering in a late-night call they didn't want to end.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked after a moment, his voice sounding different now that he was on speaker. "I can hear the quiet of your room. It sounds peaceful."
“I am,” you nodded, a soft yawn escaping your lips and echoing through the quiet room.
“You’re getting sleepy,” he murmured. It wasn't a question, just a gentle, rhythmic observation that seemed to pull warmth around you.
“Maybe a little...” you admitted, finally resting your head deep into the coolness of your pillow.
The thought of you there, cozy under the covers, eyes heavy and heart open, made his own chest swell with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. It was a peace that felt borrowed from his mother’s shop, finally finding a home in him.
“You should rest,” he said softly. “It’s late.” He paused, the line humming with a silent, steady presence. “I don’t mind staying on the line if you want to fall asleep.”
“Yes...” you whispered, your smile softening as your eyes finally fluttered shut. “I'd like that.”
And he did exactly as he promised. As you drifted further into the haze of sleep, Alastor began to hum. It was a low, melodic jazz tune, the kind his mother used to play on the old gramophone when he was a boy.
The steady, soothing vibration of his voice through the speaker became your lullaby, anchoring you in safety until you finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
The next morning you woke at 6:15 AM, stretching with a soft moan. You watched the golden streams of the sunrise leak through the curtains, and then... you heard him.
“Good morning..?” He hummed.
Your eyes widened in shock. “Hi.. good morning..” you mumbled sleepily. “You're still here...”
“Of course.. I didn't want to hang up.” He admitted.
The line had stayed open all night, a silent thread connecting your rooms.
You curled back into your pillow. “Did you.. sleep?”
“Oh, I got a few hours.” He said.
Your eyebrows raised.“You're crazy.” You said, no bite to it. “You should get some sleep..”
“I know,” he admitted with a small shrug you could almost hear. “I’m stubborn.”
You laughed softly, your heart doing that familiar flutter.
“You’re heading to Creole Moon soon, aren't you?” He asked.
You nodded into the receiver, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Mhm... I have to get ready though.”
“Let me get ready,” he said quietly, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor signaling his move. “I’ll be there.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay...”
Thirty minutes later, the house was silent and the phone lines were dead. You had settled on a soft navy blue dress paired with black heels and a matching purse.
Now, you sat in your usual spot at the café, watching the morning light dance on the tabletop.
The door chimed softly, letting in a sliver of the cool morning breeze. Alastor stepped inside, tall and composed. His navy blazer was immaculate, hiding any trace of his sleepless night. His glasses caught the light as he scanned the room until his gaze landed on you by the window.
He paused for a heartbeat, realizing the two of you matched perfectly in your deep blues. A genuine smile broke across his face as he walked over.
“Good morning,” he said softly, his eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “We match.”
“Yes, we do,” you confirmed with a nod.
Your chamomile tea and his black coffee were already waiting on the table, steam rising in twin spirals.
For a moment, you didn't say a word. You simply rested your chin in your palm, staring at him and marveling at how quickly this stranger had become the best part of your day.
He noticed your gaze, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks.
“What?” you asked, your smile widening at his uncharacteristic bashfulness.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, perhaps a bit too fast. He cleared his throat and looked at you. “I just… like seeing you first thing in the morning.”
Your heart gave a familiar tug. “I like it too,” you replied.
You moved your hand to the middle of the table, not forcing anything, just leaving a quiet invitation on the wood.
Without a moment's hesitation, he moved his hand to yours, locking your fingers together as if they were meant to be there.
The morning unfolded just like the last, lost in the ease of each other's company. Before you knew it, you checked your watch. 11:00 AM. You had exactly thirty minutes before your shift began.
“I don't want to be late today..” you said, reluctantly standing and gathering your things.
“You won't be,” he said with a confident smile. “I’ll walk you.” He offered his arm with a timeless, gentlemanly grace, and you looped yours through his as you stepped out into the morning air.
The walk to the boutique took exactly twenty-three minutes, leaving you with seven to spare before your shift began. As you reached the storefront, Alastor turned to look at you, his eyes reflecting the quiet confession he’d made over the phone. He was thinking of the vanilla, and the lingering question of what it would feel like to finally hold you.
Then, without a second thought, he reached out and pulled you in by the waist. His arms wrapped tightly around you, drawing you into a firm, protective embrace.
Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly melted against him, pressing your forehead into the warm crook of his neck.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he rested his cheek lightly on top of your head and took a soft, slow breath. You smelled exactly like the vanilla he had anticipated.
You sighed contently and leaned into him, breathing in the faint, masculine scent of sandalwood and fresh laundry that clung to his clothes. His navy blazer felt crisp beneath your touch, carrying a subtle hint of cedar from his soap.
The world seemed to still as you stood there together for four long minutes. When you finally pulled back, just enough to look at him, the air between you felt charged.
“I should probably go inside..” you murmured.
“I know,” he nodded, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your eyes with a lingering touch. But before you could turn to the door, he leaned in and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.
Your heart fluttered as he pulled away. “I’ll be home at eight,” you said softly.
“I’ll call,” he promised.
With a final nod, you headed into the store, carrying the warmth of his embrace with you as you started your day.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
The workday had dragged on dreadfully. Your thoughts were entirely consumed by him.. his face, his kindness, his genuine interest, and the memory of his lips on your skin.
It was maddening.
When you finally unlocked your front door at eight o’clock, you rushed through your evening routine. You washed up, ate a quick dinner, and settled into bed exactly as you had the night before, resting your head against the pillow.
Then, you waited. The clock ticked steadily. 8:10... 8:20... 8:30. The house remained silent.
Anxiety began to tighten in your chest. Had you done something wrong? Was he angry? Had you been too forward?
As the clock struck nine, your eyelids grew painfully heavy under the collective weight of the day's exhaustion. Unable to stay awake any longer, you drifted off.
The phone never rang.
When you woke up the next morning, you took a deep breath and forced the negative thoughts away. It would be entirely silly to let a man completely ruin your mood; you refused to be that kind of woman.
Steeling your resolve, you got dressed and walked to the café just like any other day.
Your chamomile tea was already waiting at your regular table when you arrived. You sat down, trying to lose yourself in the familiar ambiance, ignoring the knot of anxiety still gnawing at your stomach.
Your eyes kept scanning the room, your breath hitching with every sharp ding of the bell above the door.
Then, at 7:47 AM, he finally appeared.
Alastor walked through the door, but the easy composure from the previous morning was gone.
He looked incredibly tense, his shoulders rigid and his face drawn with fatigue.
Despite your worry, you couldn't hide the relieved smile that bloomed the moment you saw him.
He offered a weak smile in return. A fragile, hollow look that was entirely unlike him. He crossed the floor with slow steps and sank into the chair across from you, folding his hands tightly in front of him on the dark wood.
You tilted your head, studying the strain in his eyes, and quietly slid your hand to the center of the table in a silent offer of comfort.
Hi...” you spoke softly, breaking the tense quiet between you.
He didn't hesitate to touch you, placing his hand firmly into yours. “Hi.”
“Are you... alright?” you asked, the hesitation clear in your voice as you looked at his weary face.
He shook his head, his gaze dropping. “No.”
You frowned slightly, a wave of protectiveness washing over you. You lifted his hand from the table, pulling it up to press the back of his hand gently against your cheek while keeping your fingers locked with his. “What happened?”
“There was an accident last night...” he said, his fingers twitching slightly as they felt the warmth of your soft cheek. “At the station.”
“Oh...”
“During a, uhm... routine check, my good buddy Mike...” He paused, his throat tightening before he could force the words out. “He didn't make it. The entire station caught fire.”
The news hit you like a physical blow. A fire? At Alastor's station? You were shocked you hadn't heard the sirens or seen the smoke, and a deep, sympathetic frown pulled at your lips.
“I'm so sorry...” you said softly, and you truly meant it. This man had lost his mother and his close friend in the span of only six months. The weight on his shoulders must have been suffocating.
He looked up at you, your gentle, sympathetic smile making something inside him crack just a little bit more.
“You look unwell...” you murmured, your free hand moving to trace your nails soothingly up and down his forearm.
A sharp, shaky breath left his lips. Seeing his composure completely splinter, you stood up from your chair and opened your arms wide, offering him a sanctuary. His lower lip quivered.
Yielding to the comfort you were offering, he leaned forward and pressed his head tightly into your stomach as the first tear escaped his eye. It was the first time he had allowed himself to cry in front of anyone in a very long time.
You stood there, holding him against the backdrop of the quiet café, and rubbed the back of his head gently. “I know... it's okay...” you whispered, letting him release the grief.
After about three minutes, the quiet storm passed. You pulled back slightly, your hand moving up to tenderly rub his cheek, wiping away the tear tracks.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, wanting to take care of him.
“A little, yeah...” he nodded, a faint glint of life returning to his eyes.
Remarkably, after about thirty minutes of shared food and quiet conversation, the heavy fog lifted, and the two of you were laughing together again.
You had managed to brighten his mood, but the ticking of your watch reminded you that responsibilities were calling. You had an early shift today.
You sighed softly and stood up from the table. “I've got work early today,” you said, looking down at him. “Walk with me.” You held your palm out, an invitation for him to follow.
He reached up and grabbed it tightly.
The two of you walked down the New Orleans street hand in hand, chatting easily just like you had over the past few days. The earlier sorrow seemed to stay a few paces behind you as you arrived at the boutique with four minutes to spare.
“I take it you don't have work today?” you asked, turning to face him by the storefront.
He sighed softly, his shoulders dropping a fraction. “No... the station is being inspected today.”
You nodded, understanding the empty hours stretching out ahead of him. You hesitated for a brief moment before speaking again. “Would you... like to have dinner tonight? After I get off work?” You hoped the prospect of an evening together would give him something to look forward to while you were gone.
His eyes lit up instantly, the shadows completely vanishing from his face. He nodded quickly. “Yes... that would be lovely,” he said, squeezing your hand softly. “I'll prepare something nice at my place...” he whispered, a hint of his usual charm returning.
Then, just as the nearby clock tower struck 8:59 AM, he stepped forward and pulled you into a deep, soft hug. He held you tightly for the entire sixty seconds, burying his face in your hair and making sure his scent stuck around on your clothes. Finally, he pulled back just enough to press a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“I'll be back here at 8:30 PM to walk with you...” he promised.
You nodded, a warm blush on your face, and turned to head into the boutique to start your day.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Left to his own devices in a quiet house, Alastor refused to let the tragedy at the station pull him back into the shadows.
He spent his unexpected day off completely consumed by preparations for the evening. He scrubbed his kitchen until it was spotless, put on a jazz record to break the silence, and spent hours over the stove.
He carefully prepared a rich, comforting New Orleans gumbo, letting the savory scent of roux, spices, and andouille sausage fill every corner of his home. He even picked fresh white gardenias from his yard, arranging them neatly on the dining table alongside a pair of tall, unlit candles.
By 8:30 PM, the anticipation had brought him right back to the storefront of Melanie’s Boutique.You stepped out of the shop into the cool evening air, and there he was, leaning against the brickwork under the amber glow of a street lamp.
He looked entirely refreshed compared to the morning. His hair combed, his posture straight, and a brilliant, genuine smile lighting up his face the moment the boutique door chimed.
He immediately stepped forward, taking your purse for you and tucking your hand comfortably into the crook of his arm for the walk to his property.
When the two of you finally arrived at his house, the warmth of the home hit you the moment he unlocked the door. The rich, savory aroma of the homemade gumbo enveloped you, mingling wonderfully with the sweet, familiar scent of vanilla.
The house was dimly lit, casting cozy shadows across the polished wooden floors, and the dining table was beautifully set for two.
"Welcome," Alastor said softly, stepping behind you to gently help you slip your coat off your shoulders. "I hope you brought an appetite."
You smiled, turning around to face him as you handed over your coat. "It smells absolutely incredible in here, Alastor. You really went all out, didn't you?"
"Only the best for the woman who saved my morning," he replied with a classic, charming tilt of his head.
He hung your coat up by the door and guided you toward the dining room, pulling out a chair for you with that flawless gentlemanly grace
.As you sat down, you noticed the fresh white gardenias in the center of the table, their bright petals catching the soft light of the candles he had just lit. A wave of warmth rushed through you. Sitting here in his home, looking at the effort he had put into making the night special, your heart felt entirely full.
Alastor walked into the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying two steaming bowls of the rich, dark gumbo. The savory scent of the roux and spices filled the air, immediately making your mouth water. He set a bowl in front of you, then took his own seat across the table, his eyes locked onto yours with a soft, eager anticipation.
"Go ahead," he urged softly, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Tell me if it lives up to the scent."
You picked up your spoon, took a careful sip of the warm broth, and let out a content sigh. "Alastor... this is amazing. You're a wonderful cook."
He let out a soft, relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing completely as he began to eat his own portion. "I learned from the best. My mother always said food tastes better when you make it for someone you care about. I think she was right."
The rest of the dinner passed in a beautiful, easy rhythm. The weight of his difficult night at the station and your long day at the boutique seemed to completely melt away under the amber glow of the candlelight.
You talked, you laughed, and you shared stories, the silence between your words feeling safer and more comfortable than ever before.
Once the bowls were empty, you stood up and began stacking the dishes to carry them to the sink.
Alastor immediately jumped up, gently but firmly taking the ceramic plates right out of your hands.
"Oh, no, absolutely not," he insisted with a sharp, charming shake of his head. "You've worked a long shift at the boutique. You are a guest in my home, and I won't have you doing manual labor."
You let out a soft sigh, rolling your eyes playfully at his stubborn gentlemanly pride. "Alastor, I can help-"
"I insist," he interrupted smoothly, turning his back to you as he walked over to the sink and turned on the tap, the sound of rushing water filling the quiet kitchen.
Instead of walking back to the dining room to sit down like a proper lady, you decided to test his composure. You stepped up right beside him, hoisted yourself up with a smooth motion, and sat yourself directly onto the polished wooden countertop right next to the sink.
Alastor froze for a moment. The clinking of the silverware stopping as he slowly turned his head to look at you in shock. He had clearly never seen a woman do something so casual, let alone in his own kitchen.
You simply swung your legs lightly against the lower cabinets, giving him a innocent smile. "Better?" you teased.
A bright, flustered blush immediately rushed up his neck and into his cheeks. "I... well," he stammered, completely losing his usual smooth cadence as he looked at you sitting at eye level. "That is certainly one way to keep me company."
You giggled at his flustered expression, leaning back against the upper cabinets as he turned back to the sink.
His shock wore off, and the two of you fell right back into your easy rhythm. You chatted about the customers at work, and he shared memories of the old radio programs he listened to as a boy.
The sound of your laughter and his rich voice filled the warm room, making the large house feel incredibly small and intimate.
Eventually, the water stopped running. Alastor dried his hands thoroughly on a dish towel, his movements slowing down as the conversation drifted into a quiet, heavy silence.
He didn't step away. Instead, he turned to face you fully. Moving with a slow, deliberate confidence that caught you completely off guard, he stepped forward, placing himself right between your knees.
Your breath hitched sharply in your throat. Your heart hammered against your ribs, completely blindsided by his sudden boldness.
Sitting high on the counter, you were at eye level with him, trapped in the space he had just claimed. The playful, easily flustered man from moments ago was entirely gone, replaced by someone whose gaze held a deep, unblinking intensity. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from his body completely enveloped you, making your head spin.
You gripped the edge of the countertop lightly, and blush rushed to your cheeks.
He noticed your wide eyes and the sudden hitch of your breath. A slow, knowing smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his sharp eyes searching yours behind his glasses.
"You look shocked," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, velvety register that made your skin tingle. "I thought you were the brave one, sitting up on my counter."
Alastor..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath.
The sound of his name seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. His large hands moved swiftly to your thighs, his palms pressing firmly against the fabric of your dress.
The sudden, solid warmth of his grip made your breath catch sharply in your throat. His gaze held yours with an intense, unblinking gravity that made the rest of the room completely fade away.
Your heart hammered wildly, the fierce blush on your cheeks deepening under his heavy gaze. You were entirely flustered, your mind racing, but you forced yourself to keep eye contact.
"What... what are you doing?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of shock and anticipation.
Alastor didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed against your thighs, his grip steady and possessive as he closed the remaining distance until you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
"I am realizing," he murmured, his deep voice dropping to a low, velvety rumble that brushed against your lips, "that I have never wanted anything as badly as I want to kiss you right now."
You didn't answer with words. The tension in the kitchen was so thick it felt like a physical weight, and the look in his eyes told you he was done waiting.
You let your hands slide off the edge of the counter, bringing them up to rest flat against his chest. Beneath his shirt, his heart was racing just as fast as yours, a rapid, heavy thrumming under your palms. You gripped his collar, your knuckles tightening as you pulled him the last remaining inch forward.
Alastor let out a low, shaky breath against your mouth, his hands tightening on your thighs, and then he finally closed the distance.
The kiss was soft at first, as if he were still afraid of shattering the moment. But as your lips parted slightly, the restraint he had held onto all evening completely broke. The kiss deepened, becoming heavy, fierce, and full of the months of quiet loneliness he had carried inside him.
His hands slid up from your thighs to cup your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in his hair, completely lost in the scent of his cologne and the burning heat of his mouth.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was ragged, his glasses slightly fogged, and a dark, intense satisfaction burned in his eyes as he looked down at your thoroughly kissed lips.
"You are absolutely intoxicating," he whispered, his voice deep and entirely breathless.
You didn't let the space between you last for long.
Before the echo of his voice could fully fade, you tightened your grip on his collar and pulled him back down, sealing your lips against his for another deep, urgent kiss.
A low hum of surprise and approval rumbled in his chest as his hands locked firmly around your back, holding you tightly against him.
Eventually, the need for air forced him to pull back slightly, but he didn't distance himself. His lips left yours only to press a soft, lingering kiss to your burning cheek. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut as his mouth drifted lower, trailing a path of warm kisses down the line of your jaw.
A sharp shiver rippled down your spine as his lips moved just below your ear, lingering on the sensitive skin there until a soft gasp escaped your throat. He hummed against your skin, clearly satisfied by your reaction, before his kisses tracked further down to the side of your neck.
You tilted your head back completely against the upper cabinets, giving him entirely free access as his mouth pressed sweet, heavy kisses into the warm hollow above your collarbone.
Then, before you knew it, you were hovering in the air.
"Wait- what are you- " Your voice hitched as strong hands scooped under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the kitchen counter where you'd been perched moments ago. The sudden shift in elevation left you gripping his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he carried you the short distance to the living room couch.
Your pulse jumped at the unexpected maneuver, the casual strength of it sending a jolt through you that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way his fingertips pressed just a little too deliberately into your skin.
The cushions dipped under your weight as he deposited you onto the sofa, his movements careful but deliberate.
Before you could process the displacement of air or the warmth still lingering where his hands had been, he sank to his knees between your parted legs with a quiet thud against the carpet. The position was startlingly intimate, his broad shoulders framed by your thighs, his upturned face watching you with an expression you couldn't quite name.
The words caught in your throat as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing slow circles into the sensitive skin just above your knees.
"What are you-" you managed, voice hitching as his fingers flexed against you, warm through the thin fabric of your skirt. His gaze held yours, darker than you'd ever seen it, the usual playful glint replaced by something heavier.
Something that made your next breath stick in your chest.
Your question hung unfinished in the air as his fingers stilled their motion, though his palms remained warm against your thighs. His exhale was slow, deliberate, as if weighing his words with uncommon care.
"I want to show you," he murmured, the softness in his voice sending another shiver through you, "how thankful I am that you walked into my life." His thumbs resumed their lazy circles, drifting higher by millimeters.
The words landed like a physical touch.. soft, unexpected, and devastatingly gentle.
"Is that okay?"
You blinked down at him, momentarily disoriented by the question. Of all the things you'd braced yourself for.. teasing, confidence, that effortless arrogance he wore so well.. this wasn't it.
Your breath stuttered and the silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, until you realized he was genuinely waiting for an answer.
"Yes," you breathed, the word coming out softer than you intended. "More than okay."
The breath he let out was audible, half relief, half something darker, as his hands slid beneath the hem of your skirt. His fingers traced the lace trim of your underwear with deliberate slowness, the backs of his knuckles brushing against your inner thighs in a way that made your breath hitch.
The fabric slid against your skin as he hooked his thumbs into the sides, dragging them down your legs with a patience that felt almost cruel.
You lifted your hips slightly to help, the movement instinctive, and the corner of his mouth curled as he noticed.
The lace caught briefly at your ankles before he freed you completely, tossing the fabric aside without a second glance. His attention was already elsewhere, his gaze heavy as it traveled back up your bare legs.
His palms returned to your thighs, spreading them just a fraction wider, fingers pressing into the soft skin there as if memorizing the shape of you.
The calloused drag of his touch was electric, and you bit your lip when his thumbs traced idle circles near the apex of your thighs.. close, but not close enough. The anticipation coiled tight in your stomach, every nerve humming with the promise of his next move.
His breath was warm against your inner thigh, the contrast of his exhale against your overheated skin making you shiver. He paused there, lips hovering just above the sensitive skin, his fingers tightening slightly around your legs as if savoring the moment.
"God, you're even more beautiful like this," he murmured, the words barely more than a rumble against your skin. His nose traced a slow path up the inside of your thigh, inhaling deeply as if committing your scent to memory.
The intimacy of it made your stomach clench. His lips finally brushed against you, featherlight and teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. His answering chuckle was low, pleased.
"Patience," he chided softly, though the roughness in his voice betrayed his own restraint.
He dragged his tongue along your folds in one slow, languid stroke, savoring the taste of you like it was something precious. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight as he repeated the motion, slower this time, his tongue pressing just a little harder.
A whimper escaped your throat before you could stop it, and his hands tightened on your thighs in response, holding you open as his mouth settled over you completely.
His tongue circled your clit with agonizing precision, the wet heat of his mouth drawing another desperate sound from your throat. You arched against him, fingers tightening in his hair as he hummed, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
His mouth moved with devastating precision, alternating between slow, teasing circles and firmer flicks that had your thighs trembling against his palms. Just when you thought you couldn’t take another second, he pulled back slightly, lips still brushing against you as his breath fanned across your damp skin.
"Look at me..," he murmured, the command rough but threaded with something tender. Your eyelids fluttered open, you hadn’t even realized you’d closed them, and the intensity in his gaze sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
His tongue pressed flat against you in a slow, deliberate stroke that had your back arching off the couch. A ragged moan tore from your throat, and his hands slid up to grip your hips, anchoring you in place as his mouth worked you with relentless focus.
The wet heat of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs, every sensation amplified by the way he watched you, those dark eyes tracking every hitch of your breath, every flutter of your lashes.
"You taste so good," he murmured against you, the words vibrating through your core. His teeth grazed your clit, just lightly enough to make you cry out, before he soothed the sting with another long, languid lick.
The dual sensations of sharpness and softness sent you spiraling, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. His fingers dug into your hips, urging you to grind against his mouth, and you obeyed without thought, chasing the friction like you'd die without it.
The pressure built unbearably fast,his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless patterns while his fingers slid lower, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness.
"Please," you gasped, your voice barely recognizable, "I need-"
He hummed in agreement, sinking one finger into you to the knuckle in a single smooth motion that punched the air from your lungs. The soft stretch was delicious, the curl of his finger inside you deliberate as his mouth never let up, tongue flicking over your clit in perfect counterpoint.
The sensation of his finger inside you sent sparks skittering up your spine. You arched off the couch, a broken sound escaping your lips as he crooked that finger just so, rubbing against a spot that made your vision blur at the edges.
His tongue never faltered, laving over your clit with the same unhurried precision, like he had all the time in the world to learn exactly how you liked it.
The sound of your own pulse roared in your ears as he added a second finger, the stretch bordering on exquisite. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently just as his fingers curled inside you again.
You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as he worked you with relentless precision. Every flick of his tongue, every deliberate press of his fingers sent sparks skittering across your skin, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your skin, his voice rough with want. "You’re so perfect." The words vibrated through you, his breath hot against your oversensitive flesh.
His fingers didn’t stop moving, slow and deep, as if he was determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from you. Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging lightly, a wordless plea for more, for less, for anything he was willing to give. He chuckled, the sound pleased, before dragging his tongue flat over your clit one last time, pushing you right to the edge.
Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, sudden, violent, and utterly consuming. His fingers twisted inside you just as his tongue pressed hard against your clit, the sensation tipping you over the edge with a force that left you gasping.
You arched off the couch, your back bowing as pleasure ripped through you in relentless waves, his name tearing from your throat in a sound you barely recognized as your own. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you down as you shuddered through it, his mouth never relenting until you were whimpering from oversensitivity, your thighs clamping reflexively around his head.
Only then did he pull back, lips glistening, his breath ragged against your inner thigh. His fingers slid free slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls in a way that made your stomach clench again.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was surging up, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you, deep, possessive, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was messy, desperate, his other hand still braced against your hip like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing just as uneven as yours.
"Fuck," he muttered, the word rough with want, his fingers tightening in your hair.
You could feel the evidence of his own arousal pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent, but he made no move to relieve it, just held you there, close, his eyes searching your face like he was looking for something.
"I'm so glad we met..." He mumbled.
The words were quiet, barely more than a whisper against your kiss-swollen lips, but they hit you with the force of a freight train.
His breath was warm against your skin, uneven like yours, his fingers still tangled possessively in your hair. Something about the way he said it.. raw, unguarded, like the admission had been torn from him.. made your chest ache.
Fate had finally set your lives in the correct place.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
A/N: hello my darlingsss! i apologize for this being so delayed. i really love the fluff bits of this part.. the ending not so much, but i felt it needed at least a bit of smut. i hope you enjoyy 🙂↕️🤍
hello my darlings! my next one shot fic whatever you wanna call it is almost doneeee (it's smutty with lots of plot.. who's surprised)
i do encourage you guys to give me more ideas in my askssss
exam season is finally over thank goodness!
also.. question: would you guys maybe want some subby alastor one-shots? most of my current ones are more dom alastor except for like a small piece of one of them if I can remember.. please lmk 🙂↕️
(please rosie i need this my staff is kinda broken)
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Alright, enough people have noticed, so i'll say it. Yes, i made colors not as vibrant as before. An i'm glad that it's noticeable.
Anyway, i don't remember if i wanted to say anything in this post or no... i think i said everything in the previous post...
This part isn't much, but i can't make a 10 pages part, as fast at this point of a comic, where the enthusiasm of wanting to tell the story starts to fad, and the excitement of the ending isn't within reach yet. I need more comments.
Anyway... Overlord meeting next part!
Also, wanted to say, we're officially over 100 pages (counting the bonus pages, but i think with this part even without them it should be 100)
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So, this is the controversial part of the comic. Funny, how literally in the previous part i got a comment that was like "finally a story about abuse that doesn't end up in a romance" and then i make this part... 🤣🤣 DON'T WORRY, THIS IS STILL RADIOSILENCE, ALASTOR IS STILL GETTING OUT, AND VOX IS STILL GETTING HIS KARMA.
This is the shipper bait. Let's see how many people are ready to forget all the horrible stuff that happened and be happy about Al getting together with Vox LOL.
By the way, we're officially at the "depression" part of the structure. This is it. This is the lowest point. When it feels like all hope is gone and the "villain" is winning.
Which means it can only go up from here YUPPIEEE (it will fluctuate, but anyway, we're moving towards the end!!!)
this part was going to be 10 pages, but then i decided to leave the 5 next for later, for when after i finish the comic. Bonus content so to say. Because it doesn't add anything important, just brings more pain. But I'm also in pain, cutting that out because i like these pages( But it's just another episode showing vox's abusive nature, nothing new. I wanna get to the ending!!!
Fuck i forgor somthing i wanted to say fuck. REMEMBERED. So um, i refreshed my memory on Forced broadcast.... yeah it's gonna cause some flashbacks to those who read this comic AHAHAH. Mind that like 5 chapters of it were sketched BEFORE IF was even planned, and i was like CHAPTER 3 IS SOOO INSANE and now it's like. eh. barely a *.
But the flashbacks are gonna flashback.
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Im fast as fuck BOI. i just want to get to the ending soon GOD i want yall to see it.
Interesting, how many people suggested that Rosie's demon form is a mantis. I thought more about black widow lol. Someone pointed out that the hair thingies look kinda like angel wings too. Which, i guess, works if we go with a theory that she's a fallen angel.
But whatever she is, an angel, a human, a hellborn, evil herself, she still isn't perfect and can make mistakes. She is hurting for Alastor, she doesn't want him to be hurt anymore, but in attempt to protect, only ends up hurting him too. We can blame this one on Vox too though, he showed up there, scared her, scared Alastor, made them both do stupid things out of fear.
Speaking of Alastor he's... he's not well. He's too hurt, scared and tired to think rationally, and the first option he sees to minimize the pain is to please the abuser... a pattern, he's very familiar with from his life... And what makes it worse, he saw this method work in a short run. Rosie also knows this pattern, and she hates to see that Alastor also falls into this trap, like many others. But she can't do anything withour hurting him, and after all, he's right. She can't keep Vox away from Alastor forever. She can't lock Alastor in cannibal town (well, she can, but at what cost?), and Vox also isn't too stupid or weak, he can learn to fight the cannibals, or avoid them, and then... Well, let's not go in there eheh ^^"
Thing about the scars, many people asked, so, i have a headcanon, that injuries tied to especially strong emotions and traumatic moments take longer to heal, time proportional to the said emotions. So, yeah, injuries from that night will take a while to fully disappear.
And NO IT WASN'T ALASTOR'S SHIRT VOX WAS WEARING wow, the amount of people who thought that is hillarious. Alastor's shirt would be too small for vox come on, people, think!!! Plus it has different collar. Vox is but copying him, as he always does. I know the fat Alastor has different shirt now is kinda plays into the idea that Vox took his old shirt, bur he didn't okay? x)) it's different color even.
Also yes they live together since year 1, before the first time, then Alastor didn't move out in hopes that his constant requests would make vox break the deal.
AND ALSO some of yall need to go and refresh their memory on part 5.
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Incompatiable Frequencies (18+) | Bonus part (again)
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This part is a bonus because it's from Vox's POV
This time even i (who's writing him btw), had a fasepalm and severe urge to shake vox like a maracas from his thought process.
Also, i don't know where i was going with Rosie's demonic form, this is just a hint of it, idk how her full form looks like
ok, i decided that from now on i'm not adding any more pages to the main plot, and if i really want to, i can post them later as bonus parts after i finish this comic, because I WANT TO GET TO THE ENDING GOD DAMN IT!!!!!
in the previous part many people picked up on the detail of Vox's eyes being covered - it's because in dreams we usually can't see faces clearly or they look different. But i love all the different meanings you found in it.
ALSO IMPORTANT THING that apparently isn't as clear as i thought, my bad. When Alastor's text is red on black - he has his radio filter. When it's black on red - no radio filter. Also, Vox's text is blue on black because he has this like old tv sound, in this form. In present times he has normal sound.
I wanted to say something else... but i forgor...
So many people say that they usually don't care about Alastor or can't feel sorry for him, but it's different in this story. Other say that this is the first fan comic that makes them cry, and honestly, this is the best compliments ever. Here with people saying i'm helping to process trauma, or i got them out of the artblock... thank you all 🥺💖 also, i read and see every comment here, in tiktok, on youtube and reddit, so, if you ever think "i'd comment but what's the point, the author won't see it anyway" - I WILL SEE. I SEE EVERYTHING. If i figure out how to get into insta, i'll be checking comments there as well (because SOMEONE seems to be reposting my art there WITHOUT ASKING ME EVEN) And don't get me started about pinterest... um. i wanted to say that i see every comment, but i can't answer to everybody, because i'm drawing the next part lol
But also some people say something like "ugh this is just oc that looks like Alastor" have you read the comic or you saw just one part in the wild where Alastor is crying? If you have seen the whole comic and still think that Alastor is ooc... well, first of, how do you think he should act in situation like this? second, well, we have different view on Alastor... and mine is clearly better, because more people saying that i actually get him right.
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YES I'M EVIL.
Also yayy i finished this before 6 in the morning!!! now i just need to.... check 100500 comments and add people to the taglist... yayy. i'm not complaining.
Surprisingly, i don't have anything to yap about today... oh well.
No, wait, have to say, few people caught on what i'm doing differently now 😏 but not too much for me to say it. Some pointed that out but unintentionally.
Ok thats it. Wanna see ur long ahh comments.
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That took longer than i wanted, idk, for some reason i couldn't focus in drawing these days. And then i sketched new pages again, so i had to cut this part... damn, i was hoping to keep 28 parts for the 28 STABS joke or whatever... we'll see maybe i'll fuse couple of other shorter parts, or rearrange the pages, something.
Alastor is... pretty much destroyed at the moment. he has no strengh to keep any mask at all, not even his smile. He'd hate to be so vulnerable, but can't help it, and he doesn't even have any emotional capacity left for hating that. and Rosie is literally the only person in Hell, who won't use his vulnerable state against him. Also, his text is smaller, because he speaks quieter 🥺.
Bonus page is just as canon as normal parts, it just doesn't fit the tone of other psrts, that's why it's a bonus. Al leaves immediately without even letting vox comprehend that he's the one who did that. I mean, vox can put it together, but at least Alastor doesn't have to deal with Vox screaming and cussing at him right now
Sorry to disappoint though, it will regenerate, and faster than you may think. But i thought yall may need a little something to breathe and have a laugh, and feel little bit vingicated, because right now angst only going to pile up, until Alastor figures out the solution.
wild, i don't have anything more to yap about today... no wait i actually have
Some of yall needs to CHILL GAWD DAMN! Other comic artists post like a page once a week, and people are living with that and eating that up, and here i am, posting 3-9 pages every 3 days, and if there is even couple of hours delay some start screaming like unfed cats LOL. ffs, i post parts as soon as i finish, if i don't, then it's not ready.
and then theres that one reddit comment saying that they don't like me because "she's the kind of aroace i don't want to be", so they just check on parts sometimes and dip, because they actually like the art. (that comment got downvoted to hell and deleted by the user). First of, hi, enjoy the art, ur welcome. im cool with that, i'm not mashed potato to be loved by everyone, but second, i'm so fucking curios, tf that meant, what kind of aroace i am???
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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.
This coward went to my dms to bitch about how he's a poor baby who did nothing wrong and only wanted some love, knowing perfectly well, that if they write this bullshit in the comments, you guys will tear them apart.
Well, I'm putting this out here, because this behavior isn't okay. (Sadly i forgor to screenshot my reply before blocking them, and now dms are cleared, sometimes tumblr is a little bit too good with blocking people)
In short, my reply was "this ain't anyone else's problem but yours and you have no right to demand anything from another human being after they told you they are not interested"
Also, while we're on the topic of people being creeps and potential rapists, this one dude from YouTube.
I honestly i should have pretended to agree to take that commission, take the money and block them, because fuck that guy. And i need money.
I'm not encouraging you to harass any of these people, but I'm making sure to let you know about potential rapists, so you could be safe. just block them ffs
