To Expect the Unexpected || Alastor x Reader

01. The Beginning of the End

November 6, 1921

You'd just finished baking a myriad of pastries. You were used to working so hard, especially because the challenge used to be even more daunting with your flour never working quite right. Then again, the task was quite relaxing when you knew all of your ingredients would do as expected no matter where you got them. And now you were lucky enough to own a second new gas stove as well.

This was the roaring 20s after all; innovation was at its grandest high! You'd worked endlessly for this shop, and you'd kept it running for five years. You'd been known to the locals as the "Sweetest Belle in New Orleans." The nickname caught on, the sweets spread by word of mouth, and what was once your Mother's run-down shop became a symbol of your perseverance.

You took a deep breath before flicking the sign in front of the doorway to the words "Come in!" Settling at the counter, you picked up a book and waited. This time of day was often overshadowed by more animated moments, but it served an important purpose in the overall scheme of things. A time that you could spend as yourself, not worried about your every move; not second guessing every step you took.

After an hour or two, an influx of customers arrived. This—as always—meant it was 6 a.m., the first rush of the day. This was the day's dawn of the fast-paced business you had been waiting for. You knew each and every one of their names by heart, engaging in small talk just about every day. You worked a mile a minute, having gotten used to working every job on the weekends when your best friend wasn't at the counter. Not giving half of them a second glance while whizzing by each customer.

"Mary, the usual?"

"Ya' know it!"

"Morning, Raymond! Coffee, I'm guessing?"

"As always, belle. With extra—"

"Cream and extra sugar. That'll be—"

"6 cents?"

"You guessed it."

"Dorothy, good to see you! Have you been feeling any better?"

"Yes! As a matter o' fact, I think I'll get a beignet to celebrate."

"Coming right up."

Everything went as expected. Every single day, over and over again. Running this shop, your "friends", prohibition, it had all become a new normal for you. Like rewinding a tape until the reel was on the verge of falling apart. This was great, right? Everything in your life set in stone? You should've been grateful! Or, at least, that's what you told yourself.

It was a Sunday, and there weren't as many guests as usual. Just a good few dozen or so. Getting to work on serving out coffee and pastries, you hadn't even realized a new face entering the cafe. "Hel—" you were cut off by your own shock. You weren't used to much change at your lowly local cafe. Shaking off any nerves, you quickly continued, "—lo, visiting New Orleans?"

The man, tall and well-dressed, cracked a smile and answered charismatically, "No, actually, but it is my first time at this fine establishment. I've heard from the locals this is the best place to get a cup of joe."

"Oh, I don't know about the best place. How do you like it?"

"Black."

"Would you like anything else?" You asked.

"Hmm," he eyed the menu for a moment before quickly turning back to you with a grin, "No thank you, ma'am, I'm not much a fan of sweets."

"Well then, you're missing out, y/n's treats are the bee's knees," the chatty Dorothy butted in from who knows where, quickly returning to her riveting conversation with just about ten others.

"That'll be five cents then. And don't worry about Dorothy." He handed you a few pennies and left to a nearby table. You couldn't help but be drawn to him. While rushing around the shop, your eyes would often graze over the unfamiliar man. With a smile, he made small talk to people he'd never met effortlessly. You couldn't make out a ton of his words over the girls swooning around him, the things that did pop up a lot were "radio," and "jazz."

One by one, people rushed out to catch the bus to work. Some of them waited an extra bit before taking the leisurely walk to their nearby homes, while the vast minority took their motor cars to their high-class jobs. The once bustling cafe emptied like a pot of stiff coffee. Soon, it was just you and the man.

Every few minutes you'd peak up from the rim of your book to glance at him in a way that hopefully looked nonchalant. He had pulled out a book as well, but no matter how much you tried, you couldn't get a look at the cover from your spot behind the counter. You bit your lip, he seemed so pleased just reading with a charming smile, but you couldn't help but want to know more about him. Then again, you also didn't want to seem rude, and you yourself would get sore if someone interrupted you.

Eventually, you succumbed. Picking up an arrant beignet, you dusted as light a lair of pillowy sugar as you could and headed towards him. "How do you do?"

His steady hazel eyes skimmed over the pages before quickly glancing up at you. He set the burgundy-bound novel down without even attempting to mark his page and placed all of his attention on your gaze. "Wonderfully, I haven't seen such a tranquil place as this on a Sunday afternoon for far too long," he grinned, "Care to join me?" He gestured to the seat adjacent to his own.

You carefully sat on the creaky plush chair. This spot was one of your favorites in the entire cafe. "Well, this place is far enough from the main drag for it to be not overrun by tourists, but just close enough that you can hear the hum of jazz every evening," you reminisced.

"Well then, it's a shame I've managed to avoid it for such a while."

"Was it your dislike towards sweets?" You asked, setting the beignet down and sliding it towards him.

"I really shouldn't—"

"It's on the house. Please, just a bite?" He cocked his head in amusement before chuckling at your request. He picked up the doughnut and carefully sunk his teeth into it. Something about the giddy look on his face told you he enjoyed it.

"I'll definitely be here more often," he muttered between bites. Brushing the sugar off his hands, he reached out towards you, "Alastor, a pleasure to meet you."

You took his hand and shook with a smile, "Y/n."

The two of you spoke through the entire day, only occasionally pausing when a customer entered. You loved the way he spoke, quickly and happily. With confidence and enthusiasm, such a far cry from everyone you'd known. His eyes radiated with a warmth of optimism and intelligence. Eventually, you had to leave him during the evening rush, but he understood. Alastor left just before closing, and you soon locked up the shop. You nearly missed the last bus back home, but—just barely mind you—caught it.

•─────⋅☾⋅─────•

"Hey, what took so long?" Barked your Dad.

"It's Sunday," you heaved, having just sped back home after bumping into some unsavory characters.

"You got me a—"

You tossed the bag with who knows what illegal stuff in it in his direction, "Yes, I'm going to bed." You despised your father's alcohol addiction. It was once pity for him turned into absolute hatred after finding out what he was willing to give up for his moonshine.

Though, you were stuck like this, weren't you? A loop of mundane mornings and evenings spent wishing for the day to end. For all days to end.

***

1314 words

"I've been waiting to get this out for so long! I hope it's worth it. I promise you'll see some hellfires soon, and you can bet there will be A LOT of flashbacks. Please tell me how you like it, vote for more, and I'll see you next chapter!

PS: Some 1920s phrases that just might be confusing or out of character are: Get sore  (angry) bees knees (super cool) and yes, coffee really did only cost five cents."

- Coffee