Alastor X Female Deer Demon Reader (Rewritten)

Radio Isn't Dead

Alastor's P.O.V.

Alastor's power thrummed within him as he made his way back to his quarters, the events of the day swirling in his mind like an intoxicating cocktail of tension and amusement. Y/N had done her best to avoid him all day, her annoyance barely concealed behind forced smiles and laughter shared with the others. But it was futile, wasn't it? No matter how much distance she tried to place between them, no matter how she dodged his attention—she belonged to him. The thought alone sent a rush of possessive delight through him, though he kept his outward demeanor as charmingly nonchalant as ever.

As the hotel began to settle for the night, Alastor retreated to his radio tower. The dim glow of the old equipment hummed in harmony with his thoughts. His fingers absentmindedly traced the dials, though his mind was elsewhere, entirely fixated on her. He had made a habit of keeping an eye on her, but today... today something had shifted.

He wasn't just watching anymore—he was waiting. Waiting for the inevitable moment when she'd understand that there was no escaping him, no avoiding the pull between them.

A pull she might not even fully understand yet, but one that consumed him entirely.

Then there was the radio. That perfect, exquisite little piece of history she had bought, the one that reminded her of him—he knew it. The moment she had purchased it, he had felt a strange tug at the edges of his awareness. It was like a subtle vibration in the air, drawing his attention. She may not have realized it, but that radio was connected to him, in more ways than one. It was only natural, after all, for such an item to resonate with his powers. He was the Radio Demon, and his influence could spread far more easily through such devices.

He chuckled darkly to himself, adjusting one of the dials on his own radio, his fingers moving with the precision of someone who knew every inch of his equipment. In a matter of moments, he attuned his senses to hers—to her room. The radio she had purchased was now his window into her private world, a silent witness to whatever she did, whatever she said.

And then, as he focused, he could hear it—the soft rustle of movement, the quiet creak of the bed as she sat down, the sound of her troubled sigh. He closed his eyes, his grin widening in the dim light as her presence filled his ears, her soft, breathing voice murmuring to herself. She was alone in her room, torn between thoughts, and it thrilled him beyond measure.

"I shouldn't give it to him..." he heard her whisper to herself, her voice laced with uncertainty.

His pulse quickened. Oh? So she had been thinking about him more than she let on. The idea of her sitting there, her mind racing over him, debating whether to hand over the gift that reminded her of him—it filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction. She was caught, whether she realized it yet or not. The game was turning in his favor.

Alastor sat back in his chair, his posture relaxed though his mind was anything but. His long fingers idly tapped the edge of the table, listening to her wrestle with the decision. Should she give him the radio? Should she keep it? The indecision was delightful.

But it wouldn't be long before she gave in.

She always would, eventually.

He resisted the urge to interfere directly, to speak through the radio and whisper something tempting into her ear, though it would have been so easy to do so. No, no... he had to let her come to him on her own terms—or at least believe she had. If he pushed too hard, if he revealed just how deeply he was entrenched in her life, she might shy away, might close herself off too quickly.

That, after all, wouldn't do. He needed her trust first—her willingness.

Patience, he reminded himself, though it grated on his very being. He had waited long enough, but for her... for her, he would wait a little longer.