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scene-iorcitizen13 · 11 months ago

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love and power

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prelude

“ask for forgiveness,

never permission.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags: acid rain wound, cannibals living their best lives in cannibal town, slow burn eventual: smut, violence, toxic themes

word count: 1.7k

hello world! i currently have alastor brain rot and felt compelled to jump back into writing fan fiction. i’m a little rusty and i’m not sure how many parts there will be; i won’t deny that this is purely self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy all the same :)

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

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Hell wasn’t what you had expected it to be. It was worse.

Thoughts of your grandmother rose to your mind, despite how desperately you tried to push them down. “Hell is the absence of God,” she would always say after one of her famous rants. A warning you perhaps would have heeded, had it been coming from a place of love instead of moral superiority.

You had seen her on the streets of Hell a few times now, always sure to avoid catching her attention. The warm pleasure that bloomed in your chest was too precious to give up, despite knowing how good it would feel to rub her fate in her face. A lot of good all those Sunday mornings had done her, haughty bitch! You wondered how often your grandmother laid awake at night, desperate to know how she had ended up here. A wicked grin spread across your lips, revealing milky-pink fangs.

It was hard not to imagine the look your father would have given you if you could tell him she was here. He would definitely have scolded you, but you knew a small part of him would be amused. If calling her a bad grandmother was putting it lightly, she was an even worse mother-in-law. Hopefully you would never get the chance to tell him; Mother was waiting for him in Heaven, after all. And things should be much easier for him now, all things considered. Leaving him alone hadn’t been part of the plan, so all you could do was tell yourself that it had been worth it. Someday you would believe it.

Grandmother was right though, loathe as you were to admit it, and the feeling of loss burned through you every morning when you awoke. Every night, you dreamed of rain; the sound of it, the smell of it, the feeling of it coming down on you in the middle of the family garden. Oh, how you missed the garden. The dark, wet dirt. Blue puffs of hydrangea against stark-white azaleas, your mother’s coveted yellow roses. The Spanish Moss hanging like phantom sails off the branches of the huge oak tree in the corner, where your father had placed a bench and made a small pond. You would sit under that tree for hours lost in a book, listening to the sounds of the garden.

The fire and brimstone you could endure. It was the way everything else was twisted here that was grueling. As if feeling your lament, a drop of acid rain hit your window, quickly morphing into a full-blown storm. A frustrated growl erupted from you and you rolled onto your stomach, burying your head under your pillow and said a silent prayer to whatever force would grant mercy on your roof. You couldn’t afford to get it fixed again. The prayer had been answered just a moment after the rain stopped, when a drop of it fell from the ceiling and onto your pale, unsuspecting calf, your mattress absorbing the scream of pain that tore through your chest.

As the acid made its way through your leg, and eventually your mattress, all you could do was sob. Eternity… This was eternity.

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If this morning had been good, the day could only now be considered grand.

There was really nothing quite like a post-rain stroll through Cannibal Town, witnessing the misfortune of partially-dissolved sinners who had been caught in the deluge being consumed on the streets by the lively, ever-hungry inhabitants. Alastor would never tire of this jovial bunch that called this part of the Pentagram home, reveling in the sound of screams, the crunching of bone, the almost-lewd and animalistic grunts of feasting.

Were Rosie not expecting him for tea, he might have allowed himself to join in on the fun. Alas, his only solace was that Rosie never served anything less than superb, being the excellent hostess that she is.

He was quite intrigued by her invitation to join her alone, which meant that this likely wasn’t anything to do with donating a small army of cannibals to aid in the fight against the Angels. Indeed, Charlie’s presence would be required once it was time to cash that favor in.

Not that he didn’t enjoy a casual visit (as casual a visit between Overlords could be), he couldn’t help but wonder. Thinking a few steps ahead was a must if one was going to thrive in Hell, and well, it was no secret that Alastor was doing a pretty fine job at that, all things considered. He began to whistle, earning a few gory smiles from cannibals who stopped mid-meal to enjoy the tune. A true honor.

Rosie opened the door for him before he even had the chance to knock, the “Closed for Rain” sign clattering against the glass as she cooed. “Alastorrr! Come in, come in, before it starts raining again.”

As if on queue, a roll of thunder tore through the clouds, drawing a cheer from the denizens of Cannibal Town in anticipation for round two.

“Rosie, my dear, always an honor and a privilege to be deemed worthy of your company,” Alastor said, bowing his head as Rosie feigned a blush, leading him to the parlor where they would be taking their tea.

The usual pleasantries were exchanged between sips of tea, coffee, and candied organs, which Alastor forced himself to consume through sheer courtesy. It was all part of the art of visiting, one he quite enjoyed, and he would never shame his mother’s memory with bad manners. They had just finished a plate of finger sandwiches when Rosie leaned in slightly, the conspiring grin on her face letting him know that it was, at last, time for business.

“You’re always so good to indulge me, Alastor. It doesn’t go unnoticed,” she said, grinning as she motioned to a maid to come grab their empty plates. “I’m sure you’ve been dying to know why I asked you over here this afternoon.”

“Oh, Rosie, it’s purely selfish! You know how hard it is to find good company in this godforsaken place. I’m more than grateful to receive your hospitality,” he said with a trademark smile and flick of the wrist, leaning back in his chair as the maid cleared the table.

She had just turned to leave with their plates when the smile on his face nearly faltered. Was that… almond he smelled? It had been so long, but he was fairly certain it was. There was an underlying trace of blood, though that was common enough around here. But almond? It was too pleasant for Hell.

Rosie’s eyes darkened to match her grin, not missing the twitch of Alastor’s mouth. She knew he’d have been able to smell it. It seemed that so far only Hellborn could pick it up, but what would be the fun in letting him know that?

“Divine, isn’t she? A walking pastry, but not much of a talker. I like to bring her around whenever a room needs some pizzazz! She would’ve been eaten alive had I not taken her in,” Rosie whispered cheekily, as the maid returned with a fresh kettle and a gelatin mold for dessert. Rosie, not missing a beat once the tray had been set down, turned to her with a smile. “Thank you dear, you can leave now. I’ll ring the bell if we need anything else.”

The maid gave a silent curtsy and left the room as instructed, her sweet scent clinging to the air. Since coming to Hell, he took pleasure in the taste of bloody iron, the bite of black coffee. But in life… Memories of marzipan and frangipane tarts swam in his mind. And hadn’t Mother used almonds in her cherry pie crust? It took Alastor all he had not to drool, unsettled by the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth. Ages had passed since he last thought of such sweet things. He cleared his throat with as much grace as he could muster. Rosie only grinned.

“Well, she’s certainly new, so I suppose it’s not surprising she doesn’t talk much. It’s quite easy to tell when a sinner is… adjusting. So morose! You’re very gracious to have taken her on.” Alastor took a sip of coffee, desperate to get that almond smell out of his nostrils.

“We both seem to be rather gracious these days, don’t you think?”

And there it was.

Rosie sat back in her chair and crossed her legs as she continued. “I was actually wondering if perhaps she might fare better in that hotel you’re running. Don’t get me wrong, she smells incredible, but fuck does she suck the air out of a room once the novelty wears off. She was scaring away clients, and you know it’s pretty bad if cannibals are uneasy around you for Christ’s sake, which is why I had her start working back here, but…”

Alastor had to resist gripping his knee, putting all his effort into maintaining a pleasant face. He had expected to be asked for a favor of sorts, but never did he imagine that Rosie wanted him to take on an employee. She’s had sinners sign contracts for little less than a new parasol, let alone a job. There was something more to this.

And beyond being an air freshener, what good was she for, really? He could deal with quiet, but to have to put up with yet another sulky face! What he had done to deserve it, he didn’t know.

But he knew there wasn’t really a choice other than to take the poor creature into his charge. Rosie was an alley he deeply cherished, and he was already in her debt for the help she had provided just weeks ago. This was no doubt the first part of paying that debt back, a sign of goodwill. Not every deal was beneficial from the start; still, Alastor wouldn’t outright accept the offer. That was part of the fun.

“Well we already have a maid,” Alastor said gently, “but after the recent renovation, we are anticipating more sinners to check in. Not that I doubt Niffty’s abilities, but I suppose she could do with some help when business picks up. How long were you thinking of lending her to our cause?”

Rosie waved her hand. “Lend? Oh, honey, if you’re willing to take her, she’s yours. I’ve got plenty of helping hands, but it does me no good to have such a wet blanket hanging around. There’s just the matter of…,” Rosie trailed off as she reached into her purse, retrieving what Alastor already knew she had been grabbing for, “…her contract.”

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scene-iorcitizen13 · 1 year ago

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Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 5 ]

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Back from the dead… Did you miss my loves? ;) Fair warning: this part is a bit tedious and emotional. Also, please go check out @lustylita. Their art is divine, and I'm addicted to seeing it! I bet you'll love their work, too!

WARNINGS; [ MDNI ] + [ MENTIONS & DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD & HORROR ] + [ PREGNANCY TROPE...I know but just deal with it for now... ] + [ANGST ] + [ CANNIBALISM ]

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There was so much blood; it was all you could see, painted over every surface you laid your eyes on.

It drenched your skin, trickling from your shaky hands to the void below your feet, filling the space drop by drop like an un-fillable pool.

A heavy smell of iron and decay engulfed your senses, pungent and nauseating. It was nothing like you'd imagined the color red to smell, far from the sweet scent of a blossoming spring rose or a freshly picked basket of crisp apples. The texture did nothing to offset the unsettling substance; it was lukewarm, thick, and seemingly unable to dissipate.

You tried wiping it away, smearing it on any other surface but your skin; however, more would congeal out of thin air. It was frightening, maddening even, and you became desperate to wipe it off with all your might.

Why wouldn't it just disappear?

Where was it coming from?!

Were you going to drown in it?!

An overwhelming shroud of dread consumed you, a scream of utter horror ripping from your chest as the blood beneath your feat rose rapidly, and all you could do was stumble in it: no doors, no openings, no light. Just an endless void produced a never-ending stream of horror that clung to you like glue. You'd never wanted to escape something so badly, falling to your knees as shock racked your minor form, "Let me out! Make it stop! Please, somebody, make it stop!"

Tears streamed down your face, disappearing into the sea of red, aiding nothing but your inner panic.

This had to be some nightmare. A terrible dream you'd awake from at any minute.

It had to be, or the distant screams that were emerging from the darkness would've taken shape into anything but the disfigured bodies floating around you. Each one more mangled the last, terror written over every corpse's face -what was left of it anyway- and you almost envied their deceased state. They'd long passed on, strangers to you, but ever present in these horrific nightmares that worsened the closer you got to giving birth. At least they were dead, fortunate enough to plague your nightmares and not endure this cycle of torture, but they were the sole reason you lost more and more sleep.

You knew this part of the nightmare well; those bodies would remain, but a familiar mix of voices would emerge. You recognized Alastor's sultry tone first, used to hearing it, but the childlike giggles that mingled after his words were newer to you.

"Curiouser and curiouser said little Alice…" he hummed in delight, earning another string of giggles and drawing your attention in their direction.

There he sat, an arm's length away from you, two small children nestled in his lap, their faces hidden behind the book in his hands.

"Alastor?.." you whispered, hoping to gain his attention, unsure if what you saw was real but desperate for a sense of safety. He didn't budge, continuing to read as if you'd never spoken, "The white rabbit scampered off faster and faster, leaving her to wonder and shout after him…"

The children in his lap swung their tiny feet excitedly, voices muffled as they inquired about the story, and Alastor chuckled at their enthusiasm.

What the fuck is happening?...

Anger and confusion consumed your thoughts, urging you to stand and stalk to where your husband sat. He still ignored you, eyes never leaving the book and his smile widening as you drew closer. It was then that you saw it: splatters of blood on his face, hands, and clothes.

Just the same as the night he went hunting, a memory you'd yet to forget, and it seemed your conscience refused to let it go. You tried again to gain his attention, stepping behind him to see the children he held, but he gave no answer, and their faces appeared to blur.

Two things were clear: their smiles mirrored Alastor's perfectly, and their white clothes were stained with blood. Your stomach twisted in knots at the sight, a deep unease settling over you as they reached for you, hands covered in red like Alastor's. Panic overtook you then, your horrified screams overlapping their cheery giggles and his constant reading.

It was all too much, too vivid, and scarring.

You needed to wake up, or you'd surely lose your mind.

So, you screamed, shutting your eyes tight to block out the sight and shrinking away from it in hopes of escape.

"Y/n!?.. Sweetheart, wake up. Open your eyes, come on now," Alastor sat up in your shared bed, gently shaking your shoulders and carefully shifting to hover above you. He awoke to the sounds of your sharp, frantic breathing, recently accustomed to the sounds that stemmed from vivid night terrors. This was your third nightmare of the week, a bad one from what he could gather out of your strained expression and the stray tears staining your cheeks; how he hated to see his darling wife in peril, harboring a deep resentment to whatever troubled your lovely mind but unable to console you completely.

Alastor did not care about many things, and seeing you frantic amid sleep was one of them. As beautiful as you were laying beside him, round with his children and ever so content to bear them, he knew the least he could do was soothe your troubles, even if they were his fault, to begin with.

"Ma chere, wake up. I'm right here…" Alastor tried again to rouse you, and this time, your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. "A-alastor?…" you choked on a quiet sob, crying silently as his face came into focus, and though you wanted to feel comforted by his attentive nature, the only thing on your mind was the details of your nightmare coming to life.

Blood.

His, yours, a strangers?

It didn't matter where it came from, but the notion of how it stuck to your husband's skin and clothes that night he left your side as if he'd willingly bathed in it stuck with you far longer than anticipated.

Alastor studied your expressions carefully, not bothering to wear his glasses in the dead of night to see you when the pale moon gave enough light to do so, but oh, how it pained him to see you crying.

"My dear…shh, it's alright. You're safe and sound with me. No need to cry." He lay beside you again, sitting up just enough to caress your head into his chest. Though his words were sweet and loving, your tears only flowed faster hearing them.

It was as if you couldn't help yourself, wanting to feel secure in his arms but fearful of him simultaneously. Alastair had never treated you harshly, bad-mouthed you, or given any indication that he had anything negative to say about your character. So, why couldn't you let go of your anxiety around him, see him in your dreams as the lovely man you'd grown to love and marry, or scrub the image of that single night from your conscience?

He was hunting. He was hunting. He was hunting.

That's what you kept telling yourself, trying not to consider the other odd things that occurred that night, but it didn't prove easy. Night terrors became crying fits, and baseless doubts morphed into suspicions you weren't entirely ready to investigate.

You'd been with Alastor for too long and assumed you knew him like others since he was your husband and a soon-to-be father of your children. What kind of wife harbors unfounded fears toward their spouse? It broke your heart to consider such a fault in your character, adding to the ache in your chest as sobs dwindled into slowed buffs of breath, and after a moment of breathing steadily, you quieted down.

Alastor remained calm the whole time, humming a new tune he'd aired on his broadcast a few nights prior, but as your cries subsided, he resorted to muttering comforting words to you again.

"These nightmares won't last forever, darling." He kissed the top of your head, glancing down at your fully round stomach hidden under the covers. His shadows lurked closer as he stared at it, heightening his hearing range enough to act his habit of listening for any irregularities in the babies' or your heartbeat. Still, when he heard none, his focus returned to you entirely. "I know.." you mumble hoarsely, tired from crying and somewhat frustrated with your thoughts. The subtle flutters in your abdomen didn't help your predicament either, a prime signal that your restless dreaming had stirred a craving and, ultimately, another reason for you to be awake at an unusual hour.

So much for sleeping well while pregnant.

You thought bitterly, moving to sit up and gather your bearings before making any move to find a late-night snack in the kitchen. Alastor eyed you carefully, smiling softly at the sight of your small form emerging from the mass of covers, unable to stop admiring your delicate beauty that practically amplified itself as you got closer to giving birth. Your curves filled out the silk nightgown you wore nicely, your hair growing long enough to reach your back even while frazzled from sleep, and your skin seemed to always glow without blemishes.

What he favored admiring most was how you carried his children; small as you were, many thought twins would give you problems, but their assumptions couldn't be further from the truth. You, his darling wife, were more patient than most, and though you possessed a soft heart, your will was solid. That is why Alastor could not stand the thought of you being in turmoil. For eight months, he kept his regular life routine consistent, sparing any time he could to spend with you, but as of late, your terrors and mental state seemed unbalanced, which prompted the radio host to be home more often.

Alastor believed his constant presence was helping, comforting you in some way, but little did he know that your troubled behavior worsened because of it.

You finally sat up straight in bed with a bit of help from him, swiping away any tears left on your cheeks while catching your breath, but the latter task proved difficult as the movement in your belly doubled.

"Oh goodness…they never rest," you exhale sharply, trying to mask your annoyed tone with a flit of soft laughter, but Alastor picks up on your irritation immediately. It almost annoys you how fast he reads you, but you can't seem to tell he's the reason you've been acting off.

"Well, I'd be worried if they did, ma chere, but you seem rather fed up with it." he met your tired gaze, eyes alight with affectionate mischief, but you found nothing he said amusing at that moment.

Especially when the image of him covered in blood with the same look in his eyes crossed your mind.

"How could you say such a thing?!.." you snapped at Alastor, glaring his way before hurrying out of bed, snatching up your robe from the end of it as he tried to process your sudden outburst.

He'd never been one to be left dumbfounded, but you'd managed to leave him that way countless times in recent weeks. Unfortunately, it couldn't be prevented since the unruly nature of hormones made your gentle demeanor prickly.

He hated it, not knowing how to handle you and being very unsure of his ability to do so.

"A crude jokester you are, Al. I can not believe you!" you grumbled angrily, slipping on your robe and reaching for the door when it was secure around your body. He took a deep breath, standing out of bed, taking a moment to think. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand.

"My dear, wait-" Alastor called for you calmly, placing his glasses on with a heavy sigh, leaving his chest as you ignored him and left the room to trek downstairs.

Dramatic little thing, isn't she?

Hush up. It'll pass like all the other fits…

I wouldn't be so sure of that, my friend.

His shadows loomed in the darkest corners, embodying his hidden concerns but remaking still as he followed your path to the kitchen. He found you rummaging the cabinets, frustration peeking through your expression and flurry movements. You tried to keep from crying again as you searched for something to eat that would satisfy the lurking hunger pregnancy caused. Besides the medically recommended meals and traditional diets your doctor advised you to adhere to, you often opted for dishes Amgelique had told you to indulge in. Most included rarely done meats cooked by her, Alastor, or Rosie. She'd also given you specific fruits, herbs, and vegetables to ingest. All of which curves your appetite better than any doctor's diet.

Luckily, Rosie had stopped by earlier in the day with dishes shed prepared for you, and when the memory reoccurred, you rushed over to the fridge to find them.

There they sat, platters of food, some full of meat you couldn't quite figure out its origin, and others filled with various sweets and fruit. Alastor watched as a content smile adorned your face, returning your dark expression to its bright state. With a careful hand, you took a plate from the fridge, laying the other on your round belly while gently uncovering the platter. "One little bite, and it's back to bed," you whispered to no one in particular. Now, you were searching for a pan to reheat the food with, but your search halted, and you felt familiar hands rest on your hips.

You frowned, pouting stubbornly as his chest met your back.

Did he not understand you were angry with him at the moment?

"Al, please leave me be. Go back to bed and get some rest," you mumble dismissively, attempting to slip away from his embrace, but Alastor refuses to let you go. "No," he firmly states, peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck and stopping behind your ear, "I can't stand when you're upset with me, sweetheart. Let alone sleep when I know I've done or said something to offend you."

You try to hold a glare at the wall in front of you, swallowing an excited gasp as his lips find an overly sensitive spot on your neck, but it only takes a moment for you to cave. "Mmph..Al..," you whisper tentatively, relaxing into his taller frame as he passes a hand up and down your stomach. "Darling," he utters, voice smooth in your ear and breath cool against your neck. The endearing title makes your heart flutter, and your anger slowly dissipates hearing it. A light shiver racks your spine, bringing a coy smile to your face as you turn to face him head-on.

The dreamy look in his amber-brown eyes captivated you instantly, expressing the apology he was bound to give you -as ridiculous as the point of it was. Still, you accepted it, forgetting your hunger for a moment to hear what he had to say.

"It wasn't my intention to upset you, ma chere,"

You nodded, not avoiding the ginger kiss he placed on your forehead while running a hand through your hair.

"I shall be more careful with my words in the future. Will you forgive me this once?.." Alastor held your stare, letting the question linger before glancing at your swollen stomach. You followed his gaze, resolved to soften at the sight of his large hand lying atop yours, gently rising from the languid kicks produced by the children inside.

Your wedding rings glinted in the golden light of the kitchen chandelier, reminding you that Alastor was more than just a man who'd inadvertently hurt your feelings, but rather your husband who'd made an effort to apologize for his mistake.

Apologizing didn't come easy to him, nor did admitting his faults, so you forgave him despite feeling a twinge of unease about letting him off the hook.

"I forgive you, Al."

A tenderness enveloped your response, earning a soft smile that proceeded to a lingering kiss on your lips. Alastor leaned into your touch as your hands reached to cup his face; humming softly, you accepted his tongue into your warm mouth. You melted in his hold, trying to forget your nightmares, irrational anger, and suspicions as the kiss became intense.

His hands found your waist, keeping you close with cautious strength, trying his best to ignore the arousal he felt as your filled-out curves molded to his touch, but the sliver of restraint he had snapped when you moaned quietly into his mouth.

It was such a sweet sound, sending blood rushing to his cock faster than he cared to admit, and its effect didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I may have forgiven you, my love, but that doesn't mean you're completely out of the woods yet," you scold him playfully after pulling away from the kiss, giggling as he glares down at you, "And how, pray to tell, do I get 'completely out of the woods,' my dear?" You perk up, glancing at the plate on the counter, "Sharing a late-night dinner with me would be a good start."you suggest.

Alastor eyes the dish, immediately identifying the contents on it.

Rosie never failed to make the best meals for you, just like him and his mother, taking the time out to prepare prey he'd hunted down himself since he couldn't do it at home with you being there all the time, and trustworthy enough to not mention to you exactly what kind of meat you were being served.

After all, your children needed to be healthy, and Alastor was sure starting them off on a healthy diet similar to his would be beneficial in the long run.

He didn't mind a pair of miniature cannibals running around the house. If he played his cards right, you'd unknowingly continue to be one.

With all these factors in mind, your husband happily agreed to have a midnight meal with you,

"Well then, I have no choice but to join you, darling. I'll take care of the food, and you go lounge about in the parlor," he instructs, not leaving room for your assistance and being quick to get you comfortable until the meal is ready.

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The next day, Rosie stopped by with Mimzy, another good friend of Alastor's, but not a close one to you. After all, she had openly admitted to pining for your husband at your wedding reception. Although she was very drunk at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to get the whole ordeal. However, you were still cordial to each other most of the time, and it just so happened Rosie had run into her in town, which led to them deciding to visit.

"It's nice to see you again, Mimzy," you greet her with a tight smile, letting Rosie help you sit on the sofa next to her as the stout blonde sat on an adjacent armchair before curtly responding. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Y/n? It seems you and Al have been pretty busy," Mimzy eyes your stomach, a cheeky grin plastered on her face as she refers to your current state, but the smile drops when Rosie cuts into the exchange.

"Now, now, Mimzy, don't be bitter," she throws her a slightly playful glare, ignoring the eye roll Mimzy gives in return as she focuses on you. "How are you feeling, dear? You're only a few weeks away, right?! Oh, I can't wait to meet the little devils!" her excitement pours off in waves, and you contract it without much resistance. Smiling wide, you express your thoughts while picking up the bundle of yarn you were crocheting into a pair of matching white onesies right before their surprise arrival.

"Oh, I feel wonderful! It's hard to breathe sometimes, and they kick quite a lot, but I suppose that means they're healthy!… I'm two weeks from what the doctor told us, but Alastors mother thinks I'll have them much sooner." You laugh, nervous about the delivery process but more than ready to give birth. Rosie squealed happily, hands clasped before her chest as she gushed over the news. "That's just wonderful to hear, dear! However, I agree with Al's mother about the due date. You look as if you're going to pop any minute!" Mimzy followed her light-hearted comment with a stiff grunt, "How exciting. Don't tell me all you have for them is…that?." The blonde motions a hand at your crochet project, clearly judging your lack of baby items, but before you can give her a snarky response, Rosie perks up again.

"Oh, that reminds me! Come this weekend, I will be hosting your shower, dear. Al and I arranged it some time ago as a surprise since there's a good chance you'll have them in a week. I'm spoiling it." She clapped eagerly, giggling at your shocked reaction, "I… I don't know what to say, Rosie? Th-thank you so much!" you shifted to give her a tight hug; she accepted it but pulled away to look you in the eyes.

"Al doesn't want you worrying about a thing. This party was his suggestion. I'm merely fulfilling a favor to friends…" she paused, lightly caressing your stomach with one hand before finishing her explanation. "…and my soon-to-be god niece and nephew."

You nod in agreement but raise a brow as confusion floods your features.

"Neice and Nephew?" you ask Rosie, and she sits up straight with a knowing smile. "Well, that's just my guess, honey. We can't be certain until they're out in the world."

Something about her words sent a chill up your spine, a stray suspicion creeping back into you, and curiosity filling your head as you recounted Alasror and his mother making similar comments.

They were so sure of the twins' genders that they never explained how they knew, but they were adamant that their assumptions weren't wrong.

How strange…

You peered at the onesies in your hand, fiddling with needles wrapped in yarn, in deep thought as Rosie and Mimzy chatted about the shower. More so Roise since Minzy grumbled about the whole ordeal…

For a while, you tuned them out, murmuring a response whenever they sought your input but generally reserved as they continued. Your mind was elsewhere, considering the reality of being a mother relatively soon and contemplating if your waning sanity would rebuild itself.

It was expected that you would feel fed up with pregnancy at some point; the aches, pains, and anticipation of it all would come to an end. You were grateful for it, but some ailments wouldn't easily be shaken off, and each one stemmed from an uncertainty you felt towards Alastor.

The nightmares.

The suspicions.

The guilt of losing trust in him.

The grudges cultivated from being lied to shut out of your husband's truths and treated so fragile as if you aren't already sacrificing your strength to make him happy.

You'd do anything for him. You'd done everything for him, yet in nine months, the small voice of doubt you chose to ignore for so long was now blaring like a siren.

He's hiding something from me…and they all know it.

You eyed Rosie as the thought crossed your mind, careful not to show your anger as it swelled in your chest, nearly bubbling over as the memories of her and everyone else reasonably close to Alastor doting on you for the past several months. All those smiles, the tidbits of odd advice, the cover-ups for when he was out late at night, and the absurd amount of times they'd all so clearly lied to your face.

It infuriated you…

You weren't stupid, quick to trust, but hardly a brainless woman.

Being treated like a porcelain doll, emotionally and mentally, was something you learned to endure since childhood. Your father believed it was for your good, that he was doing you a favor by sheltering you from the world's cruelty, and you hated it with a passion. Alastor was one of the few who knew this, but he'd blatantly begun to treat you just the same.

You were his wife, his supposed 'darling doe', but weren't nearly cherished enough to be told the truth?

To be a aware of whatever secret he was keeping?

He could proclaim his devotion loud and clear but shut you out in the same breath…

It hurt.

Plain and simple.

But one way or another, you'd get him to understand, make him see you as a confidant rather than a show doll to be kept in a glass cabinet, and come what may, you'd made up your mind.

You weren't weak and certainly not fond of being lied to.

xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxx

Fun fact: I finished Chapter 8 of this fic, and it's officially reached Novel level. Like 40 000 words type shit. I am beyond surprised at myself but proud nonetheless. I hope you don't mind the heavy angst in the following few chapters (including this one), but I had a purpose for this plot -not just straight smut. That isn't to say part 8 won't have any ;)... Anyway, give me some feedback on this one. I want to know where you guys think this story is headed...

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

I'm never making it to heaven if I keep obsessing over this psychotic deer demon. Credits to creator ❤️

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