Let The Radio Play《 Alastor x Reader 》

Bad Decisions

"It's a fucking elk, dumbass..."

My heart nearly stops. Again. I didn't notice the demon bartender sitting behind the bar. He's cupping his chin in his hand, slumped over the corner of the bar. A cat demon from the looks of it.

"Haaah... hi there! I.. I didn't see you there." I answer back nervously. "You, uh, the bartender?"

I take a seat on one of the bar stools.

"What's it look like to you? No, no, don't do that. Don't fucking sit down. Argh."

His voice is deep and raspy, like he's smoked a pack a day for a century. There's a smoothness to it though. Like a cat purring words. It suits him.

"Why not?" I adjust myself on the bar stool and put both arms on the bar top, fiddling with my little claws for nails.

"Because I fucking said so? I'm not serving you shit, so go away dog." Husk says, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Dog? Who're you calling a dog?" I hiss back at him, agitated.

"You're a fox, right? And what's a fox? A fucking dog. Dumbass." He swings the bottle up, emptying its contents into his mouth and then wipes his arm across his lips. "Look in a mirror and figure it out. A mirror far away from me."

He has a point. I'm not thrilled at the comparison but its better than being called a dog for other reasons.

"Look, kitty cat, I could use a drink. I've been through hell, I feel like hell, and to top it off I don't even know where this is." I motion to the bar to emphasize my point. "So can I get a fucking drink?"

He eyes me wearily while throwing the empty booze bottle into a trash bin. "Get used to it, you're in hell. But whatever.. what'll you have."

"I'm aware--" I huff, the frustration bubbling up. "Nevermind, whatever. Alabama Slammer."

Husk nods, grabbing onto a bottle of Southern Comfort and setting it on the bar top. He searches around looking for the sloe gin. "So what's your name, dog?"

"Y/N. You?"

"Husk." With a grunt he pours amaretto over a shaker, sliding the bottle back down. He picks up a carton of orange juice, joining it with the concoction.

Husk forces down the rim of an ice filled pint glass into the shaker and lifts it up. Shaking the contents together he places it back down and thumps the side of the shaker hard, releasing its grip on the glass. He slides it over to me with a gentle push.

"Thanks... Husk."

"Yeah yeah." He waves his hand at me, busy putting the booze back. He grabs another bottle of cheap whiskey and sits back down.

He's content with his prize for the little work he did. We both sit in silence while I fiddle with my drink.

"You know Husk.." I say quietly, looking at my glass. "I'm going to ask you for another one, right?"

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Nope."

"No. Fuck you. I'm not making that shit again." He rasps back curtly.

I shrug and finish the glass. I'll make it myself then. I tap the bottom of the glass on the bar seeing if I can provoke him into it.

He glares at me, cuddling into his bottle further.

"Fine, be difficult." I give him a smug look back and walk around the bar to the latch door. Husk watches me but he doesn't say anything.

Behind the bar I top off the ice. Scanning his bottle alignment I quickly find the three bottles I need.