because @corporalicent asked for more and I am dropping a cute bit to counter the mean!Al.icent
Something heated and possessive flared through Aegon, watching her turn slightly to look at the intricate carving of the ship that the Targaryens brought to Dragonstone displayed in front of a tapestry of the Valyrian Freehold. He didn’t register what she said, too busy watching the way her red curls fell past those pale shoulders and how the freckles dotting them were like cinnamon sugar on the sweet breads she’d eaten earlier.
Her throat was bare and never had he thought he’d think about draping someone in jewels, but the idea of something around her throat, mayhaps with rubies, appealed to him. Something that declared she was his and his alone.
Abby’s fingers, so dainty, so strong when they dove into his hair and gripped him like a lifeline, reached up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear and the bruise - deep and darkly red - was revealed just there in the softness below her ear and along her jaw.
He closed the short distance between them, his arm snaking around her waist, hand splayed across the smooth curve of her belly to pull her against his chest. Aegon had been letting her set the pace, but here beneath the shaft of sunlight, the treasure she presented was too much for him. He pressed his face against the top of her head where she fit perfectly beneath his chin (if only just, for height eluded him and found his brother instead). He inhaled the scent of her hair - the orange and lemon of the bergamot oil she used for her curls.
“Your Grace,” she whispered and he sighed, fingers flexing against her stomach, fabric bunching slightly beneath his touch, forcing himself to be still, to not beg for more.
To not take more.
“Your Grace, we shouldn’t,” she tried again but this time, Abby’s voice shook with the little giggles he adored and he shut his eyes when she reached up to delve those fingers into his hair and hold him close. It was his turn to shudder at the feel of her nails lightly scratching his scalp, as if he were her cat laying across her lap. Aegon felt the heat suffuse in his veins, from the top of his head down to his toes that curled within his boots.
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Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.
a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.
You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.
There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.
The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.
And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.
For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.
"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.
He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.
"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.
You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."
Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.
He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.
You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.
He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.
Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)
"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."
'Or something?' he wanted to ask.
He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)
It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.
Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.
The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.
He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.
He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.
"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.
"I've come to join you, actually."
Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.
"You have a nice laugh."
He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.
You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.
"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"
Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.
"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.
Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.
"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.
Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.
All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.
His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."
"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."
Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.
~
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