Helluva man (Alastor x Reader)

A loving sister

Warning! This chapter is not safe for work! There are some very gory scenes in this chapter! Reader discretion advised!

Your pov

Alastor gently wraps his arms around your waist, being careful to not touch any injuries. You lay your broken arm on his shoulder, wrap your other one around his neck and scoot closer as you two both pull away for a shaky breath. Alastors face was bright red, and his crimson eyes were staring intently into yours. His smile was soft and closed as he gingerly moves one hand up to cup your cheek and pull you into another warm welcoming kiss. His lips were soft and he smelled distinctly of strawberries and cinnamon. A weird mix that went together quite well. All of the aches in your body seem to melt away as you melt into Alastors touch. You pull back and can’t stop a giddy smile from spreading across your face. Alastor lifts you up gently and lays you back down in the bed, sliding in next to you playing with your hair. 

“Well that was… something.” He mutters in your ear quietly. You nod and giggle quietly. 

“When I said I wanted to be able to cuddle you more this isn’t quite what I thought would happen.” You say, tilting your head so your looking at Alastor. He laughs and nods, turning to stare at the ceiling. 

“Neither did I.” He states calmly. He then looks back down at you. “Dear, you told me your story, would you like to hear mine?” He questions. His smile was still on his face, but his eyes were filled with an almost afraid glimmer of curiosity. 

“If you want to tell it.” You say, sitting up and putting a pillow behind your back. Alastor nods a few times and runs a thin hand through his hair. 

“I do.” He then sits up alongside you, and takes a deep breath. 

Alastors pov

It had been a long day in the studio and I was quite tired. There had been a few new murder ‘mysteries’ to report on today, that I had to be very careful to leave out details on. No matter how much I love reporting on the murders, being charismatic and not sounding too much like a lunatic on air was always a thing I needed to think about. I grab my dark maroon, almost brown overcoat and slide it on while grabbing my walking cane and locking the door to the studio. I had dinner plans with my younger sibling tonight. My dearest sister lilly. She had wrote me last week saying that she was getting worried about me, as I lived in the murder town central. She had complained about how she was losing sleep every night over the thought of me getting caught by the “psychotic, masochistic, disturbed man” running rampant in the streets. Just thinking back to it now gave me a good laugh. I take the short walk back to my house and grab the jambalaya (my mother's recipe) from the open fire I had been letting it simmer over since I took my noon lunch break. Grabbing the pot, I put a lid on it and hold it up under one arm as I grab a small knife off of the counter by the door and head to the train station to head a few towns down to my sister's house. Ofcourse, I live in New Orleans, and while its a large town that gives me a wide choice spectrum of whom I kill, its not good to limit myself to one place. I slip the knife into the back of my pants, hooking the hilt on the hem to avoid it falling. 

Time skip ;p

“Lilly?” I call out as I knock on the door. I hear rushed footsteps and then the door swings open and I’m greeted by a tired and messy looking sister. Her brown hair was matted and her hazel eyes looked dull. She was wearing a plain blue dress and no shoes. “Why hello my dear! You look….. Ravishing!” I let myself in and my sister flits out of sight for a moment, only to reappear at my side to swipe the pot from my arm. 

“Sorry I was cleaning!” She says scurrying off. Her hair that had been down and in a mess was now pulled up in a sloppy bun. “It’s so nice to see you Alastor!” She rushes over after setting down the pot and gives me a hug. I flinch back and pat her head lightly.