Alastor was a mysterious man within his community—charming, well liked, and impeccably put together. He had a reputation to maintain, and he maintained it beautifully. To most, he was polite, refined, even admirable.

No one knew what he was like behind closed doors.

No one, except you.

You had been granted certain… privileges. Alastor’s attention, his favor—his pet, as he so fondly liked to remind you. You’d moved to New Orleans years ago without much of a reputation to speak of, drifting through gatherings and parties without ever quite belonging. It was at one of those parties that Alastor first noticed you—standing out not because you were remarkable, but because you were out of place.

That simply wouldn’t do.

He corrected the issue soon after.

The house was quiet when you heard the front door open, the sound faint from where you lay half-asleep on the couch. Muffled voices followed—Alastor’s smooth, familiar cadence paired with another man’s laughter. Vincent. One of his friends.

Their conversation ended with polite goodbyes before the door shut again, plunging the house back into its comfortable hush.

Alastor appeared beside you moments later, removing his gloves with careful precision before sitting down on the couch. He leaned in, one hand settling at your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles meant to stir you from sleep rather than startle you.

“There you are, my darling pet,” he murmured softly, amusement lacing his tone. “My apologies for coming home so late. I got a bit distracted after work… dealing with Vincent.”

His hand lingered, possessive but gentle, his smile warm as he looks at you fondly.