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this whole ass story is beautiful and evil and i need more

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 54 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Drug use, period typical racism, Laurence AN: The votes are in and the winner is: A month long MisD birthday party! Get your MisD asks in and I'll be answering them all month long as we wish MisD a very happy first birthday! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

Alastor stepped into the bedroom, carrying a load of linens in his arms. For a moment, he paused and just enjoyed the sight. The midday sun was strong, sending bright rays into the room to highlight your hair as you ran a damp rag over the wooden wardrobe.

“Where would you like these?” he asked, after deciding he could stand there all day and still not have taken in enough of the sight of you.

“On the floor by the bed is fine,” you smiled at him over your shoulder at him, bringing a new light to the room. This was what your life would be like, in a few short years at most.

“What’s got that smile on your face?” Alastor asked, setting the bundle of linins down before wrapping his arms around your waist. He leaned down, placing a quick kiss on your forehead before giving you a bit of space again.

“Just the idea that this could be normal. This could be my future. Our future.”

“It can, if we want it.” Alastor bent down and kissed you one more time, not lingering long enough to give you a chance to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper. “But first, let me go scrub the stains from the counter.”

“Do you think you can work them out?” You had been working at the stains left by Laurence’s tincture since he had started storing it on his bedside table. Though you had worked and worked at it, the amber stain was still there.

“I do,” Alastor chuckled, “Let me go work my magic.”

Laurence staggered down the sidewalk, phantom aches seizing his legs as he made his way past house after house. People looked at him from windows, whispering words of judgment to their partners.

He couldn’t see them, but he could feel their eyes. Men who should be working but snuck home to their wives or mistresses, somehow still making enough money to get through each day.

He hated them. He hated how they mocked him. It wasn’t Laurence’s fault that things kept going wrong for him. It wasn’t his fault his business was failing. It wasn’t his fault that sure bets were failing. It wasn’t his fault the police had caught him.

None of it was his fault.

But that was alright. He would get through this. He would get through this and make it out the other side stronger. He would rebuild. He was a Latimer. Building wealth and growing businesses was what they did. It would be a matter of time before he was back on top.

It just may take some extreme measures. He could take extreme measures. He had resources still. There was one resource he hadn’t tapped into yet, even now. Sure, he had almost, but… He would do whatever it took.

But first, he had to get through the pain.

Alastor hummed as he scrubbed the grout, letting the cleaning fluid soak into the stain. It hadn’t been coming out as easily as he had hoped, but he was determined to get it. Removing the stain of Laurence’s drug use became somewhat of a personal mission for him.

He couldn’t remove the stain of Laurence on your life. The scars of what your husband had put you through would likely linger throughout your life, long after the meat rotted of your husband’s bones.

He couldn’t wash away the scars on your heart or mind. There was nothing that would take away the scars on your body. The least Alastor could do, what he was determined to do, was to take the scar Laurence had left off your counter.

Laurence walked up the sidewalk, pace quickly building into a jog as he took the stairs up to the porch two at a time. As he reached the door, he slowed. Music played inside, the damned radio turned up and playing something jazzy.

Laurence looked through the window before slotting the key into the door. If he was lucky, you were in the kitchen baking some fucking bread or a goddamn pie. You better get good at baking, he thought darkly. You may need to sell them while he waited for his luck to change.

The door squeaked as he opened it. Music poured out of the house as Laurence stepped inside. Looking around, he found no sign of you and that was just fine by him. Perhaps you were too stupid to turn off the radio before going out to do your shopping.

It would be better if you were not home. He could tell you the house got robbed. With some of the good silver, the radio- maybe he could make enough to at least pay off the radio prick, keep his car for at least another month and put some fuel in it.

If he played his cards right, maybe he could spin some items, make them worth more than they actually were. If he could pay off a few more bills, get some people off his ass. Once he had a little bit more breathing room, he could push for more runs. He could take some time and work on some easy marketing contracts.

That’s what he needed. Once he took a few contracts, he would deliver good, high-quality products once again. He would only cut the corners he had to and he would rebuild the reputation of his company.

He’d do it right. As soon as he was pulling in money again, he’d do things right. He’d stop going to the speakeasy. He’d stop running hooch for Emma’s family. Fuck, if he could get himself out of this, he would drop Emma. He’d be loyal to you.

Fuck, he would be kinder. He’d be the kind of husband you deserved. He just needed to get out of this bind.

Laurence walked slowly toward the stairs. Fuck, his back hurt. He wasn’t sure in the moment if he’d be able to scale them, but he had little a choice.

Each step was more painful than the last. Laurence found his focus on the money and his plans for the future being replaced by the thought of the little brown bottle that would take his pain away. He had one stashed in his desk drawer, right next to the envelope that held only half of the payment Alastor was demanding.

Laurence’s eyes were downcast, focusing more on ensuring each step he took resulted in his foot being properly grounded on the step. The last thing his back needed was for him to miss a step, stumbling. It wouldn’t do his back any favors to crash into the railing or worse, fall down the stairs.

While he took the final step, he registered the sound of humming. You were not one for humming while you worked, at least not while Laurence was home. You knew he didn’t care for the sound. Sure, you could indulge while he was working, like you did with the fucking radio, but…

Alastor stepped out of the washroom, jacket missing and sleeves rolled up, displaying his too dark forearms.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Laurence snapped, rage fairing to life to push away the fatigue that chased him all evening.

“Laurence?” you screamed from the bedroom.

Of course you were in the bedroom. Laurence’s lips curled up in a snarl as he watched you step into view, face pale and lips too pink. You had done your makeup for the day and for what? For who?

“Have you been fucking him?” Laurence took a staggered step toward you, only to have Alastor step further into the hall.

“Calm down.” He spoke calmly to the enraged man, only causing more anger. “I’ve done nothing improper with your wife. She allowed me in to use the washroom. I was going to see if you were home before I went to the studio.”

“You slimy son of a bitch!” Laurence yelled as you stepped closer, not sure what to do. “You’re just as fuckin dirty as your no good mother. Dirty fucking-”

“Let’s step into your office?” Alastor held his hand out toward the locked door, “We can discuss this like gentlemen.”

“No,” you whispered, though neither man heard it over the sound of Laurence’s insults. In your heart, you knew if Alastor stepped into that office with your husband, he would not leave it in anything resembling the same condition.

“Yes.” Laurence’s shoulders relaxed for a moment before pulling up around his ears again. “Yes, we’ll go into the office. It wouldn’t do to discuss your affair with my wife in front of her. Perhaps- Perhaps we can revisit the terms of our deal?”

Alastor glanced down the hall as Laurence stepped into the newly unlocked office. He mouthed words and for a moment, your mind couldn’t register what he was saying. Then it hit you. He was telling you he loved you one last time before your husband surely killed him.

Alastor closed the door behind him as he stepped into the office. This was bad, very bad, he knew. He could not make it out of this, though the chance was small. It was vital that he did everything he could to stack the deck in his favor.

That’s why he closed the door just enough to seal the room, but not enough for the door to latch shut. He made a show of flipping the lock, not actually turning the knob at all.

The less he had to mess with if he needed to leave the room in a hurry, the better.

“Laurence,” Alastor said carefully as he crossed into the center of the office. “Have you had any luck raising the funds?”

“I think we have bigger things to discuss than that,” Laurence answered back, rummaging around his desk drawer instead of looking at his creditor.

“Things bigger than you missed payment?” Alastor laughed as he watched Laurence pull out a little brown bottle, knowing full well what was in it. The disgusting marks of addiction were clear on the blond man’s face, his grooming, and his actions.

“Yes,” Laurence said simply, unscrewing the cap and squeezing fluid into the dropper inside. Throwing his head back, Laurence greedily swallowed the contents of the dropper.

“If you’re not careful, that stuff will kill you,” Alastor said mildly.

If Laurence overdid it on the tincture and stopped his own heart, it would be all the better for him. It would be easy to explain, easy to clean up. There would be no mess. Alastor’s stomach rolled as Laurance moaned as he swallowed the tincture.

“You should worry about yourself.” Laurence’s fire was returning as the tincture quickly entered his system.

“I don’t have a failing business.” Alastor said, stepping back as Laurence stepped around the desk. His eyes fluttered around the room, always returning to the trapped animal of a man as he sought any sort of item he that would make for a cleaner, easier kill than the small knife in his pocket. “Nor am I addicted to any substances.”

Laurence laughed before he answered, “You think the dirt hasn’t touched you?” His voice was climbing. “You think you’re so fucking good? And why? Just because you think people forget who you are because your skin is light enough to lie?”

“This has nothing to do with the color of my skin,” Alastor said calmly. “Let’s sit and discuss?”

“Oh!” Laurence was closing the distance as he yelled, “Your mother was the color of fucking dirt! And that’s all she was fucking worth!”

Outside, in the hall, you clasped your hands in front of your mouth. You’d heard Laurence say vile things about the people whose skin looked different from what he considered proper, but you had heard nothing as terrible as what he was screaming at the man you loved.

Inside the room, Alastor’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. His fingers itched as he tried to avoid imagining the way blood would color Laurence’s blond hair red.

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