Alastor/Reader Oneshots (Discontinued)

Request 8 - Friends to-well, you'll see.

Requested by: @lucina350

"Alastor x reader where the reader worked with him as a radio announcer, after a while Alastor forces the reader to be his partner in crime so the reader kind of hates him.The reader kills herself and Alastor a few years later the great depression happened.You decide what is going to happen to them in hell :D Im going to leave you this video in which Vaggie explains what happened when Alastor arrived in hell (if you haven't see in yet)  :D"

...

"And that's all folks! I'm (Y/N) (L/N), broadcasting a farewell to all of you wonderful sweethearts with my cohost, Alastor!" You winked across the booth to him, "Thank you and goodnight!" You beamed into the microphone as Alastor gave a cheerful smile and chimed in with his goodbye.
"All night a selection of songs will be playin', so stay tuned after the commercial cut!"

Flipping the switch to turn off the mic and booth, you sighed and leaned back into your chair, throwing your hands behind your head and yawning.
It was 11 pm, when you usually signed off on a Monday. Being a radio host wasn't particularly tiring, but going home sure was.

Currently, the stock market crash has been affecting everyone in the south hard. Some more than others, but everyone none the less.
Well, the truth was, the top one percent wasn't so much damaged, and everyone below them wasn't faring well.

"When do you think the United States might recover, Al?" You piped up in your southern accent, glancing over to where he was cleaning off his desk for the night.
His smile thinned as he pursed his lips in thought.
"Soon. Although it doesn't bother me so much." He shrugged and continued to pack up.

That was something that bothered you about your partner. He didn't care enough about the rest of the world. Most would at least feel guilty, but not Alastor.
You frowned and shook your head mournfully, "you should be a bit more empathetic, Al. People are sufferin' and you're sitting up in that mansion of yours..." You trailer off, rubbing your hands together worriedly. Alastor turned to you with his eyebrows raised skeptically. You grinned nervously and focused on packing up for the night.

"All I'm sayin' is that a fella like you could do some good with all that money o' yours."

Your friend stopped abruptly, sighing and putting his hands on the desk, glancing at your small suitcase in comparison to his large, polished one.

"I'm taking you home." Was all he said, grabbing your hand and whisking you out the door.

On your way, you yanked your hand from his grasp, "Alastor Rodham! You're not trying court me, are you!?" You angrily kept in pace with him down the dusty road, as his house wasn't a long ways away.

He laughed loudly as you embarrassedly felt your hot cheeks, shuffling from foot to foot anxiously. Suddenly it seemed like a very silly and absorbed accusation.
He turned to you with a wicked grin.

"Well?"

"My dear (Y/N), I wouldn't dare! I'm a gentleman, you know that!" He shook his head, laughing still to himself. You breathed a sigh of relief and bounced along to catch up with him—the mans legs were longer than a cottonwood trunk.

"Then why're we going to your house? I had one of my own, you know." You inquired, stepping up on his wooden porch. Looking down at the knotted planks, you rubbed them with your hand. Sanded planks—not a chance for a splinter, that's how you knew he was rich.

"I just have a few things to show you, is all." He murmured, casually inviting you inside.

The first thing he did was offer you a glass of water from the tap—tap.