The Fox and the Hunter | Alastor x reader |

~Love?~

You're not sure if what either of you feel could be called love.

Can either of you even feel that sort of romance? Infatuation sounds more likely.

You feel safe with him, warm...

You'd like to say it's love. Can't you call it love? You've never found anybody to be something you wanted. When the others talked of crushes, you were always the odd one out. You didn't really see the point. There were moments when you wondered what it would be like, but...

Is your mother not a divine example of how that could backfire? Love? Why would somebody ever want to have that?

Yet he makes your cheeks flush and your chest warm. You don't mind holding onto him. You don't mind that he's close to you. Is that what one calls love? You don't see yourself doing what's depicted of a "couple".

Kissing? Holding hands? Flirting? That all just seems so... weird.

But teasing each other, compliments, laughter... and well apparently murder. That feels normal.

No, this isn't a friend.

He's not a friend. Not just a convenience, but not love in the way everybody else seems to see love.

It's butterflies in your stomach, warmth in your chest, and a flush on your face, but it's not kisses and sheets. It's romantic, but without the parts most think are necessary for a relationship. Perhaps blood replaces it.

One short kiss.

That is all that was shared.

Nothing passionate, it was friendly.

You like that though. You like the idea of sitting under the same blanket listening to the radio.

You hate the idea of anything more intimate than that. It's a dabble of romance.

You're positive it's all Alastor wishes to have to. A smile crosses your lips as you take a deep breath. You will likely never share the same bed permanently, and never show the way your chests warm, but that is okay. You prefer that. Prefer sharing the home rather than a room.

Knowing what he is, and what he does. It's nerve-racking.

You slip beneath your covers, still trying to make sense of everything. He can see you without wanting to touch and grab. He can understand your thoughts, you can act on them, and he'd only think it pleasant and interesting. He adores it instead of fearing it.

So why does it hurt?

You don't have to push it away, don't have to slowly drive yourself into insanity. There's an open set of arms willing to help you grow.

So why does she stay? The part of you that felt bad for eating a deer. Well, suppose it wasn't a deer, but still... Why does that part of your mind still clash with this? You have the opportunity to finally feel wanted, needed, adored... maybe even loved.

Yet your skin crawls at the memory of what you did.

Maybe you'll feel better when your head's not fucked from being so drunk.

~

Alastor lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

It's not love.

He can't love. It's something like it, but not. An indescribable sort of feeling. He finds her pretty, calming, interesting, and delectable, but that's it. These are still things he's never felt before for anybody. There are sensations and thoughts. Like how her being bruised and bloodied by another makes his stomach twist. Not in the way of excitement. It's sickening... almost. There are the thoughts of chopping off the hands and tongues of those who may try to woo her as he has. But there is no desire to hold her close and... kiss. None of that lovely stuff.

He's got something for her. Something more than a simple friendship. He has those, but there's never anything like this. He'd slaughter his friends but her? He just wants to drag her down, see her eyes the way he sees his own. He wants to see what will happen if she embraces herself instead of trying to be "a good person."

This world is damned anyway.

He wants her, but not in that way. He wouldn't mind holding her, wouldn't mind running his hands through her hair, but he doesn't desire her how a lover desires their lover.

Frustration grows. If it's not love, what is it? Some sick and twisted version? Suppose that fits.

Twisted love. The only way he may be capable of such a disgusting term.

One often falls prey to love.

He's the hunter, not the prey. He's the one who butchers, not the one who runs.

It's ironic really how quickly those afraid of being prey become monsters ready to do anything.

She usually reminds him of a deer. Except in the moments when he sees her flash her teeth. She's no hunter, she never will be, but... she's certainly one for small prey and an animal good at making use of her surroundings and wiggling on through situations. Sly Fox... he does like that.

He hates these changes.

Will it affect his work? Will she get in his way?

Killing her would solve these issues, and at his hand...

He has only some hesitating thoughts about that one. Killing you means he'd be bored with only his hobbies to entertain himself with.

You're entertainment. He likes constant surprises. He likes seeing both the rabid animal you can devolve into and the angelic glitter in your eyes. He likes both, and wants to continuously see them.

"Just what the fuck did you do?"

Besides the loss of your entertainment, he loves the idea. He wonders if you'd fear him in those moments. Would you try to run? Scream? Would you fight back? He'd win over an animal. Even the most rabid animals are put down by man. Still, would you make him bleed? Would you bite the way you bit that man?

Would you feel betrayed despite knowing what he is? That would make him laugh. How could that ending not be expected?

When you finally breathe that last breath, how would you fancy it on a plate? Perhaps you'd be the first souvenir. He could keep the eyes.

He laughs at himself.

How did you do this?

You and him were supposed to amount to what the hunter and its plaything would be like. He just wanted to see you build up and then tear you down for his next meal. Betrayal, fear... both would have looked so delicious on that pretty face. Yet, somehow he let you live longer than he'd expected. Spent far too much time without something meant to just be prey.

A partner in crime. That's it.

You'll be partners in crime.

See, if you run, then you become hunted down... not just by him, but the bull as well.

If you oppose despite knowing things... he'll be disappointed the games come to an end, and he'll take delight in your flesh at his dinner table.

Yet he does hope to be partners in bloodshed.

Even if you didn't want to kill anybody who'd done nothing to you, you could be the perfect fox! To imagine you with your innocent eyes acting all innocent as if there isn't blood on your hands, making it easy for him to lead the next meal to the slaughter.

It would be fun. And perhaps it could do for you what it does for him.

Power, a thrilling sense of uncaring dominance in the world of the lowly.