A Tale As Old As Time | An Alastor x Reader Lemon Series

Writer's Block

I stared at the blank white page blaring out at me from my laptop screen.  Upstairs, I could hear my neighbors screaming at each other. The walls were so thin I could understand the argument. Apparently someone had put the milk back in the fridge without the lid. A capital offense, apparently. Sighing, I tried to tune it out and channel some form of creativity. I wanted to get something on the page before heading to bed. 

After several very fruitless minutes, I gave up as the argument upstairs escalated to a new height. Something glass was thrown and crashed into a million pieces.

Sighing, I grabbed the broom leaning against the counter nearby and beat on the ceiling, "Either make up and fuck already, or just shut the hell up!" 

That shut them up for all of about thirty seconds before the argument resumed. Giving up, I grabbed my purse and hoodie. If I couldn't get some work done here, then I might as well go get a drink at the bar. 

It was raining, the normally red glow of the pentagram's sky overcast. Pulling my hood up, I kept my head down as I made my way down to the hole in the wall bar I often came to drink the writer's block away. 

"Buffalo Trace, neat," I ordered, sliding into an end spot at the bar. The dull-eyed bartender slid a tumbler over to me, barely taking the time to even glance in my direction. 

Three drinks later, I sighed, tossing a couple crumpled bills on the table for my tab and got up. I didn't watch where I was going and when I turned around, I ran smack dab into another demon. 

"My my, what do we have here?" A smooth radio voice said, catching my elbow as I stumbled back. Slightly tipsy, I looked up into the red gaze of one of the most notorious demons in all of Hell.

Alastor.