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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 months ago

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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 19 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Fluff, a little angst, Alastor thinking too hard about feelings, more damp Alastor

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor pulled the pan out of the icebox as you looked around his kitchen., taking in the sight of warm, worn woods. You ran finger tips over places where stain had been worn away by years of work, refinished by someone who didn’t bother to touch the color up. Everything was older, clearly not updated with the quickly improving technologies and style standards of the time.

It reminded you of home in a way your own home did not. It reminded you of home from your childhood, not as it was now, updated, but how it had been when you were a girl, sneaking into the kitchen to steal a buttery roll before dinner had been served. The room, no- the whole home from what you’d seen, had a warmth to it you doubted your own home would ever have. Alastor’s home was one that could raise happy families.

It felt strange, padding around a home with nothing but your stockings on your feet. You didn’t even go around your own home without your house shoes on your feet. There was a comfort in the action too, much like the rest of Alastor’s home.

Shaking your head, you tried to bring yourself back to the present. There was nothing to be gained thinking about how the home made you feel. To keep you grounded in the present, you tried to make yourself useful.

“What can I do to help?” you asked, fingers twisting together as Alastor set the pot on the stove.

Alastor looked over his shoulder at you as he made his way to the stack of firewood off to the side. He hummed for a moment as he bent, picking up a two hunks of split log and a handful of kindling from the bin along the kitchen wall. The scraping of splintering wood against itself was loud in the quiet room.

“Only relaxing,” he said after a moment of thought. “I doubt you get to do much of that.”

“No,” you said as you settled into the chair at the humble dining table, fingers tracing scratches in the finish, “I suppose I don’t.”

“Is Jambalya alright?” Alastor asked as you watched him grab a match from a hanging tube near the stove and strike it along the surface, lighting it with practiced ease. After shifting the wood around a bit more, he stuck the match inside the body of the stove and watched as it caught dry kindling. He knelt and watched as the flame spread, catching the wood before he closed the door to the stove. “It’s from last night.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you said, rather more unsure than you wanted to let on. You couldn’t remember a time you’d eaten food prepared by a man that wasn’t a a cook by profession. The idea of your father, brothers, or even Laurence in the kitchen was frankly comical.

“I assure you, it’s more than simply fine.” Alastor teased as he put the pan on the stove, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon after he set the lid aside. As the food warmed, the delicious aroma of spices and cooked meats filled the air.

You sat and waited, listening to the sounds of cooking and Alastor’s humming along with the jazz floating in from the main room. It was a battle, but you forced yourself to remain in place, not taking over tasks that didn’t belong to you as he dished the food up into chipped bowls.

It clinked softly against the worn wooden table as he sat the serving in front of you. It was a generous helping, more than you would have given yourself, more than Laurence would have allowed you to have. The spices smelled divine as you took in a deep breath.

Taking the first bite, you found the food was as good as it smelled, much to your delight. One bite followed the first and soon you fell into the steady rhythm that came with sharing a relaxed meal together.

There was an ease in eating with Alastor. It was comfortable at the well loved dining table, tucked off the side of the kitchen rather than in some cold, formal dining room.

You were not even sure he had one. The home was small but not cramped, leaving little room to hide a dining room. Comfortable. Warm. The heat from the woodstove pushed the damp cold out of the air, but you knew it was far more than that.

“Did you grow up here?” You asked as you traced more scratches on the table. Your father would have lost his mind if he caught you scratching up the table, but you were far from innocent of such childhood acts of destruction like the ones you ran your fingers over.

“In this very house,” Alastor smiled softly. “Mother worked hard to ensure we could keep it. I wouldn’t dream of parting from it now.”

“And your father?” The question brought as close to a frown across Alastor’s face as you could remember ever seeing.

“He left when I was just beginning to grow into a young man.” Alastor said tensely.

“I’m sorry.” You reached out for his hand before you thought twice. “I can’t imagine a father leaving.”

“It was for the better.” Alastor’s smile returned, though soft, as he looked down at your smaller hand covering the back of his.

“Your mother worked hard to provide a home for you. I think that’s admirable.”

Alastor stood, slipping his hand out from under yours as the record ended. He walked quickly into the living room, pausing when he knew he was out of sight of you to run his fingers through his hair, curls catching in his fingers as he raked back his hair.

He forced his breathing to slow and tried to will his heart to do the same. This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. There was no reason for the touch of a woman, why your touch should send his heart into a fit. It wasn’t the first time he’d had your hand in his, nor was he some inexperienced young man.

There was no reason you should get to him so much. There was no reason for you to worm your way under his skin like you did. Unless?

No, that was out of the question. Alastor shook his head as he crossed over to the record player and put on a new selection. Mimzy’s constant pestering was getting to him. That was all there was to it. She was getting in his head and left the door open for you to get in too.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Your voice was soft from the doorway. The downside, Alastor realized, of having shoes off to keep the floors cleaner meant it was harder to hear you move through his home. He wasn’t used to having guests in his space.

Alastor looked at you, eyebrow raised as he stood in silence. The gas lamps cast warm firelight into the space, reflecting off the curls in his hair, messy, wild and soft. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew how he looked, how it broke your heart and made you long for a life you didn’t even know you were missing out on before now.

He was the picture of domestic bliss, black socks on warm wood floors, firelight. You longed for a life where this was the home you maintained, welcoming the kind man home after his day of work wrapped up and he shook off the illusion of the day.

Holding his hand out to you, he invited you closer. Hesitantly, you slowly made your way to him,

“Not at all, my dear. Just putting on another record.” His hand took its place low on your back as you reached his side. Did he know how you longed for the weight of his hand on your back when you were alone with your thoughts? “Do you have a preference?”

“No, not really.” You shook your head, wishing you did. “Laurence doesn’t-”

“I know,” Alastor’s voice was soft as he dropped his hand from you, switching the record out for another he picked seemingly at random. “He doesn’t let you indulge in the joys of life.”

“No” Why did you feel like crying in that moment? “He dosen’t.”

“Ma cherie, why the frown? This is not a sad song.” He took your hands in his and smiled down at you, eyebrows furrowed in an adorable contrast that had your frown softening.

“Perhaps this song isn’t,” you whispered as Alastor tugged you to him, swaying your bodies together to the music. This wasn’t the classical music Laurence would favor, but that did nothing to hamper Alastor’s ability to lead you through a slow dance that had your heart hammering in your chest. “But isn’t my life just comically so?”

“How do you mean?” Alastor asked, face too close to yours but you didn’t mind. In fact, you leaned into his touch hoping he’d indulge.

You felt so painfully safe with him. it wasn’t fair. He had taken liberties time and time again, discounted social boundaries left and right. Touching you like doing so meant nothing more than touching the spine of a book at the booksellers.

Even now, alone in his home with him, you felt safe. Not once had Alastor pushed more than you would allow him. It left you wishing he would push for more, that he would lean down and kiss you as he spun you around the small living room, leaving you no space for your thoughts.

“I could care for you, Alastor, deeply. You’re so reckless with our friendship. How could I not fall into the trap of caring for you far too deeply?”

“You say that like it’s a problem.” Alastor whispered as he spun you out of his arms, only to tug you back to him, keeping just enough space to barely be proper.

“Isn’t it?” You whisper, hand on his chest as his hands return to their place, taking your other hand up in his. His hand on your hip guided you through the steps. Though you stumbled, tripping and stepping on his feet, he didn’t so much as flinch.

“I should get back home,” you said, though you didn’t want to leave the bubble of his home. “I’ve got to get the cleaning done and start dinner.”

“What if you were home?” Alastor’s hand tightened around your waist, knowing he was pushing you.

“It’s a lovely daydream.” You sighed, torn between looking away from him to hide the way your eyes burned with tears as he spun you around the living room and keeping them locked on him, refusing to leave the shelter of the illusion he offered but surely did not mean.

“One more dance?” Alastor asked as the song ended. “Then I’ll take you back to the life you don’t deserve to live.”

His heart swelled as you agreed with a timid nod. Why he needed the last dance so badly, he couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to take you back. He didn’t want your time together to end.

It would just leave him craving more of your time. Why?

You tripped over his foot again, same mumbled sorry falling from your lips, though you hardly caused him pain. It was clear you were not a practiced dancer, but you followed his lead well enough and he enjoyed catching you when your stumbled steps risked sending you tumbling to the floor.

What if Mimzy was right? He didn’t want her to be, but did it really change anything? He had planned to take you from Laurence, anyway. He had toyed with the idea of making you his anyway, letting you be the cover for his lack of desire. Was it really much of a problem if he were to care for you just a bit more than he had another?

He had wanted to deliver you to the front door. It was only proper to do so, but that would be far too risky. With the wet weather, too many people eager to gossip will be sitting in windows looking out on the streets. Anyone who looked to be out of place would find itself dissected, picked apart in the micro social circles of reading groups and knitting circles.

All they could risk was a pass by the front of the house, rolling by just slowly enough to get a good look inside windows and examining the driveway. The car had to keep rolling down the street, fast enough to not raise eyebrows. They had to ensure that there was no sign of your husband’s car in the driveway or any sign of his presence within the home.

Alastor was far less eager to return you to your home than he had been to pick you up. The rain had tapered off to a light drizzle, weighing heavily in the air and ensuring the feeling of dampness long overstayed the drops of rain themselves. Gloom clung to the both of you as he held the car door open for you, sheltering you from the rain as you stepped outside.

The umbrella was an ever present could over you, held by Alastor as he led you through the trees behind the park. His eyes burned with something you couldn’t understand as he looked ahead, ensuring you steps were sure and safe. He moved branches and brush out of your way, letting you make your way through the forest while remaining fairly dry.

It went against every urge in his body, even those new desires he failed to understand or have words for, to deliver you to the one place he knew without a doubt would see you in pain. His palms itched, fingers twitching in an ever present physical manifestation of his restless mind.

Rain dripped onto his head, running through his curls as he did his best to keep you dry under the umbrella. You wore his long coat over your day dress, far too large for you. Yet another layer of protection for you against the rain that would raise questions for the man who would desire to do nothing more than ruin you.

He watched you as you walked, lost in his own thoughts and you yours. You made such a sight, stepping through the underbrush carefully. Water gathered on the toes of your shoes, reflecting the dim light up at him.

Did you know how uniquely beautiful you were, stepping between branches and dodging greenery heavy with rain?

He didn’t think so.

You seemed to be amusingly unaware of the pictures you made in his mind, the way they lingered like photographs he could never hope to capture. An unassuming beauty, hidden away in the shadows. How cruel that you were married to another before he found you! If he had met you years ago, in a lifetime where you were still unattached, would he have known you for what you were then?

He stopped just in front of the big apple tree in your yard, standing on the edge of the forest holding your hand in his as he looked between the looming house and you. Was your heart beating as fast as his? Were you feeling the same indescribable feeling he was? Would you have a name for it?

Was it was he feared it was?

“What is it?” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts and then your soft fingers were slipping under the curls draped across his forehead as you checked him for fever. Such an innocent gesture and yet so forward. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been disappearing.”

“Disappearing?” Alastor laughed. “I wasn’t aware I was performing magic tricks.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his joke, drawing a bright smile to his face. Another vision, another picture he could only hope to capture in his mind. It was madness, what you were doing to his mind. How pictures of you seemed to litter the corners where bloodshed and disgust had only lived before.

“You’re so…” your words died off as your eyes locked with his.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I’ve been thinking.” Was that fear that crossed your face? Alastor reached out, caressing your cheek with the backs of his long fingers. You still flinched when he would reach out for you, he noticed. It was a subtle movement, one that betrayed years of abuse your body and mind were conditioned to accept. You would flinch and then you would lean into him, a timid little cat only beginning to learn that a man could do something other than cause pain.

“About?”

“I enjoy seeing you,” Alastor started, voice soft and shifting as it felt like a struggle to maintain the accent that he usually found came naturally. “A lot.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he only shook his head.

“I can’t keep calling the house,” Alastor said, fingers ghosting down your neck and along your shoulder. “The operator will notice. Word will spread and there’s always the risk that he will answer.”

“He’s been staying out longer,” The idea of Alastor’s calls breaking your day up and whispering temptation to put aside your housework and see him ending when they’d only just begun broke your heart. You didn’t get to listen to his voice while he worked in the evening. You didn’t want to lose the little nuggets of his attention you could snag. “He’s been working so much we’ve hardly been out.”

Alastor’s head cocked, “Do you really still think it’s working he’s doing?”

“I don’t know, it’s… it’s what he says-.”

“He’s not faithful to you.” Alastor wasn’t sure why that mattered to him. He needed to know that you knew your husband held no candle for you in the face of the reality that you may not clearly remember what you had seen or heard at the speakeasy. Returning to his intended conversation with a shake of the head, he continued, “What I wanted to say was that I cannot keep calling, making plans with you when another can so easily listen in. As this… thing between us grows, it’ll only become more obvious to the city if we’re sloppy. Does he come out back?”

“No,” You shook your head. Alastor was treated to the view of your face in the afternoon sun, peeking out from between the breaks in the heavy clouds, from different angles as your hair shifted with the action. Such a strange thing for him to find himself aware of. “He hires a landscaper to maintain the property, but they’ve been coming less and less lately. He’s not fond of the outdoors, in all honesty.”

“This tree,” Alastor reached out, running a hand over the rough bark of the apple tree, looking up for a moment at the branches dotted with the starts of flowers before handing you the umbrella. “There’s an old rabbit den here.”

“There is?” you asked as he knelt, moving long grass aside as he showed you the opening under a root, deep and abandoned.

“I can get back here without him seeing, even if he’s home. If I was careful enough, even if he was outside, I’d be able to get back here and slip notes in. Would you be able to come get them?”

“It’s not uncommon for me to come out back for air,” you said, crouching down next to Alastor to look at the hole. “If he’s home and in a mood, I wouldn’t, but how would I know when I need to find a way out?”

“You’d just have to check.” Alastor shrugged. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was something. “I’ll keep a lighter in the hole so you can burn the notes. When I’m here, I’ll flash it a few times in case you’re looking. He doesn’t seem the type to sit at the window.”

“What if I wanted to leave you notes?” You chewed your lip, wincing at the way your teeth scraped against the healing split in the flesh. It was an injury that was becoming more common. Though the beatings had lessened, Laurence was more likely to slap your face in the last two weeks, something he usually avoided for the need to maintain appearances.

“You could,” Alastor took her hand in his, “If you wanted to. I can swing by and check a few times a week, maybe more.”

“Our own personal mailbox,” you mused as Alastor stood. He held his hand out to you, helping you to stand again as well.

“Indeed, now let me walk you to the door. Can’t have you getting wet, can I?”

You walked arm in arm with Alastor, nestled into his side. He kept the umbrella over you, continuing to sacrifice his comfort to ensure you were dry as you walked across the back lawn and to the back door.

In what felt like just a moment, he was standing on the back stoop with you. It felt normal to deliver you to the door. He liked the feeling, though he’d give anything to be delivering you to your father’s doorstep and not this one, but that was alright. He would make the best of it.

He was brought to you for a reason. You were brought to him for a reason. No one else could free you. No one else was strong enough to kill for you. No one else was deserving of you.

Alastor stepped into your space, wrapping his arm around you before he thought it through. His shirt was damp with rain and for a moment fear clawed at him as you stood stone still. Then your arms moved, wrapping around him and soothing the fear as you held him to your body just as tightly as he was holding you.

Part of him wanted to hate you for the way you had brought fear into his heart. Part of him soared with the thrill of it. When had he last felt fear of anything? Of anyone?

“Can I see you again?” Alastor asked as his fingers ran down your back. “Tomorrow?”

The game changed, Alastor knew that. His heart raced at your soft agreement. He didn’t need to feel the way you sighed into his chest or the way your head tucked ever so easily under his to know he had never understood the game he had set out to play.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that Alastor had always been a quick study, sharp and keen. This may be a new game, one he had never played before, but that didn’t matter.

Alastor would win this game, of that he was sure.

He would win, no matter the cost.

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