speedycoffeedelight

[speedycoffeedelight]

one braincell transfer (divided by four)

[speedycoffeedelight]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Phainon x reader

The rumors were true.

You stood in front of the large, polished machine, its sleek metallic surface reflecting the soft neon glow of the surrounding marketplace. The “Lucky Egg Dispenser” as it was called, had become something of a sensation overnight. A single pull of the trigger, and you’d receive an egg—an unhatched mystery promising the perfect partner. Most people spoke of rare creatures, companion animals with unique abilities, and even a few who whispered about something… stranger.

“Lucky egg?” you mused aloud, shifting the weight of the gun-like trigger in your grip. You’d always been one to try new things. It didn’t hurt to take a chance.

With a decisive motion, you squeezed the trigger.

A soft whirring sound filled the air before a pristine white egg gently rolled out, stopping perfectly at your feet. You crouched down, picking it up. Warm. Alive.

A small smile tugged at your lips. Taking care of it would be simple, you were no stranger to nurturing things. Three days. That was all it would take for it to hatch.

You weren’t worried in the slightest.

What you didn’t expect, however, was for your “partner” to be a human.

The egg hatched in the dead of night. A soft crackling sound stirred you from your sleep, but by the time you were fully awake, the shell had already split apart.

And there, sitting on your bed, was a boy.

No, not a boy, a young man, probably around your age.

Pale skin, silver-white hair that shimmered in the moonlight, and brilliant, otherworldly eyes. His clothes were odd, somewhere between regal and alien, but the most alarming thing was the wide, almost manic grin stretching across his face.

Before you could react, he lunged at you, arms wrapping around your torso in a crushing embrace.

“My name is Phainon!” he chirped, his voice filled with unfiltered joy. “I’m your partner now!”

Oh no...Your stomach dropped as realization set in.

Baby duck syndrome.

You knew the term well. When a newborn creature imprints on the first living being they see and attaches to them completely. You were that first living being.

And judging by the way Phainon’s grip tightened, as if he’d never let go, you had a feeling this wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought.

Phainon clung to you like a vice, his grip almost bruising as he buried his face into your neck. His breath was warm, uneven with excitement, and his entire body trembled, not with fear, but something far more intense.

“You’re mine” he whispered, his voice filled with unshakable certainty. “I belong to you… and you belong to me.”

This was bad. You tried to gently pry him off, but the moment you moved, his arms locked around you tighter, his fingers digging into your back as if he were afraid you’d disappear. His blue eyes, impossibly bright and alight with something unsettling, gazed up at you with an overwhelming adoration.

“Don’t push me away” Phainon begged “I just hatched… I need you.”

You swallowed, carefully adjusting your expression. “I-I’m not pushing you away. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

His gaze flickered with doubt before softening, though his grip didn’t loosen.

“I won’t let you leave me” he promised, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I was born for you.”

You had really gotten yourself into trouble this time.

With Phainon practically glued to your side, you dragged him along to the dungeon. You needed supplies, and in this world, the only way to survive was by hunting monsters and trading points for food and goods. At the very least, you thought you could shake off some of his energy by keeping him occupied. What you didn’t expect was just how powerful he was.

The first monster barely had a chance to move before Phainon lunged, his bare hands tearing through it like paper. Blue eyes shimmered with an eerie thrill as he made quick work of the beasts around you. No hesitation. No struggle. Just raw, overwhelming strength. You stared, a mix of awe and unease settling in your gut.

“Phainon…” You hesitated as he turned to you, still grinning. “How do you know how to fight?”

He tilted his head, as if the question itself was strange. “I was born to protect you” he answered simply. “If anything dares to harm you, I’ll rip it apart.”

His words were spoken with such sincerity that it made your skin crawl. Still, you couldn’t deny the convenience. With him by your side, earning points was absurdly easy.

So you took him to the marketplace, trading in your earnings and buying him new clothes, something normal, something that would help him blend in.

But as you held up a shirt for him to try, he only stared at you with an unsettling softness.

“You take such good care of me…” He exhaled, stepping closer. “You really do love me.”

Your grip on the fabric tightened.

This was going to be a problem.

Even as you weaved through the marketplace, his fingers curled around your wrist, grip firm and unwavering. His blue eyes scanned the crowd with silent intensity, watching every passerby with something between wariness and irritation, as if anyone who so much as looked at you was a potential threat.

You sighed, trying to ignore it.

That was until someone called your name.

“Y/N!”

You turned, spotting an old friend making their way toward you, smiling. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Before you could respond, their gaze flickered to Phainon, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“…Oh? Who’s this?” they asked, raising an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend?”

You couldn’t exactly say he came from an egg. That would sound insane. So, against your better judgment, you went along with it. “Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

Your friend chuckled. “I figured. He looks like he’d kill someone if they so much as breathed in your direction.”

You let out an awkward laugh, hoping they were joking.

Phainon, however, only smiled, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I would” he murmured, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your friend’s laughter faltered.

Before the situation could get any worse, you quickly made your exit, dragging Phainon away.

When you finally got home, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “You can’t just say things like that, you know.”

Phainon tilted his head. “But it’s true.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. The sound of chopping and sizzling filled the space, and for a moment, things felt… normal.

But you could still feel Phainon’s admiring gaze on you.

When you finally placed a plate in front of him, his eyes softened.

“You take such good care of me” he murmured.

You forced a small smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat.”

But as you turned away, his voice reached you again, quiet, almost innocent.

“You really do love me, don’t you?”

This was getting worse by the second.

The next morning, Phainon was already awake before you, sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you with silent fascination. You ignored the unsettling feeling that came with knowing he had likely been staring at you for a while.

“We’re going out!” you said, stretching. “I need to figure out what you’re actually capable of.”

His expression brightened. “You’re thinking about me first thing in the morning?” His voice was honeyed, pleased. “That makes me happy.”

You sighed. “Just get ready.”

Despite his odd behavior, you needed to assess his skills properly. Yesterday’s display of strength was impressive, but you weren’t sure if he had magic abilities as well. If he was going to fight alongside you, he needed the right weapon.

So, you took him to a well-known weapon shop in the city.

The place was stocked with everything—swords, spears, enchanted items, and magic-infused equipment. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow at Phainon as he trailed closely behind you, practically glued to your side.

“A new recruit?” they asked.

You hesitated before nodding. “Something like that. I need to test his capabilities and get him a sword.”

Phainon didn’t seem too interested in the conversation. Instead, his attention remained locked onto you, his fingers subtly brushing against your arm as if to remind himself that you were still there.

The shopkeeper guided you both to the testing grounds in the back.

Phainon barely glanced at the weapons lined up for testing. Instead, he turned to you, expectant.

“Choose one for me” he said.

You blinked. “Why? You should pick what feels right.”

He smiled “I want your choice. Something that reminds you of me.”

You hesitated, but eventually, you picked a sword. When you handed it to him, he held it as if it were sacred, his fingers running over the hilt with reverence. Then, he turned toward the practice dummy and swung. The air itself seemed to hum as the blade sliced cleanly through, the force of his strike strong enough to split the dummy in two. You barely had time to react before the lingering energy from his swing crackled, a faint shimmer of magic lacing through the air.

So he did have magic.

The shopkeeper let out a low whistle. “That’s some terrifying raw talent.”

Phainon ignored them, stepping closer to you, lifting the sword slightly.

“Do you like it?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “It suits you.”

His eyes softened, a quiet sort of delight settling in his expression. “Then I’ll treasure it forever.”

It wasn’t about the sword. It was about the fact that you were the one who gave it to him.

Going into the dungeon with Phainon was like having a high-level DPS at your side. You barely had to lift a finger.

With every swing of his sword, monsters fell instantly, torn apart before they could even react. His raw strength was unmatched, his movements precise and brutal, and his magic crackled through the air with every strike. All you had to do was keep him healed.

Whenever he took a hit, rare as it was, you were there, casting healing spells or applying potions before he could even flinch. It was almost effortless, and the way he looked at you every time you healed him sent a strange chill down your spine.

“You always take care of me” he murmured, after you placed a hand on his arm to patch up a small wound. His blue eyes burned with something unreadable. “It makes me love you even more.”

You pretended not to hear him.

By the end of the run, you had racked up an absurd amount of points. It was more than you’d ever earned in a single trip. But as you left the dungeon, your path was blocked. A group of men stood in front of you, their expressions dark with anger.

“You!” one of them spat, eyes locked on you. “That was our dungeon route. You took our points.”

You stiffened. You had heard of people like this before, territorial dungeon crawlers who claimed certain areas as their own, even though the dungeons were free for all. Phainon, however, only tilted his head, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

“Move” he said simply.

The men sneered. “Or what?”

Phainon smiled. And then, in the blink of an eye, he moved.

You barely saw it happen. One second, the men were standing tall, and the next, they were on the ground, groaning, writhing, clutching broken limbs. Phainon hadn’t even drawn his sword. He had simply crushed them with his bare hands. You felt the blood drain from your face as he turned back to you, expression calm, as if nothing had happened.

“You don’t need to worry about them” he stepped close to you, his voice almost soothing. “I’ll always protect you.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin.

“You’ll never need anyone else.”

You weren’t the only one who noticed Phainon’s strength.

Word spread fast in the city. A newcomer, practically fresh out of nowhere, tearing through dungeons with monstrous efficiency? It was bound to catch attention.

When you returned to the marketplace, a group of uniformed individuals was waiting for you. Their armor bore the insignia of the Adventurer’s Guild, the organization that oversaw dungeon crawlers and regulated combat prowess.

One of them, a woman with sharp eyes, stepped forward. “We’ve received reports about you” she said, looking Phainon up and down. “Your combat abilities are… unusual.”

Phainon didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.

The woman continued, unfazed. “We’d like to evaluate your rank. If you’re as strong as people claim, you should be registered with the guild.”

You hesitated, then glanced at Phainon. “It’s up to you” you said casually. “You can decide for yourself.”

His reaction was immediate. His blue eyes snapped to yours, wide with something unreadable. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if suppressing an impulse.

For the first time since you met him, Phainon looked… lost.

“You’re letting me decide?” he murmured, almost as if the concept itself was foreign to him. His voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of something dangerous beneath it.

The guild members watched the exchange, waiting for an answer.

Then, without warning, Phainon grabbed your wrist. His grip was firm but not painful—more like an anchor, something grounding him.

“I don’t need them!” he said, his eyes darkening. “I don’t need a rank. I don’t need recognition. I only need you.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Phainon...”

But he wasn’t listening. His fingers tightened ever so slightly, as if reassuring himself that you were still there, still his.

“I’ll prove it” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’ll see… I don’t need anything else.”

The woman from the guild frowned. “Refusing to register might cause problems later. If you change your mind, come to the guild hall.” She gave you a lingering look before turning away, leading her team elsewhere.

Once they were gone, you exhaled, glancing down at your guild-issued device. You hadn’t checked Phainon’s stats since he hatched. Opening the interface, your breath caught in your throat. His level had skyrocketed. It wasn’t just growth, it was unnatural. No one leveled up this fast. Slowly, you looked up at him, finding him already staring at you.

His lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “You’re looking at me differently” he murmured. “Are you finally realizing it?”

Realizing what?

Phainon wasn’t just strong. He was something else.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Phainon’s level growth wasn’t just unnatural, it was impossible. Even the most elite adventurers took years to reach his current strength, yet he had done it in mere days. And his reaction when you let him decide for himself… the way he clung to you, as if the very idea of autonomy was foreign to him… Something wasn’t right.

That night, while Phainon sat contentedly by the fireplace, watching you with that ever-present devotion, you busied yourself with research.

You poured through old adventurer logs, ancient texts, and anything that might explain the anomaly that was him. But no record of a “lucky egg” spawning a human existed. Every instance of the machine had resulted in creatures—beasts, familiars, magical companions. Never a person. Then, deep within an old archive, you found something.

A passage detailing an experiment.

“In pursuit of the perfect companion, scholars once sought to craft an entity bound by absolute devotion. A being that would imprint upon the first soul it encountered, instinctively prioritizing their happiness and survival above all else. However, these creations proved unstable—obsessive, possessive, and far too powerful. The project was ultimately abandoned, all records sealed away.”

Your gaze flickered toward Phainon.

His blue eyes gleamed in the firelight, calm and unreadable as he met your stare.

“You’re looking at me like that again”

“Phainon…” You swallowed. “What are you?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, slowly, he rose from his seat, walking toward you with measured steps. When he reached you, he knelt—his head resting against your lap, his arms wrapping around you in a loose embrace.

“I don’t know” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But does it matter?”

He tilted his head, pressing closer, his warmth seeping into you.

“All I know is that I belong to you” he murmured, smiling softly. “And that’s the only truth I need.”

Your fingers trembled against the pages of the book.

This was worse than you thought.

Phainon wasn’t just obsessed.

He was made to be.

[speedycoffeedelight]

Unpopular opinion,

Too many men are written as “dom daddy” types in fics.

Like be for real, that man would be honored to be your floor mat.

He’s not giving orders, he’s taking them.

Stop being afraid, put on your big boots, and step on that man.

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bless the original hellsite for enabling me to post this entire post-season-two saga in full.

[speedycoffeedelight]

*hides behind laptop*

⬅Prev: Part 1- Opposites

Spell Gone Wrong

Part 2- Devilish Human

Alastor X Reader

Alastor is trying a new spell but it's not right and something goes wrong.

Warnings ⚠

⚠ possessive Alastor, Human Alastor, time travel mentioned, Italics= thoughts, kisses, blood, cussing. ⚠

It's been weeks since the spell mess up, but Alastor still hasn't given up on it and continued tinkering around with some of the words in his book.

You don't know exactly what he's trying to do but as long as there isn't a huge mess it's fine.

The breeze outside is nice as you read your book out in the garden, the aroma of roses and daisies hit your nose every so often, and you have an umbrella next to your chair giving you shade.

An absolutely perfect peaceful afternoon, with the occasional sounds of nature.

Until it wasn't.

A big boom sounded from inside the house. You stood quickly and opened the back door, running into the house.

There was smoke everywhere, it made you cough and slow down in your stride as it was so dense. Barely able to take a few steps forward without worrying about hitting the furniture, you called out to your fiance.

"Alastor!?", you shouted and then coughed. "Are you alright? What happened-", you coughed again.

"I'm fine dear!", Alastor responded. "The damn spell went wrong again. Help me open the windows and doors!"

Both of you worked together and opened what you could to get the smoke out. You got a rag to help move the smoke along and Alastor summoned an electric fan, which did the trick.

Once it cleared most of the way, both of you saw a figure lying on the floor of the house.

"Ugh..", the figure groans and sits up, their back facing you as they lift a hand to rub the side of their head.

"Are you..alright?", you ask and take a step towards the person who suddenly appeared.

The figure turns to face you and Alastor groans in defeat.

"Again?", your fiancé sighs.

They are human, a very handsome one at that, and they back away slowly. Their hand moving around until it grabs onto a metal candle holder on the coffee table, swinging it in front of themselves and pointed at you.

"Where am I and what are you?", the human asks with a scowl.

"Hold on-", you start but Alastor stands in front of you.

"Now, now. We don't point a weapon at someone who's asking if you're alright.", the red deer demon scolds. "You'd think my human self would be a little more put together and wearing a smile."

"Human self?", you say surprised.

You met Alastor after death, so of course you've never seen him when he was alive. However, you didn't know that he was that attractive in life as well.

"That still doesn't answer my question sir.", human Alastor says.

"Put the candle stick down.", your fiance hisses out.

The two glare at each other and you roll your eyes. With a huff, you move out from behind your fiance and place a hand on the candle stick, lowering it down.

"As much as this is a shock to everyone, let's be civil about it. Ok?", you say and glance at the two before looking back at the human man. "You're in Hell. As crazy as this is going to sound, that-", you point at the Radio Demon. "-is demon you. And I am his fiancé."

"Demons?", he says and finally puts down the candle stick. "How did I get here? And how did I- he? How am I a demon here?"

"That would be my fault.", Alastor confesses. "I've been working on a spell but the results have not been satisfactory.. As for the demon part, well you'll find out in due time."

"It's no surprise if he's doing what you did in life.", you say. "This counts as time travel doesn't it?", you ask and look to your fiance. "What spell are you working on?"

"A difficult one darling.", is all the deer demon says before kissing your forehead.

Human Alastor looks away and takes in the interior of the house, finding pictures and art along the walls, with the occasional gun display. The furniture is mostly red and brown, like usual but he sees the decorative pillows and knows that must be the other demon's doing.

"If this is Hell, it's not too bad."

"Are you ok though? Did you hit your head?", you ask, attention back on human Alastor. "Please rest if you're not feeling well."

"I'm fi-"

"Just sit down.", Alastor says and pushes his human self to sit on the couch. "There isn't much you can do in Hell anyway since you're a human. So fragile."

You can see human Al-, hmm.. You can see Astor get annoyed by that last comment your fiance made.

"Alastor. Be. Nice.", you say and pull the red deer away, pushing him towards the back room. "Go and figure out a way to take him back to his time."

"Darling-", he starts.

"If you can't be nice then you won't get any kisses for a week!"

Reluctantly, the Radio Demon does as told and walks into the back room where he does his spells, giving you one last glance before closing the door behind himself.

You sigh and turn to look at Astor, finding him looking everywhere but at you.

"You ok there hun?", you ask.

"Forgive me but-ahem.", the human glances at you before looking away again. "I just can't imagine myself with someone as breathtaking as you."

You blush and wave it off.

"Geez. A charmer even in life, huh?", you laugh. "I'm nothing to look at really but thank you."

"Do I-? Does he not compliment you?", he asks suddenly.

You blink in surprise at the question.

"It's just, you seem to act like he doesn't but I apologize if I am being too rude with my question. It would be terrible if-", he begins to ramble.

"Slow down there.", you smile. "It's nice that you're worried but I'm treated very well. I mean, it is you.", you test the waters and pat his shoulder. "Though, why ask? I was told by my fiancé that he wasn't interested in anyone when alive.", you say.

"I don't get to meet you until after."

Is.. Is he flirting with me? You wonder and move your hand off of his shoulder.

Astor takes your hand before you can move it any farther and places a kiss on your knuckles.

"It's a shame that I don't get to have some time with you when alive."

Like deja vu, your fiancé rips you away from the house guest and holds you close.

"My love, you really must stick by my side when we have such guests over.", Alastor says with a sinister smile. "I still haven't forgotten what that blue bastard did."

Astor just smiles.

"Just telling your fiancé it's a shame we didn't meet sooner.", he says. "I can only imagine what fun we could of had together."

"Yes, though it is a shame, it seems that it was certainly needed. What a terrible flirt you are to my fiancé.", your fiancé gently guides your head and leads you into a kiss.

Astor frowns but then has a strange look in his eye.

"I'm surprised you aren't married to them yet. What's wrong? Not sure?", he grins.

You gasp as you break out of the kiss and glare at the human.

"Alastor-", you then state the rest of his full human name in anger. "How dare you imply such a thing! Do you even understand what you just said!?"

Before he can utter out another word, you turn and stomp off, slamming the back door behind you as you go back to the garden.

"I've forgotten what I fool I was.", Alastor sighs.

"Shit-", Astor stands to chase after you but is held back by his demon self.

"No use in going now. Let them have a moment to themselves.", the deer demon advises. "They are a force to be reckoned with."

Outside, you are upset and make your way over to the water fountain, snatching a hell daisy with a hiss as the thorns prick into your palms.

Sitting on the rim, you mutter curses as you rip petal after petal off of the flower and toss them into the water. You go back and forth doing this until you finally feel yourself start to calm down and your hand stings with all the bleeding scratches.

You walk back into the house after noticing it's getting a bit dark, using your dominant hand to open the door and holding the bleeding one in front of your chest.

When you walk in, you find Astor pacing before he stops and looks over at you.

"Dear, I just wanted to apolo-", he walks over quickly before noticing your hand. "Ah, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine.", you say and move around him to get the first aid kit.

He stops you by grabbing your wrist.

You turn to snap at him but then see the human worried.

"Please let me take care of it.", Astor pleads. "Please?"

"Fine.", you pull your wrist out of his hold and sit down on a stool near the kitchen counter. "There's a first aid kit under the kitchen sink."

He nods and quickly enters the kitchen, opening the bottom cabinet under the sink in search of the first aid kit.

He comes back not a second later and sets everything up to take care of the wounds.

Carefully taking your hand, Astor is gentle as he cleans the blood off. Apologizing when you hiss or squirm in your seat. Your hand is then wrapped up in gauze and he ties the end before tucking the extra bit under one of the folds, making it look neat.

"I must apologize again. I didn't think thoroughly about what I wanted to say. I just-", he sighs. "I'm just jealous that I-. That he has someone but I don't have anyone waiting for me back home.."

"Astor.", you start.

"Astor?", he looks up at you confused.

"Oh, I forgot. I've been calling you Astor in my head so I don't confuse you and my fiancé.", you explain. "Anyway, it was still very wrong of you to say but I can sympathize. It's not easy being alone."

He nods and looks away.

"Please be mindful of what you say hun.", you reach over and place a hand on his cheek, making him look at you agian. "But don't be sad too long. You do have someone waiting in the future. Ok? Keep smiling.", you smile.

With a soft smile, Astor nods and kisses the palm of your bandaged hand.

"Only for you."

Alastor shows up and shoves his human self away, wrapping his arms around you as Astor falls to the floor.

"Yes, yes. Be good and wait.", the red deer smiles cheekily and kisses your temple. "Satan knows you need to practice your patience."

All you do is sigh as Astor gets up and dusts himself off, glaring at his demon self.

"It would seem so."

Your fiancé sets things up to send his human self back and Astor helps him. The two grumble at each other but get the job done.

It's the same process as last time, but now with sun stones surrounding the calk circle.

Both of you watch as the human fades away.

"I swear if there's another Alastor that lays his hands on you-", your love says with a tone.

"Yes, I know. You'll do your worst.", you kiss his nose. "But it's nice to know that you love me in multiple shapes and forms."

Alastor smiles and pecks your lips.

"How could I not my darling? You're everything."

"Mhm..", you hum.

Then you remind him of something.

"No kisses for a week"

*screeches into the void*

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@+in the comments+

ML II Alastor🎙 | SGW ChL✨

[speedycoffeedelight]

ALASTOR "DESKTOP BUDDY" SHIMEJI

I got beef with my boss (yes im roleplaying as a VoxTek employee rn) and Alastor stepped in to be the better man cough Shimeji cough out of the two uwaaa

Here is the DOWNLOAD LINK for the Radio Demon!!

Extract the file, make sure to read the "readme" file!

Only Windows, idk how mac or mobile works

The next basement captive I plan on releasing is..

this guy!!!

buy me a ko-fi? perhamps?

wait where did he go

[speedycoffeedelight]

Dead Air

~

Chapter Six: Web Weaving

~

Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairing: Vox/Reader, Alastor/Reader, One-sided RadioStatic

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Valentino being a creepy piece of shit, emotional manipulation, gaslighting

Word Count: 4.7k

You wake up in a bed you immediately know isn't your own. The silk sheets cocooning your broken body could only really belong to one person. You don't immediately sense another presence in the room with you, causing you to dare peek your eyes open to take in your surroundings. The large amount of blue that greets you is all the confirmation you need to know you're in Vox's room. 

You'd only caught brief glimpses of it through the doorway. It was the one place in Vox's penthouse you'd never personally stepped foot in. Now you were wrapped up in the center of his bed, tucked in as if done with care. Even laying still, you can feel the pain pulsing through different parts of your body. It was far duller than last night, but it demanded your attention nonetheless. 

Your attempt to roll fully onto your back causes you to release a distressed whimper. The gouges Vox had left on your back still stung with ruthless determination. You're forced instead to roll back onto your side, your body curling defensively in on itself. Maybe if you made yourself small enough, you'd disappear. 

You stare blankly out the floor to ceiling windows along one side of Vox's room. The red morning light of the Pride ring filters through the blue tinted windows casting a purplish tinge across the room. 

Your mind swims with all the events of yesterday. It was so hard to believe it'd only been a day. You'd been savagely taken apart in both body and mind by two men in the span of less than twenty-four hours. It felt almost like a miracle you hadn't broken yet. 

Or had you? 

The feeling of numb despair wasn't new to you, but this felt different. You'd never felt so hollowed out, as if you'd been scooped clean from the inside out and were now left an empty shell. You'd been used as a pawn before, your whole life being played within a game you had no control over. 

It only seemed fitting you'd still be forced to endure the wicked machinations of men even in death. This was your fate, to be passed from one set of hands to the next as you're used, abused, and then tossed to the side like a piece of rubble. 

You couldn't do this. 

You wouldn't survive this. 

You wish Vox had just extinguished your soul and been done with it. 

Maybe then you'd finally know peace. 

You long to know what it would be like to no longer be haunted by the things done to you by others, for freedom and control over yourself. What would things look like if you weren't always afraid? If you weren't always being chased by memories and the feelings they brought. What if you had someone who genuinely protected you, who would keep you safe from ever being harmed again? 

The thoughts were foolish, but you couldn't help thinking them. Anything that could be a temporary escape from everything else. If you could distract yourself with fantasies, no matter how unrealistic, maybe surviving reality would be easier. 

Your mind drifts back to the lazy comfortability of your apiaries. You'd never felt safer or more relaxed than the time you spent with your honeybees. It'd been a peculiar hobby to pick up in your teen years, all the students at school finding you strange when you spoke about it. They'd been the one thing Evan didn't taint with his twisted touch, until he did. 

You never blamed the bees for your murder, they didn't know any better. You barely knew better when he'd shoved you into a room full of an agitated swarm of them. You don't know what he'd done, but he'd gotten them angry—scared—they didn't recognize you. The stings stopped hurting far quicker than you would have thought. You're not even sure you really remember dying, it just felt like one minute you were alive, and then next you were here in Hell. 

It felt like the ultimate form of cruelty from your husband. You'd endured so much, you'd been so good, did everything he said, tried to be his perfect doll. In the end though, you'd always end up cast aside for not being good enough. You'd begun to stumble during his cons, your accidents far more frequently needing to be fixed or covered up. Maybe you could have made it through if that'd been the only case, but Evan wanted a child. 

You hadn't been good enough to give him one. Your body refusing to do the one thing you were raised to do. 

So when Evan realized he was playing with a broken doll, he threw it away. 

With his final act against you, he finished stealing everything from you. 

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry when you first looked into a mirror upon arriving in Hell. You couldn't tell if it was a karmic slap in the face or the universes attempts to give you some semblance of comfort. If you're being honest with yourself, you still don't know. 

You hear a door open somewhere else in the penthouse causing you to wrap yourself tighter in Vox's navy sheets. You wanted to make yourself as small as possible. 

That feeling only increases when the figure casting a shadow over the room isn't even the one you're expecting. 

It's so much worse. 

"Well, this certainly isn't what I expected to stumble upon this morning," Valentino's sickly sweet voice echoes gleefully from the doorway. "I thought you might be off somewhere in Hell regenerating a new body." 

You resist the urge to completely tuck yourself into a ball and hide away from the giant moth. Though you don't even know what to say. Why was Val even here? Would he leave you alone if you didn't give him any reason to stay? Could you ignore him long enough to escape more conflict? 

You always strived to make it so you were never alone with the other Vees, they were too unpredictable with Vox in the room with them, fuck knows you didn't want to know how it extended when they didn't have a reason to reign in their behavior. Vox strangely enough—even with the events of last night—was the most predictable of his partners. He was also the owner of your soul so he'd defend you from them to an extent. 

Now though you were alone with Valentino for the first time ever, and the fear was clarifyingly sharp. 

Your heart rate picks up at a jack rabbits pace, your body tensing painfully through the fear. Your hands shake as they clutch tighter around your fabric shield. Anxiety prickles along your exposed skin, and you become painfully aware of your vulnerable state beneath the covers. 

The word consent didn't seem to exist in Valentino's vocabulary, and you're almost positive without his boyfriend present, you wouldn't be an exception to that. You knew how Angel was treated and he was Val's top performer, why would Vox's play thing be any different. 

"Really, I'm surprised you're even in one piece considering the temper tantrum Vox threw before you came home. He was so very upset." Valentino muses as he pulls away from the door frame and begins walking towards you. 

His movements are calculated like a predator stalking its prey. His burning red eyes narrowed into slits as he regards you with an indecipherable expression. 

Your body is screaming at you to run. Hell you'd run straight through the windows to the pavement below if you thought it would do you any good. Your growing awareness of your nudity keeps you frozen. It was bad enough Vox had seen you so exposed, especially with everything he's done to you. The last thing you needed was Valentino taking it as an open opportunity. 

A small part of your subconscious was also afraid that if he did, and Vox came back, he'd simply turn a blind eye at that point and let Valentino finish with you. 

His towering form moves closer to the bed and you completely lose your ability to keep eye contact with him. 

Alarm bells scream loudly in your head but you're helpless to do anything. 

It's nearly impossible to suppress the shriek that rises in you when he suddenly drops to the edge of the bed, his massive frame reaching close to you even with him sitting. You can't stop yourself from scrambling back across the bed, immediately forgetting about your prior apprehension. 

Valentino leers at you with a large grin that only grows when the sheets fall away from your body. Something akin to a rumbling growl echoes from his chest. 

"Well, well, well, you really were hiding something under all that fabric. Shame Vox seems so intent on not sharing." 

You hate the way he's looking at you, his body is coiled and tense as if about to strike. 

Then, he does. 

He lunges at you with a speed you're helpless to stop. Just as you turn to launch yourself from the bed, his hand catches one of your wings to pull you back towards him. You let out a panicked cry at the agony it sends through you, his grip is so tight it feels as if your wings might threaten to tear. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. If not, I might have to do Vox a favor and clip your wings." 

"No!" You gape up at him with fear filled eyes. 

"Shut up!" 

Valentino grabs your hair tightly before shoving you face first into the mattress. You let out a fearful whimper into the sheets. 

"If you're quiet and take this like a good bitch, Vox won't find out." He grunts as he tries to get you to cease your struggle. 

"Oh I think he will actually." 

You'd never been so grateful to hear Vox's voice. You nearly cry with relief. 

"Get away from her, Val." His voice is heavy with displeasure. 

You can't see him from your angle on the bed but you know he's wearing a look of aggravation. You can feel the tension crackling in the air between the two Overlords. Valentino grips your hair tighter, pushing you further into the bed before releasing you. 

"You used to be so much fun Vox." He purrs as you feel his weight leave the bed entirely. 

You can't help the way your breathing picks up as if you're about to have a panic attack. The fabric of the sheets suddenly feels coarse and brittle beneath your bare skin. 

"You don't get to talk to her that way, and you sure as shit don't get to touch her like that." Vox's voice begins to distort with subtle bursts of buzzing electricity. 

"Don't I though? I thought what's yours is mine, mi amore. Isn't that how relationships work?" Valentino coos sweetly as he moves across the room to Vox. 

You keep your head down in the blankets, you wanted to draw as little attention to yourself as you could. It'd be easier to just leave them to it. Still Vox's words and tone leave you feeling... strange. 

"You know I can still smell you between her legs. Tell me, did you enjoy the Radio Demon's sloppy seconds?" 

A distorted growl rips from Vox, the sound heavily laced with static. The lights in the room begin to cut in and out, the electricity humming and popping loudly. 

"Get. Out." Vox's voice carries throughout the space in a haunting way. Everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

"Oh come on, you know I'm just teasing." Valentino murmurs. 

"I'm not in the mood Val. Leave." He violently shoves his finger in the direction of the door.

"Touchy today, are we? Alright, fine. I'll leave you to your little temper tantrum. Seems like you found a good outlet for it anyway." He leans in close to Vox, his voice dropping in tone. "I've taught you so well." 

With the soft sound of his wings swishing and the door closing, he's gone leaving you and Vox in solitude once more. 

You feel the bed dip next to you before you're being pulled into his arms. The quick change in positions shocks you, but it's the way he's holding you that ends up shocking you more. Despite his horrid treatment last night—his wrath about Alastor—he gathers you into his arms as if you were something precious. 

"Blossom, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" All the filters over his voice have ceded and his voice is now so gentle. 

The irony of his question is far from lost on you. You don't want Vox to see the tears forming in your eyes, so you bury your head into his chest, clinging to him like he'll offer you your salvation. It hurts, to seek comfort in your abuser. You always did because you had no other form of it. You'd take your comfort where you could get it, and right now, it was in the arms of the monster who caused your distress in the first place. 

"Bea? Please talk to me." 

Though instead of pushing you away, his arms cradle you closer. His touch now feels like such a rough juxtaposition to last night. How were the hands holding you so tenderly be the same ones to have drowned you last night? 

The mere memory of the panic and desperation he caused draws more tears to your eyes. 

His hands carefully move to cup your face, pulling you away from him just enough to be able to look down at you. His expression immediately softens when he sees your tear stained cheeks. The ache in your heart grows in the quiet moment where all you do is watch each other. 

"Did Valentino hurt you?" His tone is more serious but still soft. 

Finally you answer him with a shake of your head. The movement causes the tears to spill faster and you can no longer look at him. You put your face back against his chest, your hands clinging to his shirt with desperation. 

Vox lets out a sigh of relief. One of his hands comes up to stroke your hair, shushing you quietly. 

"I won't let him. I'll never let him lay a hand on you." Vox murmurs against your scalp. 

"Promise?" You question in distress. 

Vox makes a broken sound somewhere deep in his chest, one telling of untold pain. You didn't know the extent of his and Valentino's relationship, but you knew it wasn't healthy, or even really good. 

"I promise." He breathes out like a prayer. 

The two of you stay like that for a few more minutes, Vox not seeming to care as your tears begin to wet the fabric of his clothes. He hums gently as one of his hands carefully rubs your back while avoiding the wounds he'd left the prior morning. They were the most healed out of all the injuries, but they were still agonizing when touched. 

"Can I cook you breakfast?" 

The question is so absurd it makes you bark out a laugh. You can't help it, your emotions are so heightened and your brain fried. You don't even think about the possibility of him getting upset by your reaction. 

You pull back from him, eyes scrutinizing his features to figure out whether or not he's joking. 

It doesn't look like he is. 

"Vox..." You start to say cautiously. "As nice as that sounds, you and I both know you're basically helpless in the kitchen." 

He draws back, a hand coming up to clutch at his chest. Though the expression on his face is light and teasing. "Am not!" 

His silly reaction draws a small smile to your face. The topic of Vox's utter shit abilities in the kitchen isn't new between you. There was a reason the Vee's were ordering food more often than cooking. None of them could really cook to save their lives. Especially Vox. 

The sudden shift in your moods leaves you feeling strange, and for a second you have to remind yourself of who Vox really is and what he's done. What he's done to you. This feels too comfortable, especially with last night still being so raw. You can't help but admit your gratitude for it, a shred of normalcy feels nice, even if you knew it was only temporary. 

"Unless your aim is to poison me, you and I both know it'd be better to order something." 

Vox lifts his finger as if he's about to protest but then thinks better of it. "Alright... fine. You win. But you get to pick what we're eating. I don't even care if it's that shitty place down in the doomsday district. Though I'm still fucked to know why you like it." 

You're shocked he remembered the place you always had a preference for. There had been many a night where the two of you would end up pulling all nighters together to get the workload you had finished. Most of the times Vox would end up picking without your input, but the few times he did—and the even fewer times he agreed—you would always offer up the same suggestion. It's been so long since you had though, you're a bit shocked he remembered in any capacity. 

"Really? You hate that place." 

"I never said hate. Strong disgust isn't too far off though." His expression pulls into a sour one before smoothing back out. 

The sudden reminder of why you're here, of what you are to Vox, puts a bit of a bitter lens over this. 

"What about work?" You question quietly, your eyes focused on your lap. 

"Oh there's plenty to be done, but I think it's okay if we have a slightly later start to our day, hmm?" 

When you look up, he shoots you a grin that further spins your emotions out. 

You weren't asleep right now, this wasn't a dream, but this felt wrong. The events of the night still weigh heavily at the front of your mind, the physical reminders still pressed painfully into your skin. But Vox was being... 

What was Vox doing? 

You suppose Evan would do something similar, he'd put you through the worst pains of your life only to beg and attempt to buy back your forgiveness the next day. It was a violent whiplash every time it happened, your mind and body never quite being able to catch up with it all. It had broken you down to nothing, made you complacent but what other choice did you have if you wanted to survive? You never forgave him—you couldn't—but if you'd tried to deny him, it would only result in things worsening. You learned to take whatever Evan gave you, no matter if it was the violence or the rare kindness. You had no other choice. 

"Okay..." You agree quietly. 

His grin widens, his eyes brightening. It takes everything in you not to flinch away when he reaches his hand out to you. His thumb gently trails beneath your eyes, only now making you aware that you'd begun crying again. His eyes watch you with a strange emotion you're hopeless to name as he tenderly brushes your tears away. 

"There's my good Bee." 

After a moment he gets to his feet, extending a hand out to help you to yours. 

"I'll order the food, why don't you get in the shower. I'll join you in a minute." He says while gently ushering you towards the bathroom. 

You have no choice but to let him lead you there, not even desiring to push back on it. A shower did sound nice to you right now, you just wished you'd be able to remain alone while you did. 

The room he ushers you into looks like a clear extension of the bedroom, the color scheme and decor only shifting to suit the type of room. A giant shower takes up the entire back wall, glass doors enclosing the space. The back wall is made of white and grey marble, dark black grooves running through the design. The rainfall shower head spans the length of the ceiling, an illuminated pad on the doors allow for temperature control. It's so luxurious and makes you feel even more alien in the space. 

The tile below your feet is ice cold, sending a shock through your system. 

For a moment all you can do is simply stand in the middle of the room where Vox has left you. Your body freezes as you struggle to proceed with beginning the task by yourself. Your chest feels tight, tears burning at the back of your eyes. 

Why is a task as simple as moving your feet a short distance so impossible right now? 

How useless could you be if you couldn't follow a simple instruction? 

Vox will be so upset when he comes in here only for you to not have moved at all. But even as your mind wills your body to move, it just can't follow through with the command. 

You feel as if you're screaming out in your mind, begging to be able to do what you want and need to do. 

It shouldn't be this hard. 

Why was this so hard? 

"Blossom?" Vox's voice startles you from behind. 

He comes to stand in front of you, a look of concern crossing his expression. His eyes look you over from top to bottom before coming to rest on your face. His expression minutely softens. 

"Hey... you're okay. There's no need for tears. Let's get you into the shower doll, it'll help make things better." 

You almost miss the grimace he makes as he gently urges your tense body forward. Your body shakes with the effort but you don't protest. 

Vox stops before the doors, fingers quickly tapping away at the controls before the water begins to cascade down from the ceiling. You stare blankly at the floor as he strips behind you before opening the door and ushering you both inside. You allow Vox to move you about, your body following each of his small guiding touches as he moves to clean the both of you. He's shockingly gentle as he works shampoo into your hair, carefully avoiding your antennae as his claws gently massage it into your scalp. When he begins to rinse it he blocks the water from flowing into your eyes with his hand along your forehead, before he repeats the process with conditioner. 

He breaks the silence when he begins to scrub your body with a soapy wash cloth. 

"Bea... please say something. You're starting to scare me." His concerned tone feels like such a harsh juxtaposition to the flash backs of last night running through your head. 

Your eyes slowly shift to his, though your gaze remains unfocused and distant. 

"I'm sorry..." You whisper softly. "I'm fine." 

The water runs down Vox's screen, the droplets magnifying the digital pixels of his face. It reminds you of the bright neon lights of the city you grew up in when it rained. A specific drop catches your attention as it traces the side of it before catching on the edge of his screen, threatening its impending fall. 

Vox says something but it sounds like you're underwater. You don't even notice the change in his expression at your lack of reaction. 

Your surroundings become distant, your body detaching from itself as your brain puts you into a state of limbo within your thoughts and emotions. 

By the time you come back into awareness your sitting on the edge of Vox's bed dressed in one of his button up shirts, the fabric swallowing you with your considerable size difference. Vox is dressed in a pair of sweats and a loose V-neck shirt. He's crouched in front of you, one of his hands placed on each of your knees. 

You can feel the water drip from your hair down your neck and back. The sensation is uncomfortable but you can't bring yourself to care much about it. 

"Bea?"

Vox moves his hand in an abrupt motion towards your face and you can't help the way your entire body flinches away. 

"Please don't hit me!" You shriek despairingly, your hands moving to block your face as your body tries to move away. 

The worried expression on Vox's face grows stronger, his digital brows furrowing in serious concern. 

"I'm not." He answers dejectedly, his hand hovering in the air. "I'm just trying to make sure you're okay." 

There's a strange part of you that feels the need to reassure him, to ease his discomfort but you barely have the energy to form a verbal response. 

Something inside of Vox aches painfully at the realization of your damage running much deeper than your time here in Hell, a lingering human part of him he didn't really think still existed. 

His phone chimes on the nightstand drawing both of your attention away. He sighs before standing and walking over to it. 

"Food is here. I'm going to run down and get it, stay right here." 

Then he's gone, zipping through the tower's electrical system to get down to the ground floor. 

Your lungs heave with the effort of steadying your breathing, your eyes filling with fresh tears. Your surroundings don't feel real, the texture of the sheets feels wrong, objects looking off in ways you can't quite pin point. Even the air seems to contain a different quality than normal.

You collapse backwards on the sheets, your eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as you try to comprehend all that's happened. 

Was it really just a few days ago that you'd met Alastor? 

It hadn't even been a week and so much has happened. 

How was it only Friday? 

Your body feels as if you've been hit by a semi truck, pains unrelated to yesterday's ordeals popping up alongside it. Your muscles feel tight, as if they're containing feelings you've long since forgotten but your body hasn't. The weight of the whole world pushing down on your chest threatening your total collapse beneath it. 

"Bea." Vox's voice calls upon re-entry. 

You abruptly startle upright, your body subconsciously moving you backwards on the bed. 

"Sorry," you murmur sullenly. "I didn't hear you come back in." 

"Let's go eat in the kitchen." Is all he says before he's turning around, expecting you to follow suit. 

You force yourself to take another deep breath before rising onto unsteady legs to comply with his command. 

Each step you take feels like you're sinking further and further into quicksand, the very gravity of Hell threatening to bring you to your knees. 

Vox sets the bags on the table before moving to pull out a chair for you. He pushes it in carefully as your gaze zones out on the table in front of you. It sparks a sense of déjà vu from the coffee shop with Alastor. 

Vox is saying something to you as he lays the various take out containers on the table but despite hearing him, you don't process a single one of his words. When he opens one to place in front of you, the contents shock you enough to look up at him—something akin to a question in your gaze. 

"This is what you always order, isn't it?" Vox confidently inquiries. 

Your voice is barely audible as you respond. "It is." 

"If it's not to your tastes for any reason, I got a few other things to try." He says with a small flourish to the spread on the rest of the table. 

"Thank you." You say softly with a nod of your head in acknowledgment, even though the food in front of you makes your stomach curl. The thought of putting anything in your mouth right now causing a visceral reaction to bloom inside you. 

Still you can't afford to upset Vox by denying him. Your motions are mechanical as your plastic fork stabs through the food in front of you. 

A high pitched ringing echoes loudly in your ears alongside the thundering beat of your heart. Your hand shakes as you lift the fork to your lips. 

You don't know if it's intentional or not, but Vox decides this is the best moment to spring a request, or rather his next demand of you. He does so with what could be considered a malicious smile. 

"Tomorrow night you'll be joining me as my date to the gala. I've already arranged for Velvette to make your dress." 

Your stomach drops alongside your fork. 

~

Taglist: @lookingforsyd @daddymaster21 @fru1tbatzz @ohnoivefallen @pepperquiche @takemetoneverland420 @12cashmere @rapunzelbro @vvzhyxx @speedycoffeedelight @readingalldayeveryday

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

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Chapter Eleven: On a Knife's Edge

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Masterlist

AO3

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Paring: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Low-key knife play?? threats of violence and harm, the usual insane amount of cursing. A little lore drop.

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: Huge shoutout and thank you to EveeYammore for beta reading this for me. I've been speeding writing it these past few days and my errors start to turn invisible after so long staring at the same chapter, so her help was greatly appreciated.

Ya'll this chapter is everything I wanted it to be and nothing like what I intended it to be. This story keeps getting away from me in the best of ways while still sticking to my outline, it's beautiful and I'm obsessed. I'd love to hear your thoughts for this one because boy howdy do I have plenty of my own 🤭

Comment to be added to the taglist

How does one go about avoiding a hotel full of people? You didn't know, but you were sure making your best attempt at it. After your near public breakdown at the bar yesterday, you'd been avoiding every single person possible since arriving back at the hotel. You thought the time out and about in the city for a couple hours would have done you some good. You seemed to be mistaken about that though, the dread instantly flooding back into your bones upon re-entry into the hotel.

Hence the sneaking around like a spy on a mission. That mission being one single thing: don't get fucking caught.

You'd had three separate visitors come knocking upon your door in the past twenty-four hours, each one had been met with the same undisturbed silence as you refused to relent in your isolation.

Self inflicted punishment was something you'd taken a master class in. You would rather force yourself to suffer alone than pull your friends into a mess you got yourself into all on your lonesome in the first place.

You'd figure this out on your own, you had to.

If you were lucky, things would smooth themselves out quickly in the next few days and you'd be back to your usual self before they knew it. You craved to have your confidence back—a return to sanity would be ideal currently.

Your silence hadn't deterred a single one of them from blowing up your phone with their messages of concern. They each received the same response of silence, despite some of them being more insistent than others. The guilt gnawed away at you consistently with the refusal to open each one. You kept telling yourself this was just the way things needed to be.

Though you worried you may have fucked things up beyond repair with Lucifer. You hadn't wanted things to turn out the way they did, but there wasn't much choice granted to you on the matter. You just hoped you'd earned good enough favor with the man to be given a second chance.

Why did Alastor have to ruin everything? It felt like ever since you'd moved here, you'd known nothing but his chaotic antagonism of you. And the most recent development in events? The new dynamic he'd so brazenly altered and laid before you had been thrusting you further into your spiral of insanity. You were still incredibly confused about Alastor's change in behavior. He'd said and done so much that made zero sense to you. Though with Lucifer's growing concern, it made you begin to worry that there might be more to what was happening than either of you knew.

Why wouldn't Lucifer just tell you?

What the fuck was going on?

You were spiraling further into insanity. You needed to get a fucking grip.

You've never felt such a total loss of control over your powers, your light shifting in varied waves and pulses throughout your body. It set you further on edge as you lost even more command over your body and mind.

Hell definitely wasn't boring anymore, that's for sure.

Your body's demands for nourishment is just one more thing that sets you on edge. You'd ignored it the rest of the day prior into the entire day today. But now as you lay in the darkness of your room—a single crack of light peeking through your curtains—your mind still roiling with torment, the pain lingering in your stomach is something you're afraid you won't be able to ignore much longer.

You pick up your phone to glance at the time. Ten o'clock was late, right? What were your chances of getting in and out of the kitchen without encountering anyone else?

Was it worth the risk?

Your stomach grumbles painfully.

Fuck it.

You ignite your hands with a soft illumination, lifting the light up into the air to hover above you. It's dim but bright enough for you to take stock of yourself in the mirror. You don't look much better than you had yesterday, if you didn't look worse. No matter how much you tried to convince otherwise; not a single person would believe you were anything other than falling to absolute pieces.

Why was it so hard to open up to people? Fuck, you'd been friends with Husk for decades. Why not him if no one else? It would make you feel better, it'd take a burden off your shoulders, maybe the world wouldn't feel so confusing and impossible for a minute, but no matter how much you wished it to be the case, your brain would force you to do otherwise. You couldn't open up to people, you wouldn't put this burden on them. They were all already so distraught seeing you this way, it would ultimately be so much worse for them if they knew the truth.

Fuck, what would Alastor do if anyone found out? Would you make it out unscathed? Would he hurt whoever found out?

You didn't know how to go on, there was no clear direction in what to do. It felt like you just had to wait. Waiting in anticipation with bated breath for life to happen to you, regardless of your feelings in the matter. That's how it'd always been, hadn't it? Why else would this be any different?

For a brief moment you ponder the potential of regret for coming here to the Hazbin. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. Things turning your afterlife entirely around, emotions being stirred inside you that you didn't think yourself capable of—let alone with the individual they came from. And then on top of those intense stupid feelings being brought forth by the resident Overlord, you had found yourself forming a school crush on the most powerful man in Hell.

You'd realized it after combing through your thoughts after your hasty exit the day prior.

Your emotions surrounding Lucifer were so tense and complicated, you hadn't even realized what they were exactly, not until you had played that look of concern on his face over in your mind for the millionth time. The reason his hurt had affected you so much, was because of how much you cared about him—cared about what he thought of you. Alastor had been right the other day in the pantry, you didn't want Lucifer to know.

You liked him.

If he wasn't the most powerful being in Hell, your feelings for him would basically be a death sentence.

Your eyes linger on their reflection in the mirror. The light your power produced lending them an eerie other worldly glow. They looked so haunted—dull in comparison to what usually greeted you in the mirror. You find yourself turning away.

It was too much.

The light above you expands, the soft rays of it filtering over you in a subtle wave. You blink and the dark space of the kitchen appears around you. Silence greets you along with the dark. Your antennae bristle and strain to detect any sounds of movement.

Nothing.

Not even the distant sounds of Husk and Angel chatting around the bar. It was one of the few rare times that this side of the first floor of the hotel was silent. Maybe God was granting you a bit of peace. You sigh at the lack of signs of life.

Perfect.

Easy food wasn't something you did. Always taking more time than you should, even for your quicker meals. You're still on edge but the lack of immediate looming threat of being found helped ease it. As long as you kept quiet and didn't make too much of a mess, you'd be in and out of here before anyone could find you.

You didn't want to be in the kitchen for too long, so a simple pasta dish is what you settle on preparing. The prep work was minimal, and required no effort at all. After illuminating the kitchen with your own light—so as to reduce the risk of drawing someone's attention—you set about moving to gather everything.

You pull half a dozen ingredients from the shelves in the pantry, followed closely by the few tools you'd need. A high walled skillet gets placed on the induction stove to begin heating. The large wooden cutting board becomes the center of your attention as you begin to prep your veggies. Your motions were fluid as you slice into the onions before dicing them into small squares.

You toss them into the heated pan with some oil, your antennae perking up at the pleasant sound. There's a second you lose yourself in the task; the familiar routine of preparing a meal bringing you momentary ease. A sense of peace has settled over you and the kitchen. For the first time in days, you feel like things might be okay.

"I suppose my luck is improving. I didn't expect I'd actually find you today. You've certainly been making yourself scarce. Avoiding things while the rest of our merry crew turn their attentions to me. I'm about ready to take a bite out of you in frustration."

Your stomach drops at the sound of the voice.

Fuck no, fuck this.

Well that feeling certainly didn't last long, did it?

"Truly my dear, you always look so unapproachable." He mimics a frown as best he can while still smiling.

"Yet, somehow you still always do." You sneer as you turn around and face him. Fangs barred like the scared thing you were.

He hums in amusement at your reaction. You can see the cracks in his own composure. The intensity in which he had been pursuing you seeming to be wearing on him worse with each day. There's a particular manic gleam in them as he stares you down across the small distance between you. He's standing next to the cutting board, blocking you from escaping past him. You can't help the way your eyes momentarily dart to the discarded knife on top of it, his own following to see what caught your panicked gaze.

His grin stretches wider.

"Darling, you're like a pizza crust, always trying desperately to hold it together but falling apart under pressure." You watch him carefully as he wraps his hand around the kitchen implement.

You want nothing more than to disappear but Alastor with a knife promises danger—unpredictable danger that you didn't know how to beat.

"I really don't understand you." You retort defensively. Alastor's actions never once having made sense to you.

He shrugs while looking at the knife. "Neither do I, if I'm honest."

His eyes are only off you for a moment but you take the single instance to make an attempt to get away. You begin to fade away into the light but you can't manage it faster than Alastor notices. You feel cold tendrils of shadow wrap around your wrists, restraining and pulling you back into the counter. Alastor flashes through the shadows in less than a blink, appearing before you brandishing the knife.

"Now now, don't run from it darling, don't run from me. I think you've made me do my fair share of chasing." Once again his body has pressed itself intimately into yours. Though the additional new threat was causing a new sort of fright inside you.

"Can you at least drop the fucking knife?" You bark viciously.

"How about you drop your attitude first, darling?" He watches you with fascinated calculation. His eyes seeming to catch each minor reaction.

Even after all that's transpired between you, you still fear the unpredictability that came with dancing this dangerous game with Alastor. One minute it felt startlingly close to affection the way Alastor treated you, the next he had a knife to your throat and you weren't entirely all too confident that he wouldn't slash you open from ear to ear.

You were guaranteed to regenerate in a few days, so what's another mind game thrown into the mix.

For a moment you can picture his lips pressed to yours as he drags the knife to cleanly split your tender skin. He'd caress your face so softly as he bathed in the fountain of your blood, a satisfied grin bursting from his seams.

"Did you know this is how most of my victims met their end?" Alastor questions sinisterly, tracing the tip of the blade from your cheekbone down along your throat. His words pull you from the violent imagery unfolding in your head.

"Oh?" You choke apprehensively as the point teases the thinnest patches of skin. It would take barely anything at all to cut you with it. It seems one of the few things you and Alastor agreed on in the kitchen was routine knife sharpening. Both of you making it so each one could be wielded on its own as a weapon. You didn't think that was something you'd ever be on the receiving end of.

"Sometimes it was an ax for particularly troublesome targets, but with petite and delicate little things like you, it was usually something closer to this." He murmurs fondly. You can feel him throb against you where your so tightly pressed together.

An inconvenient heat pulses between your legs in response. It only grows when his hand 'slips' and a small cut tears open beneath the sharp edge. The heat below increases—to your dismay.

Oh fuck no…

"What a pretty picture you'd paint drenched in blood." His voice has grown husky, the filter falling in and out with each word. "Just relax for me Lune."

He pulls the knife away only to replace it with his lips. Searing heat following each press of them to your neck. His tongue follows the thin trail of blood up to its source. White hot fire chasing throughout your body as it ignites under his touch. He slides his hands underneath the back of your thighs before hoisting you up onto the counter. Your hands remain useless where his shadows have them tied behind you, it allows him to easily hoist your leg onto his hip so he can grind into you harder.

A moan falls unbidden from your lips. Your mind rapidly reaching the point of no longer producing excuses as to why the two of you should stop. It was easy to slip away—too easy to slip away—with how good he made you feel. You've already forgotten about him threatening you with a knife, about wanting to escape from his hold. It was just you and him all over again and you weren't going to stop things from escalating.

"No one ever finds out about this?" You whisper in a rush as he rocks himself into you once more.

"I think that ship has sailed toots."

It's shocking that neither of your necks break with the speed in which both Alastor and your head's turn to the door. Your best friend leans against the open doorway of the kitchen, both sets of his arms crossed over his chest, the largest shit eating grin possible stretches wide across his lips. His brows are quirked suggestively as he surveys the scene before him. There was no denying what had just been occurring between you and Alastor. Fuck, an innocent child would know that you were about to get down and nasty. And considering your best friend was the most sought after porn star in Hell, you doubt there would be any dismissal of the events that were about to transpire.

Your eyes flick to Alastor's then back to Angel.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" You sound so lost and small.

Did you move? Why wasn't Alastor moving? What do you do? This isn't how this was supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen at all!

Angel snorts, his grin widening. "Longer than you'd probably like. But no seriously are you guys flirting or starting a fight? Cause I can't entirely tell."

Your only indication of Alastor's feelings is the way his claws tighten their grip on you. Your bodies tucked so tightly together you can feel each tense shift of his muscles. He wasn't all too thrilled about being discovered either. You weren't sure whether or not Angel Dust could tell but you had a feeling a shit show of catastrophic proportions was about to unfold.

Your body begins to grow restless in his hold. The increased grip he kept on you making you feel more desperate and volatile. The rising sound of crackling static coming from Alastor's chest begins to shift your apprehension at being caught, to a true fear for your best friend.

Angel remains beaming in the doorway, not yet aware of the danger he's brought looming over him. "Sucks my theory wasn't right. I'm outta ideas if you guys have been fuckin' and are still at each other's throats like this. Ooo, I bet shit gets really kinky between you two. Is that blood? Freaky face must be really something special, I don't think I've ever known you to jump on someone at all, let alone this quick." His smile turns lewd, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

Alastor's nails dig deeper into your thighs. His eyes starting to shift dangerously, his antlers starting to snap as they began to extend. The small amount of your blood around his mouth only serves to make him look more sinister.

"Angel…" You warn slowly, your eyes shifting between your impromptu partner and your best friend. "You should stop. Leave."

"Oh come on, you can't really expect me to just walk away from this, can ya? I mean at least now there's a known reason for all the drama going on around here. Fuck, it's rare when my home life is more dramatic than work. I love you Luney, but you and I both know Imma eat this shit up."

Bless your best friend and his stupid fucking need for drama and theatrics. He was making this so much worse.

The sounds emitting from Alastor don't falter, if anything each one increases in their crescendos. His fingers start to relax their grip a bit, his body slowly detaching itself from yours. "Close your eyes Lune, you shouldn't have to see this." His voice is a twisted snarled growl.

"Alastor don't!" You immediately jump to defend your friend.

"Don't worry, for you, I'll make it quick. If it makes you feel better, we can tell everyone he had an accident." Somewhere off in the distance a distorted buck call echoes hauntingly. His antlers continue to grow, each point cracking and twisting off in extension from his head. His eyes shifted to red dials as he stares down Angel from across the room.

That's enough for the spider to finally take the hint at the gravity of the situation he unwittingly placed himself into. He was fucked, and not in his usual way.

"U-uh…" Angel begins to nervously stammer. "My bad. I'll just go, we don't have to ever talk about what I saw here." He takes steady steps backwards in retreat.

Alastor looks every bit the predator about to lunge at his prey. You want to stop him but he's yet to loosen the restraints around your wrists. Still you struggle on top of the counter, leaning forward to try and snap at him.

"Stop. Alastor, let's just talk about this like adults. There's no need to be jumping directly into violence." The panic in your friends eyes makes you feel more frantic. "Alastor!"

He ignores you in favor of his pursuit. Any chance you may have gotten through to him leaves the second he begins to lunge forward at your fellow Sinner. Alastor was out for blood and was not likely to stop until he got it.

"Oh fuck…" Angel mutters before turning and dashing away on his long set of legs. He's got the most minor of head starts but Alastor is quick to close in behind him.

The kitchen door swings shut leaving you to struggle against your bonds in solitude. You just had to hope you could get out fast enough to try and protect Angel. Your emotions flare and run wild, making it difficult to concentrate your powers. You were sure that if you could get your light to respond to your call, you'd burn away his shadows in less than a minute. It didn't seem like the easiest of tasks in your current state.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The high pitched screech that echoes muffledly through the door can belong to no one other than Angel Dust. Loud static cracking in accompaniment, a whine of feedback following. Alastor was really pissed.

Fuck!

The sounds of your friend's growing distress forces you into more of a frenzy. There was no telling what would happen and you were not about to just sit around and find out. You can feel a small amount of your blood dribble down into your sweater. You ignore it in favor of focusing on the feeling of your power in your body. There's a moment where you're forced to block everything else out, you couldn't focus on anything other than yourself and your abilities.

You take a deep breath willing your powers to follow your command. Warmth flows from your chest and down your arms. Thin tendrils of light seeping out from between your hands scorching Alastor's shadows into nothing after a passing second or two. You leap down off the counter right as another deer call rings deafeningly through the hotel. The chilling sound being followed closely by another terrified scream.

You fade into the light, only to reappear in the lobby at the same time several voices collide into the room.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Charlie's distressed voice calls above the chaos.

At the same time Vaggie asks, "What the fuck Alastor?"

"I'm wondering the same thing." Husk grumbles where he's tucked himself off to the side of the bar.

"He's going to fucking kill me!" Angel cries in distress from where he's scaled the curtains up to the balcony on the second floor. "That's what the fuck is going on!"

"Alastor stop!" You call from your place by the stairs. Your eyes darting frantically between the eldritch horror and Angel as he rapidly closes in on him. "It's already too late! There's no point now."

"Oh no my dear," His voice echoes dangerously in the open space. "I have far yet from made my point."

"I told you Charlie, this is why we can't have nice things." The last voice you needed joins the fray.

Your head whips around to see Lucifer standing at the top of the stairs. His arms are folded across his chest—his features settled into a stern glare as he surveys the scene before him. When his eyes catch on you at the bottom of the stairs, his glower increases. His eyes are zeroed in just below your face, his eyes flashing with wrathful warning.

You lift your hand to touch the space that's caught his attention, having already forgotten about the cut until your fingers meet your wet skin. Your gaze flicks from his to your fingers when you pull them away. A small bit of blood coats your them—your heart thundering away in your chest when you lift your attention back to the king.

"Leave Angel Dust alone Alastor." Lucifer raises his voice to resonate above Alastor's chaotic sounds.

As the serious tone of the devil reverberates through the room, all other sounds cease. There's a pause before Alastor shrinks back into his normal form, his hands brushing down his suit coat as if nothing had been amiss. His watchful eyes meet yours, him carefully observing the same scene as everyone else. You think it's clicked in his head, the same as it had in yours, the time for secrets was over.

Time to lay it all out on the table.

Angel takes advantage of Alastor's attention being diverted, quickly leaping down to scuttle over to the bar for safety. Husk watches him wearily, though his tension is eased once the spider settles in close to him.

"What happened?" Husk mutters.

"I've got incredible timing is what happened." Angel snickers, already back to himself now that he no longer had the threat of bodily harm looming over him.

"Are you guys going to keep denying what's been happening? Or are you going to be honest for once?" Lucifer seems to barely have control over himself. His body language warning of him snapping at any given moment.

Hypocrite.

You can't help but muse bitterly in your mind. Your mouth however remains shut.

"This is all one large misunderstanding, I can assure you of that." If you had to hand anything to Alastor, it was that the bastard was bold. Not even you were able to keep denying it at this point. It was clear no one was convinced—least of all Lucifer.

"Do I look stupid?" He deadpans.

Alastor tilts his head, his grin vicious and sharp. "I'm not really sure how to answer that."

Lucifer turns back to you for a second, nodding towards your neck. "Does it hurt?"

You give him an honest shrug. "I'll survive."

He pins you with a look. "You know that's not what I asked."

"That screaming was honestly pretty terrifying." Angel comments to Husk away from the main discourse.

Husk scoffs. "You idiot. You were the one who was screaming."

"I know! My vocal cords hurt something awful cause of it."

Husk can only roll his eyes in response.

Vaggie and Charlie look the most lost and confused out of the group. Both their sets of eyes shifting nervously about everyone in the room. Charlie's keep bouncing back and forth between you and Lucifer the most. There's a weight to her gaze that makes you feel uneasy, it only increases each time Lucifer observes you as well.

"Is anyone going to talk?" Charlie pleads in desperation. "Someone's gotta start being honest."

"I walked in on Luney and Smiles about to get freaky in the kitchen. I guess Alastor's not much of an exhibitionist, but I'm sure we all coulda' guessed that one." Angel not so helpfully supplies from the bar. "Alastor might not be too far off on the jealousy angle with Lucifer after all."

Husk lifts his hand up to smack Angel in the back of the head.

"What? He had her blood on his mouth, that's fucking freaky."

Husk hits him again.

"Charlie said to be honest. Stop fuckin' hittin' me for that." Angel rubs his head dejectedly.

"You're going to antagonize them and make it worse!" Husk snaps defensively.

A thousand thoughts were racing through your mind. Your panic feeling like it was being put on full display in front of them all. It was one thing for everyone to think you and Alastor were just hooking up—a bit of hate fucking, as Angel would say. Them knowing about the blood put your relationship on a whole new level for them to all gawk at aghast. You don't even have time to get caught up on Angel's mentioning of potential jealousy, your mind reeling just at the mere fact that this was all unfolding on such a public scale. It may only be the rest of the residents, but it still felt like too many people.

Anxiety grips you painfully by the throat causing it to feel tight, your breaths coming out a bit more panicked. Lucifer's eyes lock on yours, a silent exchange being passed between the two of you. You can see the moment a decision is made, his eyes switching over to Alastor with a stern determination.

When he asks his next question it's with austerity, no room being left for argument.

"Have you been consuming her blood?" His red eyes flare threateningly.

Some instinctual part of you wants to jump up and defend Alastor, for some reason far unknown from you. You don't though, your trepidation keeping you glued to your spot. You're afraid that it has manifested in visible hysteria upon your face. All sets of eyes other then them turn to you upon Lucifer's question.

It seemed to only add to everyone's confusion. This was no longer simply just the two of you sneaking around without anyone knowing. Adding in the element of Alastor's consumption of you must have sent them all spinning in insane directions.

Everyone except for Lucifer.

Why would he even ask that?

Is that why he'd been so worried? But that still doesn't explain the level of his concern. It felt far beyond something simple.

After several beats of silence—breaths held in anticipation—Alastor breaks it with a simple, "Yes."

What takes all of you off guard is the sigh that falls from Lucifer's lips. He sounds dejected and crestfallen, exhaustion dripping off the single sound. He snaps his fingers, and in a cascade of shimmering red magic, Alastor and he have disappeared from the room. Leaving you as the sole center of attention for the rest of the witnesses.

"And I thought things were complicated before. I think I might have gained a new level of respect for you after all of that." Angel beams teasingly at you.

You swallow your fear as a grin tugs at your lips. Despite the dread you feel at the abrupt exit of the other two demons, Angel's teasing can't help but bring you a joyful respite—no matter how brief.

"It's not that complicated…" You convince no one as you trek over to the bar.

Vaggie and Charlie stand off to the side wearing looks of apprehension of their own before moving to join the rest of you. Husk grabs a bottle off the top shelf full of a clear liquor, then grabs and lines up a series of shot glasses.

"You've got two of the most powerful men in Pride fighting over you, and I'm still not entirely sure why with this most recent revelation. But yeah, sure, it's 'not that complicated'." Angel uses his fingers to mark quotes in the air around the last few words.

You catch a particular grimace cross Husk's face, an extra layer of concern laid beside it. He recovers so quick you think you might have imagined it as he pours the drinks with steady ease. "I hate to agree with Angel but I think things just got a lot more complicated."

"What is this?" You question with a sniff of the strong liquid.

"The special kind of alcohol that helps to be able to handle this kind of complicated situation." He gives you a weary knowing smile. But what he knows, you have no idea.

~

"Is there a reason I've been whisked away to your private quarters? Afraid murdering me in front of everyone else would put a bad look on yourself?" Alastor carefully ventures a minute or so after being teleported here.

"How long has this been going on?" Lucifer fixes Alastor with a pointed look. "Don't dance around it, we're not doing that right now. Just answer the fucking question. How long Alastor?"

Alastor challenges Lucifer's gaze. There's a moment where he mulls his choices over inside his head. Was it worth the potential loss of life to defy the king in this moment?

Lucifer's stare is cold where it pins him in place.

No, he supposes not.

"Barely a week, I suppose." He grants honestly.

"So I was right, that day in the library? It happened for the first time the night before, didn't it?"

"Yes."

Lucifer sighs loudly, his brows furrowing into a harsh frown. He looked frustrated, but to Alastor's surprise, it wasn't really directed at him.

"Something tells me you've got information that you've neglected to make anyone else privy to." Alastor mulls over the timeline of events in his mind, matching everything up to Lucifer's reactions. "You know why I've been having these compulsions, don't you?"

Lucifer winces at the question, turning away from Alastor in a show of shame. It seems as if all his feelings of anger and contempt have been transformed and redirected into him as feelings of self loathing. Things were starting to become increasingly more confusing even to Alastor himself. Any pretenses he had of having control over the situation have fled out the window in this moment. He was left clueless and reeling, desperately clinging onto Lucifer in an attempt to receive answers.

It wasn't until now that the fear over his lack of control really settled into Alastor. The distress on the king of Hell's face was enough to send his nerves into a tizzy. Even with his distaste for the more powerful man, he could still acknowledge that if this was working Lucifer up into this much of a grief, it might actually be something serious worth getting worried about.

"Lucifer, what's happening to me? Why do I find myself craving her so fiercely since that first night with her. I can't stop it… I'm loosing control of myself and the very notion of it frightens me." He offers Lucifer a rare moment of vulnerability.

Lucifer might be the only one with answers though.

Fuck…

He motions for Alastor to take a seat on the furniture behind them as he crosses to sit in one himself.

"Do you know anything about the curses placed upon Sinner's in Hell?"

Alastor sits on the edge of a fainting couch, his legs crossing on top of each other. "I'm familiar with the particular affliction of the residents of Cannibal Town, though have never been aware of anything further beyond it."

"So you know nothing about the Starved and Craved?"

"Pardon? The what?" He says a bit taken aback.

"Have you tasted anything since you first arrived in Hell?"

Alastor's ears flatten against his head in dismay. The question leaving him unsettled and taken slightly off guard. Was he cursed?

Were you?

"Not exactly…"

Lucifer's eyes pin him once again. "But you can taste her, can't you?"

His body answers for him, recoiling in on itself at what's being presented before him. Lucifer's frown deepens, the worry on his face growing sharper.

"Luna is one of those who have been cursed as Craved. It means nothing to anyone else, but to someone like you, to someone like…" He trails off, his shoes suddenly holding a particular interest to him. He looks mortified, the words seeming to get trapped in his throat. "Like me, it makes her a particularly vulnerable target." He finishes quietly.

"You're going to have to offer me a lot more than that, your majesty." Alastor's eye twitches with his vexation.

"We don't have to go into the thick of it about me, because that's a whole different can of worms. What you need to know is this, you're a Starved. You will not ever be able to taste anything here in Hell unless it's someone like her, a Craved. Now that you've experienced the taste of one of them, the desire to consume more will not go away. You'll be desperate to consume any part of one possible. The reason you haven't been able to leave Luna alone, the reason you've been so desperate to consume as much of her as you can—it's because of this curse. It'll never go away, it'll only grow. And I'm letting you know now, it rarely ends well." A shadow falls over his features, the remorse in his tone grows with each piece of information revealed.

"It's rare that a Starved isn't driven mad by their compulsions. It's even rarer that Craved survive long afterlifes. Fuck I can't believe Luna has made it this long without knowing. There's no way she's gone this long without a Starved noticing her, she shouldn't fucking be here after hundreds upon hundreds of years. I knew it right away and fuck if it hasn't been hard keeping that part of me at bay."

A wave of cold washes over Alastor, a fear settling into his bones that he hadn't witnessed in what felt like near a lifetime. "Lucifer… what are you saying with all of this?"

~

Taglist: @angeldustharmony @jugodefrutitaa

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

~

Chapter Ten: Boiling Over

~

Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Emotional distress, threats, cursing. You know, the ush.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I got this chapter written and edited in less than twenty-four hours. I really hope that you can't tell. If so, I apologize. I'm just too fucking excited about these next few chapters so forgive the errors that will surely slip past me. In the meantime... Can I interest you in a disaster of everything falling apart? What if I told you it came with a big heaping of angst on the side??

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3

Drinking in the middle of the day may not have be the healthiest of ways for you to be coping right now, but considering how your days were looking lately—you could no longer feel the shame of it. You were on the verge of breaking down entirely and were desperate to take any help in remaining somewhat on your usual base level.

It wasn't working.

You can feel the heavy gazes of both your friends where you're all gathered around the bar together. Your lunch consisted entirely of liquid, Husk and Angel eyeing you wearily as you gulp down another large glass of Wrathian whiskey. Neither of them had yet asked the question lingering so obviously on both their minds. You knew it was coming though. Especially after the way you had stormed into the room not just an hour prior.

Both of them could see that you were shaken, something having happened that had you so clearly thrown for a loop. They'd each witnessed you put down your fair share of large liquor quantities, but even this was an abnormal sight to witness.

You'd been trying so hard to keep it together, but after this morning's latest encounter with the Radio Demon, you were on the brink of insanity. You could only hide it for so much longer. And here you sat with your two best friends, each of them taking turns eyeing you—silent communications being passed in their looks when they thought you weren't watching.

"Okay Luney, it's time to start talking. I don't think I've ever seen you doin' this bad." Angel begins the initial pry.

Ah, see. It was only a matter of time.

Your grip tightens on the glass in your hand. The alcohol causing your brain to buzz loudly with the static thoughts clogging up your mind. You felt as if your body was still recovering from today's interaction with Alastor, the panic still waging its violent war inside you. If you dissociate long enough, the events begin to play on a loop once more.

He'd cornered you in the hallway again. You weren't entirely sure if he'd sought you out on purpose or if it'd been another encounter of convenience for him. You feel like you'd barely gotten away from him. It was one of the only few times you've managed to escape a private encounter with him unscathed in the past week or so. He was growing more and more relentless, chasing after you with more and more intensity. You hated the continual loss of control he was causing you to feel. You'd never felt so weak within your resolve. It seems as if you were beginning to lose yourself to Alastor in more ways than you'd like to admit.

It terrified you.

You'd snapped at Alastor when he'd cornered you like nothing more than a weak animal of prey. He didn't know that you were more like a scared predator, ready to lash out with teeth of your own—desperate to defend yourself until safety was found.

And you had.

"Why do you keep pursuing me?" Your agitation boiled. The temptation to deal some violence of your own in defense growing to a breaking point.

"Why do you keep denying me?" He'd countered smoothly, his hand coming up to trace along your neck. His fingers tease the high collar of the turtle neck you'd donned today. This one was the opposite of the other, a soft eggshell white in an intricate knit pattern.

"Don't ask stupid questions, you know exactly why." You'd snarled in vexation. "Fucking leave me alone Alastor."

His body had pressed in tighter to yours, the physical proximity had made your body instantly heat. Your brain going blank as he'd begun to pressed heated kisses along your neck.

"I think I could always have my way with you, right here, right now and you wouldn't even stop me." The warmth of being tucked against him had been unbearable. His teeth began to tease around still healing marks.

He should probably learn to stop challenging you on things. You were nothing if not stubborn.

It's the first time you'd ever used your powers to defend yourself against him. Your hand making enough purchase on his shoulder to send a powerful pulse of your light to, it singes through his suit down to his skin. It caused him to startle long enough that you were able to slip from his grasp and down the hall. You'd ran immediately here. Taking safety in the company of your friends as a last ditch attempt to deter Alastor from seeking you out.

You were struggling to keep it together in front of your friends, but it was easier than handling Alastor would be right now.

You really weren't sure how much longer you could hold on for. Feeling as if the brink of total collapse was coming, it was just a matter of any day now.

Usually you wouldn't say it was a problem that your best friends cared about you so much, but right now it kind of felt as if that were the case. You didn't know what to tell them. You barely knew what to say to yourself, how were you supposed to open up and explain any of it to anyone. You loved them both so much, and wished nothing more than to have the ability to talk about this—but sadly, you couldn't.

Old habits die hard, and as the pressure of your mental load got worse and worse, you fell further back into them. Your walls came up, you shut down. The loneliness beginning to set in and torment you with false words of deceit.

You stare into your empty glass. The static rising to hurricane-esque levels in your mind. You didn't know whether or not you wanted to scream or cry. Though the urge to launch your glass at the wall raged in temptation.

You hated the feeling produced from seeing the look on your friends faces upon looking up. They both looked so worried. You suppose you didn't make for the best sight right now. Your exterior was falling to shambles just the same as your interior.

"I haven't been sleeping very well."

You'd always been a horse shit liar.

They both can see it.

A brief glance is exchanged between the two before Angel turns his attention back to you. "I may love to shop but I'm not buying your bullshit."

Husk sighs wearily, opting for a more delicate approach. "I think what Angel's trying to say is, we're worried about you. I've seen you in bad spots before, but this seems like a particular variety of awful." His eyes flick to Angel's for a moment, then back to yours. "We're here to listen. Whatever Alastor did—"

You cut him off quickly, your tone a bit more sharp than you'd intended. "Nothing has happened between Alastor and I."

Again your company shares a look.

"You know you can talk to us, right Ace?"

How badly you wish your brain would allow you to open up and let them know what was going on with you. Perhaps opening up and talking about what was going on would truly help. If you were going to open up to anyone about everything going on, it would be with Angel or Husk, having the both of them here should be an incredible blessing. Why weren't you taking advantage of it?

Years of stubborn determination to make it on your own without any help keeps your mouth shut. Your fingers fiddling anxiously with one another.

"Well yeah…" You at least concede that much to them.

The sound of footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of the lobby cuts off an potential chance you might have given yourself to open up. Quickly realizing who the new presence was setting your being on edge for an entirely new set of reasons. You already dealt with one of your biggest challenges today, you were not ready to face the other so soon after.

You hadn't drank enough to face him yet.

"Woah, you're kinda looking a little rough there Hellcat." Lucifer's voice echoes concerningly between the group of you. "You feeling alright?"

Your brows furrow. Your immediate response is to want to jump up and get defensive. You knew you weren't appearing at your best, but was it really so obvious to everyone? What were you supposed to do now? Three sets of eyes watch you carefully, each holding their own unique variety of concern. It twists your stomach, the care in which your friends exhibit for you.

You didn't know how to deal with it.

The frightened animal in your mind stalks back and forth in its cage—its movements fueled by jittering anxiety. It was on the precipice of breaking, ready to lash out should anyone step to close.

"I'm fine." You bite curtly. "I was just telling Husk and Angel that I haven't been sleeping well. That's all."

"I've seen fine. This doesn't look like fine." His brows furrow as he moves to stand close to you.

You tense up at his proximity, the marks hidden beneath your clothes starting to burn. You felt like somehow he could see them, like he already knew. You'd just barely begun to dissect your potential feelings for the angel on top of everything that was transpiring with Alastor, you didn't want to lose the potential that was blooming between the two of you. Even if all Lucifer would be is a friend, you didn't want to jeopardize that by tainting his perception of you with the revelation of all that's been occurring between you and the infamous Radio Demon.

You'd bullshitted and lied your way through worse.

You don't respond fast enough, Lucifer prodding at you again. His eyes boring into yours with such a level of concern you almost begin to feel sick. "What did Alastor do, Lune?"

Your frustration mounts, a growl of irritation ripping through your chest. You didn't have the capacity for this. You felt ganged up on. Even if all their actions were born from concern for your well being—it was grating on your nerves. You were getting panicky and defensive. The alcohol burning through your system causing your actions to be skewed from your usual calculative nature.

"Nothing! Fuck, why won't you all just believe me?! I'm fine!" You slam your hands on top of the counter, a short burst of light projecting from both searing burns onto the surface.

Yeah you couldn't convince even yourself with that one.

The air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, the momentary silence stifling. This was a bad idea. Maybe you should have taken your chances with Alastor, at least he would have let you walk away when he'd gotten what he wanted. The impromptu interrogation this turned into was threatening the remainder of what little sanity you had left.

"Luna," Lucifer calls your attention to him, his tone serious. "You need to tell me what happened. I can't help you if I don't know."

Husk and Angel exchange a silent look, sharing in your confusion over Lucifer's imploration. They hadn't known the king on a personal level for long, but even they noted this behavior seemed strange for him. There was something he knew that he wasn't making the rest of you all privy too and it only served to agitate you further.

"What are you so fucking afraid happened? Because if you think I'm in any real danger from Alastor, don't you think you should tell me why?" You challenge, the liquid fire in your veins making you bolder than usual—which somehow translates into you also being a raging bitch.

Lucifer looks taken aback, pain flashing boldly across his face before he schools his features once more into a resigned look of concerned determination. He opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it once more when nothing comes out.

"What's this about Lucifer, why are you acting so weird?"

"Why won't you just admit something happened?" He counters bitterly. "Because it's impressive how much you're managing to say while saying absolutely nothing at all. I know the signs Luna... You can't keep hiding it from me like this." His voice softens the slightest amount at the end.

His words only serve to set you further on edge, the frayed edges of your mind thrusting you to your final snapping point.

"What signs?!" Your voice feels as if it's begun to border on hysterics. "Fuck you're just as bad as Alastor at communication. It's a two way street Lucifer, you can't expect me to open up to you when you haven't really given me a reason to. If nothing else just tell me why you're so worried."

His frown deepens, his lack of control over this situating forces him to reign in his anger at it all. You didn't deserve to be snapped at the way he was but he couldn't help himself. "I can't tell you until I know for sure what happened."

"Oh fuck off!" You roll your eyes. "You're sorely mistaken if you think that's how this is going to go."

"Well this is certainly awkward." Angel mutters softly to Husk where the two have huddled close together at the end of the bar. Both of them forced to be spectators to the unfortunate catastrophe unfolding between you and the devil. The three of them watching as your psyche unravels in real time.

"I forgot how mean she can be when she's drunk." Husk tosses back to Angel who nods in agreement at the statement.

"Remember when I asked for your opinion? Oh huh, me neither." You snap at your two closest friends. Despite the anger and agitation nipping at you, you still feel some remorse at treating them so callously; it doesn't make you care enough to change course though. The animal inside you growing more frantic and wild.

"Okay seriously, Luna you gotta calm down." Angel shift into an entirely new level of concern. He'd seen you bad before, and you'd been snippy with him on a good fair share of occasions (some more deserved than others), but this was on a level unknown to even him. His worry was really starting to shift. If Lucifer was this concerned about things, how bad could things be? He began to truly worry about what Alastor may have done to you.

"Don't tell me what to do!" You snarl defensively. You rise to your feet, wobbling dangerously on them for a moment. The emotional turmoil swimming about inside of you, coupled with the copious amounts of liquor you'd consumed on an empty stomach, makes you unsteady on both a physical and mental level.

Lucifer steps closer to you, his hands coming out as if he were going to brace you. With how on edge you are, his proximity startles you into stepping back—fear flashing across your face before morphing into irritation.

"Don't touch me! I'm fine."

Your words are hollow and empty, not a single one of them convinced.

The urge to vomit rolls over you in a wave.

"Hey guys!" Charlie's bright voice calls cheerily through the air directing everyone's attention to the staircase. "Vaggie and I came up with a great idea to potentially get more guests for the hotel!" She's carrying a clipboard in one hand while cradling a small stack of papers in the other. Vaggie trails behind her a soft smile gracing her features as she watches her girlfriend beam in optimism.

You needed to get out of here.

"Vaggie and I were thinking of different new ways we could try and bring more attention to the hotel and what we're doing here. I think we came up with something really good!" The three men at the bar don't know how to handle the transition in events, the tension in the room still holding taught despite Charlie's bubbly presence now part of it. None of them know where to put their attention for a moment—something you take immediate advantage of.

You carefully back away on unsteady legs, the only consistent thought in your mind being, retreat!

Your direction is away from the stairs where the two girls are approaching, instead in the opposite direction towards the doors to the exterior of the hotel. You didn't even want to go to your room anymore. Nowhere in the hotel felt safe. You needed to be alone and you didn't trust a single one of your fellow residents to leave you alone if you remained within the building.

It'd been so long since your mind had been such a chaotic brew of things, so many different thoughts running rapid fire all at once throughout your mind. You couldn't be around other people. If they thought you were being mean now, then they didn't even know how bad it would get. It was overall better for everyone if you just took your leave now.

You make it further to the door without drawing attention than you initially expected, though you thought it would be one of the boys to call notice to it.

"Oh Luna, do you need to be somewhere?" Charlie asks with innocent inquisivity. "I was hoping I could get your opinion on some of the food for the event, but I can find you later if you are on your way out the door."

Bless Charlie, bless her and her pure heart. You had to remind yourself that she had nothing but the best of intentions. It wasn't her fault you were feeling the way you were.

Still, she made it hard not to want to snap at her just as your other friends.

Feeling Lucifer's eyes back on you sets you alight with a renewed sense of uneasiness. You already longed for when his gaze sent your body flushing instead. The dread it ignites in you makes you feel even more flighty. Panic settles into your heart and your flight instinct finally takes ultimate control.

"Yeah sorry." You bite curtly. "I gotta go. I'll be back later or something."

And without much more of a warning you dart the rest of the way to the doors and slip out with nothing else added.

Charlie shares a confused look with her partner as the three men at the counter shift uncomfortably. "Well what the fuck happened this time?"

Lucifer grimaces.

Angel wearily swallows the remainder of his current drink.

Husk looks stricken as his eyes remain on the door you escaped through.

"I know things have always been a shit show around here. And I hate to say it, but they have felt like a special brand of disaster since she moved in. Haven't they?" Vaggie speaks up upon noticing the remaining tension that lingered in the room. It was obvious something had happened. It wasn't too hard to decern that, especially with the routine of things lately. Peace was rare in the hotel, this was honestly just the new normal.

"I mean Luney has always been kind of a hurricane in demon form." Angel snickers in an attempt at light heartedness.

"You're not wrong there." Husk softly huffs eyeing Angel with fondness.

"Dad…" Charlie tries. She can see the emotions etched deeply into his features. It'd been so long since she'd seen her dad this worked up over something, even she was genuinely beginning to worry.

"Sorry sweetie. I know I shouldn't be acting this way." Lucifer sighs, guilt washing over him as the predominant emotion.

"You haven't even told me what you're so worried about. I knew you guys were getting close, but this is different, even for you." She speaks each word with caution.

Lucifer looks pained from his confliction. His own violent storm of emotions clashing within him. He didn't want to open up about it for his own reasons. He knew his daughter was worried, he knew that he should help ease her concerns over the situation, but he felt paralyzed in a fear of not being able to do such.

Besides what if he was wrong? Then he'd just sound completely delusional and deranged.

He'd kept this part of himself secret for so long. It was one of the few parts of Hell's history that he'd never shared with Charlie. She had no idea what affliction was placed upon him and the residents of the Pride ring, she didn't know the level in which he battled with himself on a daily basis. To explain his fears over you and Alastor, he'd have to open up and come clean about that part of himself. That wasn't something he was ready for yet.

That made this all the more complicated.

He didn't know what to do without any proof of what happened. At this point, he was almost positive about the facts of what had happened, but with no solid evidence, he could do nothing. Why wouldn't you open up? He felt like the two of you were beginning to build the foundations of good trust in your relationship, why couldn't you just trust him with this?

His brain was wild and uncontrolled. Maybe he could understand how you might be feeling if it was anything close to this.

"I'm sorry Charlie, I can't tell you why… not yet at least…" His simmering anger has continued to reduce, leaving him down to this. It wasn't fitting for the king of all of Hell to fall apart in front of it's residents and daughter. He shouldn't allow himself to be seen in such a stricken moment of weakness right now—he just can't help it.

Lucifer sighs. "Why do I feel like an idiot?"

"Probably because you are one." A familiar bothersome voice joins in on the conversation. "Though do tell what's triggered the inquiry, I love to hear of your mistakes."

Lucifer whirs around to meet face to face with the man on the receiving end of his current vexation. "I am barely holding onto my remaining restraint, I wouldn't go testing me right now Alastor. This is all your fucking fault." He seethes up at the taller man.

Alastor's usual grin is fixed firmly in place. His entire being seeming to radiate cheer at this new entertainment he's currently found himself with. He's still vexed from his loss during his earlier encounter with you, but seeing the small devil so positively fuming with unbridled rage at him—it was hard not to be cheered up by the new game.

"Still on about this, are we?" Alastor drolly inquires. "Honestly, your majesty, I thought you were better than this."

"I'm not playing Alastor! What happened?" Lucifer all but roars up at the man. His eyes momentarily flashing to red and back.

The other occupants of the room are once more made into uncomfortable spectators as they bear witness to the scene happening before them.

Alastor's skin prickles with uncomfortability at the all the pairs of eyes settled on him in this moment. Despite the feeling, he releases a hum of amusement. "That's for me to know and for you to well... You know how the saying goes."

Never before has Lucifer so badly wanted to split open Alastor's grin with his claws—but in this moment—the violent thought brings him a certain level of comfort.

"This can't get any worse. Can it?" Angel whispers to Husk.

"Give it a second, I assure you that'll change." He briefly tosses back.

"Charlie, I think you might need to start looking for a new business partner." Lucifer tosses out casually though is tone is laced with ice. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

The princess's face looks panic stricken, her hands darting out to grab her dad's shoulders in an attempt to deter him momentarily. "Don't do that! Come on, violence isn't always the answer." She chuckles awkwardly.

"Yes. But it is an answer." Lucifer's glare cuts back up to Overlord threateningly.

"Do your worst." Alastor taunts back in retaliation.

"Is that a threat?"

Alastor never was one to know when to call it quits. Always the type of individual to keep pushing until he no longer could. Oh well. The potential injury would be worth it with the reactions he was pulling.

"I think your bark might be worse than your bite." He waves casually.

Lucifer's eyes bleed into red in his fury, a ball of fire bursting to life with intensity between the horns on his head. His voice turns dark and demonic. "Is that something you really want to test?" The threat of violence laced as a promise inside his every word.

Alastor considers in momentarily, he really does. The temptation to push just a little further by saying yes niggles at the forefront of his mind. It's like a carrot on a stick as it dangles tauntingly in front of him. It'd be so easy, but would the repercussions be worth it? No, not right now he supposes.

He hums out his displeasure, taking a few steps back from Lucifer with a sneer of displeasure.

There's a moment where their gazes remain locked on one another, each of them all but daring the other one into provocation. The gazes of their audience bouncing back and forth between each other and the two of them. It felt as if everyone had a few pieces to one big puzzle but no single one of them had the complete set. You were each trying to puzzle together a picture without having the complete set of pieces. No wonder everyone felt as if they were reaching the brink of their own personal insanity.

"Lucifer next time, before you go presuming, why don't you try this crazy method called asking? Maybe if you'd tried a better method of approach, I'd be more likely to share my candor." Alastor can't help but still slip in an additional taunt.

"You and I both know the notion of your honesty is complete bullshit, no matter what." Lucifer growls, though his temper has mitigated momentarily. He can see Charlie wearily eyeing the encounter from the side. Her turmoil from the distress and confusion plain as day to see. He hated being anywhere close to the reason she would feel those things.

"You really like her, don't you?" Alastor deflects, his claws metaphorically digging into a new weak spot. Perhaps the angel would resist further pestering of him if he began to embarrass him in front of everyone else.

Suddenly it made sense to the rest of them. There still wasn't an answer for why Lucifer's worry was so intense, but his feelings explained away why he would have an intense concern in the first place. It was so evident now, Lucifer had a crush. And now, despite anything he might try to say otherwise, everyone knew it too.

"Is that what this is about?" Charlie asks apprehensively. "Dad? Is this because you're jealous?"

Vaggie grimaces knowing that this situation has reached an entirely new level of awkward for her girlfriend.

Not a single person taking up occupancy inside the lobby felt comfortable in this moment. Each individual feeling a unique level of discomfort and uncertainty at everything that had already happened and everything that was continuing to unfold.

A war that had originally broken out just between you and Alastor had extended to the rest of the hotel. Each day of residency beginning to feel like fighting within a battle ground. No one knew what they were fighting for, and there was no knowing if there would be any survivors.

~

Taglist: @angeldustharmony @jugodefrutitaa

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

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Chapter Nine: Just a Bite

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Masterlist

AO3

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Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Dub-con, biting, blood drinking, fingering, accidental voyeurism??

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This week has been absolute hell, and I'll be totally honest, it's a bit of a miracle I'm still here. It got pretty dark there for a second, but! I am doing better and low-key that's impart to this fic and you guys, my readers. It sounds cheesy and maybe a little silly, but the desire to keep writing this story for you guys kinda helped keep me going this week. But with how hard things have been, I will literally take any reason to keep going. Anyway, serious shit aside, this chapter is awesome, if I do say so myself. It's not exactly what I thought I would write originally but it's sooo much better. Things are just going to keep ramping up and I'm stupid excited about it.

Thank you all for being here, thank you to those who comment, like and reblog, and thank you to those who don't. Just if you are here reading this story, thank you. I hope I can continue to give you guys something you enjoy just as much as I do. I love ya'll and wish you just the best <3

If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know.

You'd be lying if you said the thought of suicide via Exterminator never crossed your mind in your expansive afterlife. Hell was hard, even dead it's hard to not to want to take the easy ability to opt out. And being hundreds of years old in death, fuck, who could blame you? Today you're finding yourself on the side of disappointment that that's no longer an option. Your constant dodging of Alastor for the past two days having caught up to you, your exhaustion starting to wear you thin.

Alastor's seemingly constant need to seek you out has been eroding your already frayed nerves, exposed to nothing but their endings.

You still had yet to come to a conclusive position about your feelings for the fellow Sinner. After your regretful romp nights prior—and his rude insistence to ruin your time with Lucifer—you're been more desperate than ever to be rid of him. You didn't want to see him, be near him, fuck you didn't want to be breathing the same air as him—but you could only avoid your problems for so long.

You were getting dinner made early today, your attempts at confusing Alastor with your schedule seeming to do little in preventing him from finding you. Sat across from you at the counter now, his chin placed atop his folded hands, bright smile beaming mischievously at you.

"Does my staring make you nervous?"

You roll your eyes suppressing the urge to launch the knife in your hand directly at his head. The frustrating part was the answer was yes, it made you very nervous. But you'd rather sell yourself to Valentino than admit such out loud to Alastor.

"Honestly I find it bordering on frustrating with my annoyance over it. I don't want you in here Alastor. You're giving me murder thoughts, go away." You try to shoo him off with a flitting of your free hand in his direction.

Your glare towards him sharpens as he continues to regard you with mirth—though now that you've seen it once, you can recognize a deeper look within his eyes. There's an underlying hunger that—despite his insistence of putting up his usual character front—was impossible for him to conceal. You can't help but tighten your grip on the knife in instinct, your chopping motions slowing as you prepare for what he throws at you next.

"Don't you think we should discuss the events of the other night?"

You swallow thickly.

You didn't like where this was going.

You really didn't want to do this.

"I don't think there's really anything to talk about." Your attempt to remain cool and aloof were admirable, but even you could hear the falsities underlying your tone.

"Oh you and I both know that's far from the truth." He's trying to play everything off as amusement but there's something in the tenseness of his posture that tells you it's all for show. He's irritated, the feeling seeming to increase with each negation you threw in his face.

"What do you want from me Alastor?" You huff. "You and I both know neither of us are capable of having a civil conversation in general. You really think talking about…" You wave your hand vaguely. "All that… is going to be productive use of our time?"

"Well I'm certainly not intending to dance around it. I think it makes you a bit of a coward if your sentiments are otherwise."

"There's no need to discuss it. It happened and now it's in the past. It won't happen again, so there's no need to talk about it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have chili to finish making." You turn with the cutting board full of diced onions to dump into the heated pot on the stove.

You try to ignore him but his presence is suffocating—impossible to ignore. You swear you can see his shadow leering at you from the corner of your eye. You felt like if you kept pushing through—maybe ignored him long enough—he'll leave you alone; you won't have to deal with him much longer. You flit about tasks, seasoning and stirring, collecting more things that needed to be added. You'd be humming if you didn't feel like there was a noose around your neck bracing for the chance to restrict your breathing.

You can feel the anticipation building to a snapping point—Alastor's static licking at your heels as you continue to move about the kitchen ignoring him. You pull open the seasoning cupboard to put the few you'd used back. You consider the rest, determining whether to add anything additional. One at the top shelf catches your eye, a specific seasoning salt blend that sounded like it'd pair perfectly with the flavors.

You're tall, but the cupboards stretch higher than you're able to pull from unassisted. You push up on your toes, your right hand balancing carefully on the counter as your left swipes at the seasoning in an attempt to get a proper grasp on it. You let out a few small grunts of frustration as your hand continues to miss its mark. You rock back on your heel, rolling forward and back onto you toes in an effort to give you more momentum into height. You feel your ankle wobble in your shoes, your balance beginning to fail.

Before you can collapse and crash to the floor, a sturdy presence is pressing up against your back, hands gentle yet firm as he holds onto your arm and hip. Once you're stabilized—pressed between him and the counter—he releases your arm but keeps his hand on your hip.

"Allow me, darling." His slender, claw tipped hand reaches with effortless grace to the shelf above. He pushes you into the counter with his leverage as he plucks the salt from the shelf before setting it down before you.

Still he remains behind you.

This is suddenly beginning to feel like a familiar position to find yourself with him, especially here in the kitchen.

Your mind starts a rapid race as your body begins to heat up in physical reaction. Both induced reactions pulling you in separate directions.

You hear him inhale deeply.

"Alastor…" You warn, though your tone falters.

"I need you to understand the restraint in which I've practiced in the last forty-eight hours. But it seems I simply just can't keep my distance." His breathing is growing labored, his voice straining around the words.

"Alastor, stop. None of that should have happened in the first place. None of it should happen again."

You begin to panic at the feeling of his breath on your heated skin.

"The memory of your taste on my tongue is driving me to the delicate edge of insanity and I'm afraid if I don't quench this thirst soon, I'm likely to be even less gentle than the first time." You can hear his control slipping within each word. His voice is strained, fringing on pained. The hand wrapped around your hip pulling you closer against him as he pushes you forward into the counter. His body pressed nearly entirely flush to yours.

"I'm telling you, you can't. We can't. Alastor, you and I both know this isn't going to end well." You try your best to chastise sternly but your resolve is starting to flutter at the familiar feeling of his warm breath washing over your neck.

"Please." He pleads as he draws closer. His desperation sounds so earnest. "I need this. Let me do this."

You don't want to admit to giving in; it'd be easier for you to accept it if he just did what he wanted regardless. But there is no hiding the way you tilt your head away to the side, baring your once again unblemished neck.

You close your eyes, bracing against what you know comes next.

You were a special kind of sick in the head.

"Merci, mon chou." He whispers tenderly before closing his arms around you and sinking his teeth into your flesh.

You do your best to remind yourself of the public space the two of you are in. Though the feeling of his searing bite burns with pleasurable pain throughout your body. It feels like the first time, if only a little less intense, but the sensation of it all still leaves you reeling with a miriade of thoughts and feelings.

Alastor brings his other arm up to wrap around your chest, keeping you firmly in his grasp preventing you from struggling out of it.

You have half a mind to remind him to slow down this time but your mind is spinning so far out of control you're unaware if you even have command over your own tongue anymore. A helpless moan falls from your lips as you feel him suck a little harder—deep pulls of your blood washing across his tongue.

You can feel his groan of satisfaction radiate through your whole body. It lights your nerves on fire; your body igniting with a desire you wish you could deny. He drags his claws teasingly along your exposed skin as he swallows another mouthful of your blood. A broken moan threatens to shatter the silence in the kitchen, his teasing claws immediately stopping to come clap over your mouth instead.

He unlatches from your neck long enough to scold you quietly. "Hush now, we wouldn't want to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves, would we?"

You have half a mind to retort despite his hand's prevention of such but a distant sound just beyond the kitchen door changes the direction of both of your attention. Your brain has begun to go fuzzy the way it had before, though enough of your wherewithal remains to know you most certainly didn't want to be caught with Alastor—let alone letting him use you as a personal snack.

"See?" He whispers quietly into your ear.

If his grip on you wasn't so tight, and if the lights weren't shifting the way they were, you'd kick him in the fucking shin.

The hand grasping your hip begins to slowly move—his claws delicately tracing along the exposed skin around your stomach and thighs, teasing you by gradually dragging beneath the hem of your shorts. He gently kisses around the fresh new wound, his lips staining with the crimson leaking from you. His tongue laps slowly along the outside of it, savoring each drop of blood you shed for him. You squirm within his hold, the effort to remain quiet becoming increasingly difficult as he remains determined in his actions.

"I fear I may never be sated by you, my dear. You've cursed me with a ravenous hunger that I seem helpless to control. I refuse to suffer this bane alone, if I must go mad, then I'll take you with me." His voice is ragged and raw with want and need.

You go to say his name but his hand presses tighter to your mouth cutting off any sound that may escape. He rolls his hips into you, his desire pressing wantingly against your plush ass. He's beginning to unravel just the same as he had the days prior. And just as days prior, there's little you do to push back and stop him.

How long could you pin him with the sole blame?

The movements of his wandering hand grow bolder as he begins to dance along the the outside of your covered core. You're almost sure he can feel the heat radiating from you, the intense need you have to feel him inside you once more—even with your tune having been much different not minutes prior.

You used to have so much conviction…

He's forced to suppress another sound from escaping you when his fingers begin to increase pressure against your clit. Your body twitching violently within his grasp for a moment.

You can faintly make out the sounds growing louder outside the kitchen door. It doesn't hit you're hearing footsteps approaching until you hear a familiar voice call out to you.

"Hey Hellcat, you in there?" Lucifer's bright voice calls slightly muffled through the door.

You turn your head as much as you can to stare at Alastor in wide eyed panic and shock.

There's a moment you can see the wheels turning in his brain, a decision being settled on as a variety of ideas flowed through his manic brain. All you can do is hope that his need for privacy wins against his need to flaunt over Lucifer.

You feel him press his lips to your temple, shushing you gently as you watch your vision flood momentarily with inky blackness. When it clears in the next minute, you realize you've not moved far. Alastor and you remain pressed tightly together, his hands remaining in the positions they were, except now your pressed against the small counter area within the walk in pantry.

Not exactly much more private, but something tells you Alastor was still eager to play whatever games he could get away as you hear the kitchen door loudly swing open in the other room.

"Luna?" Lucifer calls out into the now empty kitchen.

You know he can see that you were clearly in the middle of cooking, not sure if he'd assume you'd stepped away for a moment and decide to wait for your return. Usually you'd want nothing more than to see him, but with your current position of compromise, you were determined to not be found by him at any costs.

"You make a sound and it's game over darling." Alastor whispers in your ear as you feel his hand rapidly slip beneath your waistbands.

Your squirming from earlier returns tenfold as he begins his physical taunts. You try your best to keep silent but it results in all the protest coming out through your movements. You feel additional sensations surrounding your ankles, similar to when you were in his bed. You look down to see two of his shadow tendrils winding their way up your long legs to pin you in place. You can't help the whimper fighting to get past his muzzle when two of his fingers plunge intently into your soaking core.

"What would our illustrious leader think if he walked in and saw you now. My fingers buried in your sopping cunt, your blood staining my lips. Do you think he'd favor you the same after?" His voice is taunting and cruel even with its hushed tone.

You so desperately want to fight against him, yet you knew causing a fuss would only result in the fallen angel's discovery of you two.

The fingers rocking a steady pace inside you serve as further distraction from any potentially clear or coherent thoughts.

At your lack of resistance and cooperation in keeping quiet Alastor praises you with a barely audible, "Good girl."

It isn't long after when he adds a third finger into your waiting heat. You can't help the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, the combination of the praise and pleasure making your mind go blank for a moment. Your breathing grows hurried behind his hand, the effort of suppressing your sounds leaving you with no other options. You can feel him press it tighter against you as his fingers increase their speed.

Your legs flagrantly shake as his pace remains unfaltered. The shadows slither up the length of your legs keeping you more stable within his hold. The cold sensation of them is a sharp contrast to the ardent heat you feel in the rest of your body. The mixed slew of sensations tips you to the point of overwhelm. You force yourself to focus on the pattern of the wood counter you're pressed against. The various swirls and shapes keeping enough of your attention to prevent the indecorous scream threatening to come free.

You can barely make out the sound of Lucifer still being in the kitchen. Alastor remains unrelenting, seemingly determined to make you break despite the threat of exposure looming closely in the room over.

"You look so beautiful, spread out like this for me." His breath tickles along the back of your neck. "Look how much you're shaking. Are you going to cum for me Lune? Fall apart on my fingers?"

Your eyes close, no longer able to give your focus to anything other than Alastor. You want to deny him. God did you want to deny him. But his unrelenting pace, along with his tight grasp allows for no disobedience. Your climax rapidly rushes to the surface before breaking through and shattering your resolve entirely.

You can't prevent the way your body shudders and clenches as your violently forced through your orgasm. It feels as if there will be no reprieve granted as he remains unfaltering. Just when your body is about to reach a level of unbearable sensitivity, he finally slows.

Waves of shame hit you almost instantly upon coming down from your high. You'd let it happen again. This time almost felt worse. Despite only coming apart on his fingers, the humiliation of it burns hotter than the night you'd had prior. And with Lucifer in the other room no less.

Oh fuck…

"So good for me. Look at how much you just came. Such a good girl." Alastor praises as he returns to lapping up what blood remained staining your skin.

You feel his fingers slip from you, leaving you with a momentary aching emptiness. He lifts his claws in front of you to see—faint sticky strands of your slick stretching between the digits. The sight leaves you with a fresh round of mortification.

"You're quite messy, aren't you?" He chuckles softly, rubbing two of his fingers together in fascination.

You're filled with relief when you feel his grip loosen—the shadows around your legs slinking back into the cracks and corners of the small space. He remains standing close, making sure you don't instantly collapse.

Somewhere in your mind you're aware of the kitchen door once again opening and closing. Though most of your focus remains on catching your breath and composing yourself. The turmoil brewing within you was beginning to feel too comfortable for your liking. You manage to slowly turn around to come face to face with Alastor once more.

He flashes you a cocky smirk as his tongue flashes out to lick up the mess you'd left all over his fingers and hand. You didn't realize just how much he had affected you. More shame beginning to compound on the rest.

You point a threatening finger up at him. "You dumb ass. Don't do that. Ever again." You try to keep your voice stern and serious, though a slight waver remains—revealing you aren't as confident as you're attempting to seem.

His grin widens.

Your scowl deepens.

You turn on slightly still unsteady legs and storm as best you can out of the pantry. You're grateful that the kitchen indeed is empty once more. You can't help the sigh of relief it draws from you. One less complication for you to currently worry about.

You glance at the pot on the stove before deciding the importance of gathering yourself back together trumps over dinner preparations. You'd still have plenty of time to finish it. Your sanity was currently a little more pressing of a matter.

"Come now, my dear. You were absolutely lovely. There's no need to be so worked up. I rather enjoyed your little performance."

You whip around to throw him a dangerous glare. "Don't try and charm your way out of this one."

"You think I'm charming?" He tilts his head to the side, his simper still large and satisfied.

You release a snarl of frustration. Your body running rampant with endorphins and emotions you're unable to reign under control. You again make to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Alastor asks exasperatedly.

You throw him one last glower over your shoulder. "Anywhere you fucking aren't."

~

Alastor felt self assured and satisfied the rest of the day. His victory over your earlier interaction a high he continued to ride. He was so sure that you'd show back up to finish the dinner you'd begun, but as the hours ticked past and the day wore on, you never did.

It left him feeling a bit puzzled but he tried not to allow himself to dwell on it much. It was easy for him to brush off. Or it was, until he couldn't.

When they're all sat around the table, the single empty chair draws more attention than he'd like to it. Lucifer offering it a particular scrutiny.

"Does anyone know where Luna is? I thought she cooked dinner tonight." Charlie asks the question everyone is pondering.

"Ya know, I didn't realize it until now, but I haven't seen Luney all day. We were supposed to hang out this afternoon but she never came to find me." Angel adds amidst the sound of spoons clinking against bowls.

At his daughter's question, Lucifer's eyes cut to Alastor's across the table. Regarding him with a sharp glare. "Yeah, I thought I heard her cooking earlier this afternoon. In fact I could have sworn I heard you and her talking in the kitchen earlier, but when I came looking it seemed as if she had just abandoned everything mid prep. You don't happen to know anything about that, do you Alastor?"

"Your ears must be playing tricks on you, your highness. I took care of the meal preparation for this evening. Our resident moonlight has not graced me with the honor of her provocation today." To the rest of the residents he appeared no different than his usual self, but on the inside he was beginning to panic. Lucifer's suspicions were starting to grate on his nerves, and for the first time in Alastor's afterlife—he began to fear the potential repercussions for his actions.

The sheer notion was frivolous. He feared nothing, feared no one.

"You can pretend to be innocent all you want, but you and I both know you're not." Lucifer's features harden more and more as he watches Alastor.

The air in the room begins to shift, dinner once again turning into a disastrous event. The room almost seeming to begin holding a collective breath.

"Dad, come on. I'm sure Alastor is telling the truth, maybe Luna's just not doing good again today. You said she was feeling sick the other day, didn't you?" Charlie tries to gently deescalate.

It seems even without you in the room, dinner can no longer remain a peaceful event.

"Yeah, but that happened right after something happened between her and this fucking prick. What did you do to her Alastor?" His tone leaves no room for argument, calling immediate bullshit on the other man's behavior.

"I think the self imposed isolation you put yourself into for all those years has made that royal brain of yours a bit neurotic." He cracks his neck to the side, sending the king a caustic grin.

Lucifer rises to his feet, his eyes turning red, his horns sprouting in his anger. "I know something happened you fucker!"

"Innocent until proven guilty." Alastor shrugs with a casual air, leaning back in his chair seemingly unbothered. "Besides, with how close the two of you are getting, don't you think she would have told you if something had?"

There's a flash of pain across Lucifer's face before it's once more replaced with a hateful glower. A low growl rumbling from his chest as he continues to stare down the Overlord. "You will not touch her. I swear, if I find out you laid a hand on her, I will tear you limb from limb and see how you like your screams being broadcasted across Hell."

How does it feel to already be so late to a promise? Alastor can't help but muse to himself. He forces himself to keep his composure despite Lucifer's threat sending a very real sense of fear through him for a moment. The mere thought leaving him apprehensive, still he projects confidence. "Are you done now?" He sneers at Lucifer as if he were a petulant child throwing a tantrum. "If so I think I'll take my leave for the night. Since you have no evidence to your claims."

Lucifer's brows furrow, his frustration and anger remaining evident. Still he forces himself to calm enough to shift his features back. "If you're going to be a smart ass, you first have to be smart. If not, than you're just being an ass." He bites out with bitter contempt.

"I've been called worse things by better people." Alastor rises to his feet, his heart thudding uncharacteristically inside his chest. He needed to retreat and collect himself once more, the outcome of tonight's dinner not being as he had initially anticipated. "Good evening."

The rest of the room watches as he dissolves into the shadows at his feet, leaving everyone to turn their attention solely to Lucifer. He's suddenly filled with anxiety at the realization that—to the rest of them—his behavior may seem unmerited. Even with how much of an asshole Alastor was, no one knew why Lucifer's concern was so founded.

He hadn't been entirely sure until this evening, but after the altercation that just transpired, his fears felt much more based. Lucifer had no proof that Alastor was cursed as a Starved, but knowing you carried the Craved's curse—there was enough worry to leave him fearful about that potential outcome.

He never wanted to be so wrong about something in his life.

~

Taglist: @angeldustharmony @jugodefrutitaa

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

Chapter Eight: Starved for Attention

~

Masterlist

AO3

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Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Nothing really of note. Small allusions to Reader's tragic death. The usual crass language.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: So this chapter somehow ended up the introductory lore chapter so for those of you have been curious about some of all that, here's a little bit of an opener. It'll get more explained in later chapters but this provides a good base level. As per usual I'd love to hear your thoughts. I know people don't engage like they used to on fanfics but it'd be nice to hear what some of ya'll are thinking. Besides I love responding to comments and making new friends, I promise I'm not scary, quite the opposite actually haha. Enjoy the chapter <3

If you want to be added to the taglist just leave me a reply or ask letting me know.

Sitting across from Lucifer—not five or so hours later—playing a some what casual game of chess while balancing a strangely heavy conversation. The library was expansive and vast, walls lined floor to ceiling with grand and small sweeping bookcases. Various different ladders scatter across disparate sections of the space. You've only been in here a small handful of times since first taking up residence a few weeks ago, but it could easily be classified as your favorite room in the hotel—next to the kitchen that is. The library had one thing the kitchen didn't, an absence of Alastor. And in today's instance, you got the bonus of being accompanied by the pretty angel.

Even with the intense topic you'd landed on conversing, subtle quips were still slid between your strategic moves across the board. Each of you have a steaming mug of tea set off to the side, somehow—despite having been in here near an hour or so now—they still remained the same perfectly heated temperature as when he'd first brought them in.

You decided to remain in the same outfit you'd put on earlier when he'd first requested to keep you company. As you'd allowed your body time to properly rest, the wounds covering your frame had begun to heal at the significant rate you'd grown accustomed to by now. The only things that still remained obvious were the perfect captures of Alastor's teeth. They too had faded but when seen in any serious light, there was still no denying what the distorted and paling marks were.

Thus the blasted clothes remain.

Thankfully the aches and pains in your body had subsided alongside everything else in the healing process. It was easier to keep your usual casual composure when every movement didn't make you want to cry out in distress.

You stare at the board before you. You've reached the rough halfway mark of the game, a good portion of each your pieces captured by one another throughout the play time. You regard your queen where it remains in its original position. The choice was a tactical one to leave her behind the safety of your other pieces. But now, as Lucifer's moves became increasingly more crucial—it was only fair yours reflected the same.

"Sure, there's plenty I wish I could forget. Wouldn't you?" You respond to his prior question, moving your queen to take his white rook at three C.

You were not near anywhere as old as the royal fallen angel, but to him, you were still a rarity—Sinner's weren't likely to have survived as long as you between the regular workings of Hell and the prior annual exterminations. To him you seemed like a beautiful enigma, an intricate puzzle he was desperate to get his hands on to unravel and solve. You held yourself with a grace and confidence not often seen in others, not even the eldest of Overlords or power filled Sinners could rival the way you carried about. Granted you were also an intellectual, crass mouthed wise-ass, but it was your overall aura. An old soul in every sense of the word.

Lucifer looks up at you where you're curled upon the large wing back chair across from him. You've wrapped your legs up in a soft red throw blanket, the sleeves of your sweater pulled up into your hands. You look much better than you had this morning when he'd initially come to check on you. Your usual warm color was back, your eyes looking much less drained and dead. He was unused to seeing you wear clothes like this, but he couldn't help admitting quietly to himself just how good the black looked against your color palette. Even in proper full clothes, your aesthetic clearly carried over.

His gaze moves back to the board, studying it to judge the best course of action for his next move. He ponders your question—the expanse of eons worth of memories flashing through his mind's eye at a rapid pace. He'd been through so much, he'd experienced so much pain—witnessed so much suffering. He may as well be the creator of the worst of humanity, his good deed going eternally punished all because he wanted humans to think for themselves. He truly believed they were never meant to be mindless drones in the first place, there is no way that's what his father had planned that for them before going away and leaving everything to unravel the way it did.

He'd done the right thing, but at what cost?

Eternally shunned from a family that claimed to love him no matter what, exiled into a life of witness to to all that is cruel, evil, and corrupt in this world. Not to mention the curse placed upon him and many of the denizens of Hell. How clever and funny Heaven must have thought themselves when they bestowed this one upon them, the Coveted and the Covetous they called them.

Though the ones privy to the knowledge here in Hell would be more likely to call them the Starved and the Craved.

He has no doubt in his mind it was Gabriel who must have insisted on his particular flavor of the curse. He was still an angel after all—there were some things even Heaven couldn't rip from him, no matter how much his older siblings would have liked to try. Unlike the others cursed to be Starved, his ability to taste and enjoy the consumption of regular food remained. He just had the lovely addition of salivating for the Craved just as much as the rest. Even now, with you sat directly in front of him he was subconsciously tamping down the urge to lunge at you—consequences be damned.

But oh Gabriel…

It couldn't have only been that, could it? No dear older brother had to afflict him with the Craved's curse just as equally. Even being the king of Hell himself, there were some Starved who let their hellish given instincts get the better of them, clouding their judgment to the point where they'd make the most reckless and dangerous decision of their after lives. None had yet landed a bite on him, but plenty sure made an attempt to do such.

It was his ultimate punishment. He could have found a place for himself on the throne, found some gratification in ruling over it all. But the constant fighting of the two instinctual sides waging war daily in him was truly the definition of penance—his own personal hell.

Would he forget any of what he'd been through?

Though he wouldn't be who he is today if it weren't for it all.

"No, ultimately I think it's better I remember. If not, I feel everything I did—everything I've been through—it was all for nothing." He settles on his move, his knight—which you had not taken notice of when previously moving—slides in a perfect move to capture your queen, eliminating it from the board.

"Mother fucker…" You mutter dejectedly under your breath.

"Don't take it too hard hellcat, I've been playing chess since before you could even be thought of as a concept." He flashes you a wickedly charming smile—devilishly handsome would be putting it lightly.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." You wave him off, though a grin still lingers boldly on your face.

You pick up your mug, savoring a long sip of the lightly sweetened early gray. You don't know how he'd managed it but Lucifer had brewed the most perfect cup of tea you'd had the pleasure of drinking. Your smile spreads as the warmth spreads through your body and mind.

Lucifer's company was easy to be in—some of the most pleasant to be had in the hotel. There was a part of you that felt so seen and cared for when in his presence. You couldn't help but muse on how far opposite he was from Alastor, from who he is as a person—right down to the very way he treated you, the things he made you feel.

What a harsh juxtaposition to the Radio Demon.

"Going back for a second though, you really wouldn't forget anything? Nothing?"

He shakes his head. "No, not really, I guess. You must've been through a lot to argue so adamantly otherwise."

You can't help but turn you head away in shame, your mind momentarily clouding up with the shame of your history both dead and alive. "I don't know, to me… sometimes memories feel like the worst kind of torture."

Your words burrow into him, muddling about in his brain. He supposes he could understand where you were coming from, even with a different answer of his own.

"You've been through quite a bit, haven't you?"

When you lift your eyes to meet his you see nothing but earnest consideration for your ill hidden distress.

"Something like that. It's hard to talk about—hard to think about all that's happened. All the things I've been through." You look down at where your hands rest in your lap. Subconsciously beginning to pick at the stray threads around the edges of your sleeves. You shrug. "I don't know… sorry, I'm not trying to ruin our good mood."

You didn't know it possible, but his features soften further. Though your eyes aren't on him to notice, his hand twitches with the need to reach out and comfort you. You looked so sad, something Lucifer knew all too intimately about. He recognized the loneliness in your gaze, one he was so used to seeing everyday in his mirror.

For the first time in his long life time, he's recognized the signs of falling for another. Each new thing he learned or discovered about you, it all simply added to it. He wanted to know it all, he'd be happy to spend the eternity it would take with you to have such.

You were so beautifully unique—special.

What he wouldn't give for you to not be damned as Craved, a thought he finds himself thinking almost daily since your introduction. The sentiment being renewed even now, the scent of you filling the small space between you causing his teeth ache with the need to pierce your flesh—to experience your sweet forbidden taste.

He can't decide whether or not he would tenderly pull the sweater off to the side or if he'd run out of patience and opt to shred the fabric instead. How nice the flawless expanse of your throat would look, the perfect place for him to claim you with his teeth.

He forces himself to shake his head, as if he could physically clear the depraved thoughts away. "Oh please don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't have asked, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He does his best to reassure quickly.

"You didn't! I promise. Like I said… it's just a lot…" You try your own bit of consoling, offering him up a soft but genuine smile alongside.

You really were so endeared to him.

If you thought about it too much, it scared the absolute shit out of you.

"Never feel pressured to talk about something you don't want to. You don't have to worry about that with me."

Your eyes lock with his.

"Thank you Lucifer."

A natural lull settles between you two for now giving the time you needed to look over the board. You were coming down to the end stage of the game, it seemed pretty clear that Lucifer would be a repeat winner, however that didn't prevent you from having hope that you may have some sheer dumb luck and take this game. After a moment or so you settle on the decision to move the pawn forward that you had on the left side of the board.

"I don't think advancing your pawn is going to do what you think it will." He chides cockily.

"A well placed pawn can be more powerful than a king. Never underestimate it."

He raises a brow at you. "I want to argue with you but even I know I'd be wrong."

"Exactly. Besides, at the end of the game, the king and the pawn get put back into the same box."

He chuckles, advancing his remaining bishop to five E. "Never short on clever are you?"

"Never leave home without it." You throw him a teasing wink.

Time passes by in the course of a few more moves. Both of you giving most of your attention and focus to the game at hand. Lucifer seemed determined to claim a second victory, whilst you remained determined to steal your first. You can't help but occasionally peak up at him, watching his perfect face contort with intense contemplation.

In the end, Lucifer ends up victorious, a large—but not obnoxiously boastful—grin flashing brightly across his face.

"I'll beat you one of these days. It's now earned its place as a priority goal." You throw your hands up in defeat before crossing them in front of your chest. You slump down further into the plush cushions, a faux pout on your lips. "I almost had you though."

He laughs shaking his head. "If that's what you want to tell yourself, go ahead."

"Oh alright then, fuck you I guess." You imitate a petulant child as you stick your tongue out in his direction.

He regards you for a second, mirth twinkling in his pale yellow eyes. "You know, you're pretty fun to be around. I kinda like you."

"Please don't do that to yourself." You deflect with a small chuckle of dejection.

"Well now what's that supposed to mean?"

You pull your arms tighter to your chest, the sudden realization of being perceived by Lucifer in this moment settles uncomfortably beneath your skin. You weren't opposed to opening up to other people—god knows you'd shared plenty with Husk and Angel—but the devil felt… different. You don't want to clam up on him or shut down completely so you do your best to push through, if at least just for a little.

"I'm kinda the living embodiment of 'it could be worse', it somehow ends up extending to those around me. I'm great company, with a price." You try to jest lightly.

You don't see with the position of your downcast eyes, but Lucifer's eyes fill with sympathy—the reflection he's glanced between you prior further solidifying your similarities in this moment.

"Well if your the embodiment of it, my life is the definition 'it could be worse'. I think that makes us great the perfect pair of companions."

He can't help but grin at the melodious laughter that draws from you. It's obvious you're still trying to keep your walls up, to defend yourself against the potential of letting them down for someone new. It makes the reward of your audible joy all the more satisfying.

"Thanks Lucifer. I wish I knew how to talk about all of it… I'm sorry I don't." You still feel on edge, stress worked up around your edges as the present wavers briefly with your past.

"If you're ever able, I'm here to listen. You don't have to be alone, Luna."

Oh god his sincerity made your stomach flutter and your heart stutter in your chest.

You have to draw your eyes back away from his to prevent your cheeks from heating further.

"You wanna play another round?"

"Why not." You grin.

You each take your respective pieces and set up your sides of the board. The chess set that had taken up residence in the library was ornately designed, it looked like a piece of art work when just set upon a table. Lucifer had explained it's origins to you, the black pieces you played with were carved from the obsidian found in the deepest pits in Hell. The white pieces he used were carved from ivory of a long dead beast that had been slain in the wild lands surrounding the Wrath ring. Both materials had been carved into intricately cut patterns, each piece done in a detailed rendition of the original source inspiration. The board was made from black and white marble, the outside border crafted from a dark apple wood from an orchard down in Gluttony. The thick sides of the board were engraved with apples and snakes.

He'd told you that it was a gift given to him by his siblings—the Sin's—for his birthday one year. It'd been a joint effort gift, something they'd all wanted to have done special for him. It was one of his most precious treasures that had come from that lot.

You were a bit shocked he'd have something so special put in one of the hotel's public spaces, expressing as such directly to him. He chuckled softly, reminding you exactly how long he's been around in the grand scale of the universe and beyond. You guess you could understand where he was coming from when he explained that even his most beloved gifts from loved ones still didn't hold quite the weight they might for others. After all he's been alive to receive many, many gifts.

"Besides, I feel like I should be able to trust a hotel full of dead adults."

"Well, everyone but Alastor." You joke.

"Oh god, don't even get me started on that cursed radio deer." Lucifer scowls at his rival's mention. He moves his first pawn forward from C two to C four.

"You hate him as much as I do don't you?" You follow with your own first move, E seven to E five.

"I'm not sure hate is a strong enough emotion. More like intense loathing? You know very well he's just as insufferable to co-exist with as I do. I mean seriously, I would have preferred anyone else show up to offer Charlie their help. Even the creepy hypno TV that runs most of the Pride ring's tech industry would have been preferable to that wretched, insufferable Sinner." There's an underlying growl in Lucifer's tone that he's unable to hide. You can't help but be a bit amused because of it.

"I couldn't agree more. Is fuck you an emotion? Because I sure feel that one for him a lot." Your mind flashes with a picture reel of encounters with the detestable demon. It takes everything in your power to prevent such but all of it ends up with your mind running the highlights of last night.

His claws dragging deep grooves into your back around your wings, trailing down long beyond your thighs. His teeth searing their painful memory into your neck. The feeling of him so deep inside you there was no longer any ability to determine where either of you ended or began. For a second it's interchangeably cut back to a scene between the two of you in the kitchen. Alastor correcting your cooking technique and belittling you in a way that hit a little too close to what you grew up hearing.

How had both of those experiences been with the same man?

It was baffling, truly.

"Luna?" Lucifer cuts through your contemplative haze.

"Huh? Sorry I didn't process what you said." Your cheeks heat with embarrassment from being so obviously caught up and distracted by your thoughts.

"I was just saying how dangerous I think it is. I have no doubts of your powers and capabilities, truly I'm sure you can handle yourself perfectly fine. I'm just a worried that Alastor is a bit too… unpredictable." He finishes in apprehension, his expressions marred with distress at the potential harm that you could befall from the Overlord.

God knows Lucifer would hate to see it.

You flash him a bold, daring smile. "Well yeah it's dangerous, that's why it's fun."

"Hey Rome wasn't built in a day, but it burnt in one."

"You saying I'll be burnt to ashes?" You raise your brow at his strange version of concern.

"I'm just saying, be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"You'd be surprised how familiar I am with the feeling of flames." Your eyes find your hands once more, your neatly trimmed nails picking anxiously at the skin of your cuticles.

For a moment you can feel your brain growing fuzzy—distant. You can't help but internally tense as you hear the echo of your screams rippling back from the past. The ignition of the wood beneath your feet filling with the thick smell of earthy smoke. The searing feeling of agony that had begun the second the flames licked at your bare legs and feet. The wood smoke quickly grew tinged with the smell of burning flesh that rose up from beneath you. Even hundreds of years later you can't banish the image of your lower half being consumed by the hellish fire. The ultimate punishment for your wrong doings. If your only crime had been that of being a witch, it would have simply just been your demise on that pyre. But what haunted you most, was everything that had come before. The true penalty they found you guilty of, perversion of your own flesh. The other witches that had been burned, oh they suffered plenty, but no, a witch like you, born with something different between your legs than what's 'natural' for a woman, and they were eager to see you bleed before cleansing the Earth of you with their 'holy flames'.

The only solace you had was knowing that you'd made them bleed tenfold for their sins in return. It didn't heal you, not even a little—but the peace found from it was enough justification. They hadn't deserved the gift of a second chance in the after life, not after hurting so many. It really wasn't even entirely about revenge for yourself, moreso revenge for the others.

You don't realize how many minutes have passed while you've been caught up in your head, silently countering Lucifer's moves across the board. You've captured three of his pieces, the detailed ivory pieces sitting peacefully on your side of the table. Lucifer has four of yours on his.

"How long have you been practicing your craft for?" He looks up at you with wide curiosity filled eyes.

You weigh and consider your options in telling him. This wasn't like Alastor's interrogations, he wasn't delving and prying for information he could later exploit the use of, he was a person wanting to get to know his friend. There was so much that you didn't want to open up to him about—that you weren't ready to open up about—but you suppose it wouldn't hurt to offer up a bit of honesty.

"Longer than Charlie's been alive, that's for certain." You reach beside you to take another sip of your tea. "I started back on Earth. It was a passing curiosity I dabbled in originally, nothing more than a puzzle I was interested in learning about, but after no time at all, it became my life."

You smoothly glide your bishop into G four, diagonally across from his queen. The move made in an attempts to pressure the devil into preemptively putting the powerful piece into play. You grin as his brow noticeably twitches into a frown.

"You have a teacher? An elder witch that took you under her wing?" His eyes scan the pieces in earnest, doing his best to ascertain the ideal next course of action.

You try not to show your melancholy when shaking your head softly in response. "No, I kinda ended up figuring it all out on my own. Just me, myself, and I, against the world—unstoppable… until I wasn't…" You aren't sure what compels you to give him such honesty but you don't kick yourself as hard as you usually would for it, not this time at least.

Why does his expression make your heart clench and your breath cease?

"Luna…"

Why does empathy from others hurt so much?

You'll never know where the rest of the conversation would end up because from the span of one breath to the next, the library doors swing open loudly, the ornate iron knobs colliding roughly with wall.

Both your heads snap to the entrance below you, each of your eyes narrowing respectively as they make note of the new presence. The last demon you wanted to come face to face with today strides in like he doesn't have a single care in the world. His usual bright grin is secured firmly in place, not a single bit or part of him that seemed different or off. His regular air of arrogance follows him as he makes his way towards the upper balcony where the two of you reside playing your game.

His eyes lock tightly onto yours as he ascends the small staircase to your little alcove. Distantly you make note of the rolling thunder echoing through the window behind you.

You have the sudden urge to launch something at his head, his appearance so soon after last night is…less than ideal. Your storm of emotions has been put to the wayside, allowing the pretty angel to distract you had been far more preferable after waking up.

Maybe you could lob your mug at his head. The tea still a temperature that could inflict damage.

Fuck, why did he always ruin everything?

"What're you doing here? Don't you know the trash gets picked up tomorrow?" Lucifer sneers up at Alastor as he finally closes the gap between you all.

Alastor's grin splits a little wider as he regards the seated blonde. "Must I have a reason to be here? The library is one of the public rooms, is it not?" He tilts his head sardonically in question.

"There are plenty of other places one can sit in here, why don't you go find one of those?" You're fighting desperately the urge to just violently scream at him to go the fuck away.

"I'm rather fine here actually, thank you very much. Though it's kind of you to offer." He brings the tip of his cane to boop you lightly on the nose.

You growl already frustrated with this turn in your afternoon's events, you'd been really enjoying your time with Lucifer, of course Alastor had to ruin it. It was like he had an uncanny sixth sense for being able to detect whether or not you were in a good mood he could ruin.

"Really? Can you not go anywhere else? You're not exactly my favorite person today."

"Dear, I'm not your favorite person any day."

"Yeah well I think you know why it's especially the case today."

His eyes twinkle with the promise of destructive mischief. "Truly, you wound me." He splays his hand against his chest in mock dismay.

"From the bottom of my cold, black heart, I don't give a fuck." You lean progressively closer to him with each word spoken. Your gaze boring intensely into him.

He rolls his eyes. "I think you curse entirely way too much."

"Bitch you breathe too much, shut the fuck up!" You slam your palm atop the table, repressing the desire to lunge at him.

"Woah, you guys really can't go two seconds." Lucifer marvels at the exchange he's just witnessed unfold. "Okay seriously, what happened? What the fuck did you say and or do to each other?"

"Nothing!" Yours and Alastor's voices loudly defend at the same time.

Lucifer leans back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. His face reveals that he's entirely unconvinced. "Uh huh…" He draws the sounds out slowly, his eyes narrowed and flicking between you both.

You fight the urge to throw a poisonous glare at Alastor, that one wasn't likely to go unnoticed by the other.

"Did you need something Alastor?" Lucifer finally questions after quickly boring of the lingering silence. Despite the tension in the room already being as awkward as it is, the silence bolstering it was making it worse. He never could help the way he'd squirm uncomfortably in discomfiting situations like this. Always one to make situations more awkward with extra words rather than potentially let the silence exacerbate it.

"I was on my way to procure some new reading material when I heard your voices, surely you can't blame me for wanting to say hello. It is the proper thing to do after all."

Your hands ache with the need to do something, causing you to reach for your mug. Your anxiety minorly mitigated. "Maybe you should shove your propriety up your ass." You grumble bitterly into the cup.

He rolls his eyes. "I heard that."

"You were supposed to." Your words sweet but curt.

"Alastor." Lucifer interjects. "You plan to be here much longer?"

He hums, regarding the two of you sat before him. Briefly the thought of you both splayed out, drenched respectively in gold and red sends a thrill through him though for separate reasons.

"I don't know, maybe. It's been quite some time since I've witnessed a match, I'd be thrilled to spectate."

"You know, some people cause happiness wherever they go. Others cause happiness when they leave. Like you Alastor. So why don't you grant me a bit of happiness?" Your grin is large, dangerous. Your patience is running thin and you'd love nothing more than to chuck him out the window.

You watch his eyes rake an obvious route up and down your form making note of your apparel. "A bit sore today, are we?"

You want nothing more than to be able to rip him and his shadows apart with your light.

You dig your nails into your palm and take a quiet breath. This was not the time or place—nor person—that you would be doing this with Alastor in front of.

You turn to Lucifer your grimace showing your regret. "We'll have to take a rain check to finish this one. I think I'm going to retire back to my room for now. I've had a really good time Lucifer, thank you." You smile warmly at him, doing your best not to let it crack when you see the frown marring his features.

"I've had a good time with you too Hellcat. I think some more rest would do you good. We'll see each other later, yeah?"

"I'd like nothing more." You turn to stand, doing your best to awkwardly shuffle and avoid Alastor as he refuses to move from how closely he stands beside the table.

You leave without another word, not even dignifying Alastor with the grace of a farewell, he certainly didn't deserve anything from you.

Alastor watches Lucifer as his eyes follow your retreat out of the library. It isn't until you've pulled the doors shut that Lucifer turns his attention back to him.

"Fuck you Alastor, why would you do something like that? Why didyou do that?" His pale face heats with crimson as he begins tearing into the Overlord.

"To cause problems, of course. Why else?" His grin is full of wicked glee.

"Just because you're honest about things doesn't exempt you from being an asshole."

"I never even implied it did."

"You're unbelievable!" Lucifer cries tossing his hands up in defeat.

Alastor chuckles. "Yes, I've been told I am."

~

Taglist: @angeldustharmony @jugodefrutitaa

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

Chapter Seven: L'espirit De L'esccalier

~

Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Tags/Warnings: The morning after but like make it hostile, the usual amount of profanity, peace?? we don't know her

Word Count: 4k

A/N: So I'm not entirely sure what I planned for this chapter initally but it wasn't this. However, I'm more happy with this than whatever else I might have written. These three have my heart and I'm constantly thinking about them. Anywhozeles...

I have begun a taglist for this fic, let me know if you'd like to be on it <3

When your eyes slide open to greet a new day—your consciousness delaying in its daily boot up sequence—you don't immediately remember where you are. You barely remember what's happened. Your body feels heavy and laden, subtle pains lighting up across it to make themselves known. Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of your surroundings. As you roll onto your side, a sharp stinging laces up from between your legs—a small gasp leaving you at the ache.

The weight of a body pressed close to yours fills you with a complex storm of emotions.

Oh no…

What had you two done?

Oh god, you had to get out of here.

You don't risk looking behind you, terrified to find your fellow demon awake. The hell he'd wrought upon your body makes itself more and more evident as you slowly shift into a sitting position. You can feel the pulse of the bite marks he'd left on your neck, the shallow recesses his nails had punctured and clawed into you, bruises where his grip was just a little too tight.

Fuck….

What the hell were you thinking?

You struggle to comprehend what exactly it was that would have compelled Alastor to act the way he did. The struggle is furthered by the confliction settled into your chest, a tight squeezing restriction that causes you momentary difficulty breathing. You don't know what caused such an intense snap inside your enemy—for him to one eighty so quickly in a different direction.

Good lord what would things be like now?

You needed to get out of here, give yourself space and time to think.

There's the need to give yourself a second of composure as you sit with your legs swung off the edge of the bed. You prop your elbows atop your thighs, the base of your palms pressing firmly into your closed eyes. The need to make a swift escape is still simmering beneath your skin but still, you take in a few breaths to steady yourself. It helps to quell the dizzy sensations swimming about in your brain.

Even by Hell's rapid regeneration standards, you were still missing a copious amount of blood in your sluggish dead veins. You hadn't realized exactly how much of your blood he'd drained. You hate that the mere recollection sends a pleasurable shiver through your entire body. The exhilaration he ignited from the action leaving you shaken and confused.

You can hear the subtle sounds of the bedding shifting behind you and make to quickly cover yourself up with your wings. Your eyes scan the dimly lit room for your discarded underwear and shorts—doing your best to chart a plan for the quickest escape out of here.

You make to stand, your legs shaking dangerously below you. You have to brace your hand on the night stand to make sure you remain upright. Your wings loosely cover you as you unsteadily move to pick your clothes up from the floor.

You turn just enough to catch sight of the red bastard you'd let bed you just hours ago. He's half propped up on the bed, the sheets hanging low around his hips, his lean scarred chest on display as he grins lazily at you. His eyes still hold sleep in them but there's a smug satisfaction buried within as well.

"One word from you, and I'll fucking set you on fire." You throw bitterly at him as you quickly throw your panties and shorts on despite your leg's continual quivering.

Fucking rough ass prick.

Once finished you move your wings back into their familiar position, feeling like you finally have a little more of your armor back in place.

He looks like he wants to disobey you regardless, the usual glint of malicious mischief so familiar before you.

"Don't." You bite, your finger jabbing in his direction as warning.

You turn, doing your best to make it to his door with what dignity you felt you may have left.

"Good morning to you too, mon chou."

Your body and mind—filled to the brim with exhaustion and turmoil—supplies you with no snappy witty remark.

"Fuck you, Alastor."

"Yes I think that's what may have transpired." His already bright grin is far too cocky and wide for your liking.

"Ugh!" You groan frustratingly.

You fling the door open with forceful fury, closing it behind you with precisely the same intensity. You grit your teeth as you partially limp your way down the hall. It takes you a moment to realize you don't exactly know where in the hotel you are. Despite your aimless wandering throughout the past nights, you hadn't made much of an effort to make note of the various floors and areas, not unless they were of importance. You grumble bitterly under your breath as you decide to just find the elevator and figure it out from there.

The amount of time it takes to find your way back into your own bedroom is more embarrassing than you'd like to admit to. The lights that lined the hallway pulsed slowly, the brightness combined with the rhythm making your head throb with a dull ache.

You collapse onto your bed almost instantly after crossing the threshold of your room, the curtains closed—the light already extinguished. You struggle to grapple with your consciousness for a few minutes, your mind a whirlwind of chaos and destruction. Intricate feelings weaving themselves in and about your brain. Ultimately though, the exhaustion of the past twelve or so hours catches up to you sending your mind tumbling back into the dark holes of unawareness.

~

Lucifer hunched over the kitchen counter, his phone on and open atop it, a steaming mug of coffee placed off to his left. There's a hard furrow between his brows as he reads through the various messages and notifications demanding his attention. It wasn't frequent that he'd sit and properly go through things, but every once in awhile there were things requiring his attention even he couldn't ignore.

He groans in dismay as he sees the latest round of messages in the Sin's group chat. For a bunch of ancient—basically primordial entities—they all acted like a bunch of children sometimes. Petty squabbles that seemed minuscule in the grand scheme of things but his siblings were Olympic gold medalists in holding grudges over one another. The exchange unfolding between Beelzebub and Mammon wasn't one that was anywhere near new.

Lucifer chews on his lip anxiously as he debates whether or not he should step in during this specific instance, worried that things might escalate if left unchecked.

His decision is made for him as the annoying shadow of the hotel makes his irritating presence known.

"Good Morning!" Alastor's performative chipper tone instantly grates on Lucifer's nerves.

He growls below his breath, powering off his phone with one hand as his other comes up to itch at his temples. Alastor was never the way he liked to start off his mornings.

"You know, I kinda hate how cheery you are in the mornings. Can you just go somewhere else right now? Your existence gives me a fucking headache."

"Somebody's cranky." He hums amusedly.

"Somebody needs to shut the fuck up." Lucifer barks bitterly.

"You know an ugly personality has a tendency to ruin a pretty face."

Lucifer quirks an eyebrow, not being able to prevent the smirk from spreading across his lips. "Aw, Bambi… You think I'm pretty?"

Alastor turns his nose up in disgust, his eyes flashing with contempt as he regards the king of Hell before him. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Hey, your words, not mine." Lucifer lifts up his hands in surrender.

"Why is our royal Thumbelina particularly grouchy this morning?"

Alastor moves further into the kitchen, his hands moving to busy themselves in making his morning cup of coffee. Pulling his 'Kill the cook' mug down from the various ones scattered about the shelf. The image he outwardly displays to his morning companion is more false than genuine, beneath the exterior Alastor is a tumultuous storm of emotions—though he'd rather reach a second grave than ever make Lucifer aware of such.

The events of the evening prior have left him feeling lost, the sense of properly losing control since first touching down in this hellish realm. It made him feel violent, feral, lost—scared. Though surely if he ignored it all, it would go away.

He wouldn't say he entirely regrets what transpired between the two of you last night. He would be lying if he said he hadn't been replaying scenes of it all in his head since waking up this morning. Your less than pleasant departure from his room was something he could have done without, but he supposes he should have expected as much. A little hellion like you would never be tamed so quickly.

He'd admired the damage that he had incurred upon your figure, the wounds already beginning to heal with the magic surrounding Hell, but he had been honest when he said he wasn't likely to remain gentle. He had felt so consumed by the need to consume you. He had never tasted something as divine as when your blood danced across his delicate palate. Every part of you swallowed his senses, a deep desire to devour you whole. He'd never once been made to feel as he did last night with you. Even still as he stood in the kitchen, his mind ran rampant with the thoughts of your taste, the way you smelled, the feeling of your body beneath his hands.

He momentarily has to shake his head in an attempt to physically rid himself of the thoughts, Lucifer's voice echoing off somewhere dully in the background.

"Alastor?" Finally breaks through the haze clogging up his mind.

"I'm listening to you, I'm just not paying attention."

Lucifer rolls his eyes so hard it's audible. "It is so like you to ask a question to not even listen or pay attention to the answer. You know you're pretty good evidence Darwin was right." He rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head and twisting slightly to each side in an effort to crack his tense back.

Alastor's eye twitches with irritation as he watches Lucifer take a drink from his mug. The words 'Duck my Life' plastered in red font across a yellow base.

He doesn't know what it was, but since Lucifer had first stepped foot in the hotel, Alastor has been desperate to rip out his throat. How lovely would the shorter man look, his pristine white suit drenched in golden angelic blood. He wasn't delusional enough to think that he'd ever be capable of permanently damaging the devil but the thought of putting a mark on him makes Alastor's jaw twitch with need.

"Have you seen Luna this morning?" Lucifer switches topic, powering off his phone and sliding it into his pocket. He waltzes over to the small sink at the island's other end to rinse his now empty mug. "She's usually out of bed and in here by now, isn't she?"

Alastor's claws dig harshly into the marble counter. This was certainly not the topic of conversation he wanted to be having with Lucifer, not with the tempest raging loudly in his mind—the cause of which lingered in the question posed. For once he was left entirely not sure on how to proceed. The last thing he wanted was anyone in the hotel to know what'd you two had done—what he'd done. Lucifer being at the top of his list consisting of those he'd really rather not want knowing.

"No, I haven't. And I'm certainly not her keeper, why would I know when she's out of bed." He keeps his hands busy as he fiddles with the familiar knobs and buttons on the coffee machine, producing his usual morning brew—something he was hoping desperately would ground and stabilize his thoughts.

"She's really gotten under your skin, huh?" Lucifer taunts from behind him, snide amusement stretching his features. "Fuck, she just might give me a run for my money, if a couple nights prior was of any indication."

Alastor's muscles tense, his entire body feeling like it's on edge—a scared predator ready to lash out and strike. Lucifer was already a particular brand of bothersome on a good day, but today—especially with the way he was feeling—Alastor felt inclined to put him through the wall, consequences be damned.

"A mere nuisance, nothing more." Alastor tries to keep his tone even, but even he can't help the static that pops and cracks in displeasure lined with the slightest edge of anxiety.

He was the Radio Demon for fucks sake, he needed to keep himself together.

"Hmhmm…." Lucifer hums stepping closer to the taller demon, grin still dancing tauntingly on his features. "Just try to keep yourself in check, alright? There will be no murdering of the residents under this roof, do you understand?"

"Perfectly." He bites sarcastically.

As if that was his plan for the little moth anyway. No, he'd never let death touch her. Her suffering was for him and him alone—he would have it no other way now.

There's a moment, as Lucifer is next to him that he catches a faint—yet strangely strong scent of fresh apple wafting off the hellish royal. It takes him off guard, the potency in which it hits him leaving him momentarily stunned.

A second later, it's gone.

He blinks, his eyes shifting to his side from which Lucifer has already left.

"I mean it though, Alastor. It's all fun and games till someone gets hurt." Lucifer's stern voices echoes from across the kitchen.

Alastor turns around, his signature grin sharp and ever present. "It's hell, Lucifer, all anyone does is hurt one other."

Lucifer groans, rolling his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. He knew how useless any conversation with the deer would be, let alone an attempt at a productive one. There's more he wants to say but he can feel his energy depleting, not holding near enough to continue further with the other man. With a sigh and shake of his head, he turns around, making his way out of the kitchen in search of another.

~

You don't know how long you've been asleep, but by your estimates, not nearly long enough. A loud knock resounds thunderously on your door, instantly causing your antennae to shake and your hands to smother the sound with your pillow.

"No…" You groan not ready to confront any new faces for the day.

You didn't want to do people today.

Granted you didn't want to do people on your best days, but fucking especially not today.

There's a part of you that hopes if you ignore them long enough—perhaps feign sleep—you might be left alone to exist as a personal disaster alone. You hold your breath, desperate to survive this within solitude.

The knocking raps loudly against the wood a minute or two after.

"Luna? You doing okay today? I thought I might expect to see you before now. You feeling alright?" Lucifer's concerned tone filters gently through the door.

You let out a quiet groan into the pillow covering your face. Lucifer was just about the last person you wanted to see right now.

Fuck my afterlife.

"I'm fine, just feeling a little under the weather—might be… coming down with something. I think it's best I stay in here for the day." You try to keep your tone soft yet still loud enough for him to hear.

"Can I come in for a minute? Check on you face to face?"

God, his concern sounded so genuine.

Kind.

You force yourself to sit up, soft spills of morning light peaking through your curtains allow for you to see your reflection in the mirror you had stationed in the corner. You can still see the damage that had been wrought by Alastor's dangerous and immoral hands. Both sets of bite marks remaining the darkest of your grisly gallery of evidence he'd left.

Not exactly something you were keen on him seeing. Still, you didn't want to outright refuse his company, you were quickly growing fond of the fallen angel and you didn't want to seem rude or dismissive. Still, the timing was… less than ideal.

"Can you give me a minute?"

"Of course!" He responds blithely.

You look desperately to your closet for a second knowing you'd have to put on some of your cursed fucking clothes to cover your less than ideal battle wounds. You'd be lying if you didn't say you felt like you'd been mauled. You loathe that there were parts that you couldn't even pretend to hate.

Good gods you had a fucking problem.

You throw on a black pair of leggings, the moon phases done in pale white climbing up the sides of each leg. They're the easy part, it's the damnable black turtle neck, that you glare at with a special flavor of contempt, that is the real trouble. Despite the large gaping hole you had cut in the back to comfortably fit your wings through, wearing tops felt like hell when compared to your usual way of wearing your wings.

You try to keep your grumbling and cursing to a minimum as you slip into the soft wool fabric. You let your wings hang loosely folded against your back, so unused to having them like this.

You stand in front of the mirror so you can assure that the collar is high enough to cover the damage on your neck. Your eyes are still worn, a look of exhaustion permeating your entire being—though you suppose that wasn't something you were entirely capable of changing. You shrug at yourself deeming it just good enough.

You take a deep breath to wrangle any lost control before opening the door to the short angel before you. Sometimes you felt yourself getting a bit self conscious about being taller than the king of Hell himself, but then you realized just about everyone was taller than the man, making you feel just a tiny bit better. He smiles sweetly up at you, regarding you with a kindness you're so unused to with others.

"Hey hellcat, you look like you could be doing better." He quirks a brow at you, assessing your weary appearance. "You really must of meant it when you said you might be coming down with something."

You pull your sleeves down to curl your hands around, holding onto each one like a safety line. You cross your arms over your chest, hoping to make your anxiety a little less obvious.

"Heh, yeah. I don't get sick often, but when I do." You shrug, trying your best to keep your composure casual.

"You're looking a bit pale, are you sure you're okay?" Lucifer asks, crossing the threshold of your bedroom and reducing the space laying between you two.

You can't help but prevent the small step back you take in retreat, Lucifer's sudden advancement on you startling you before you could prevent yourself from showing as such.

"Are you sure you're okay?" His brows furrow with tension, worry etching across the lines of his flawless face.

The ability to keep your features placid is beginning to fail you at a rapid speed. You try not to outwardly cringe at your little folly, you really didn't want Lucifer asking questions that were best left avoided for now—especially when you didn't have any of the answers for yourself.

You try to wave him off dismissively, despite doing your best to still keep your distance. "Yeah, just really tired. I'm uh…" You trail off, your eyes finding a spot on the floor particularly interesting. "Fine." You finish, trying not to wince from how fucking unconvincing you sound to both your sets of ears right now.

"Uh huh…" Lucifer eyes you skeptically. "Did something happen between you and Alastor?"

Ah, there it is. Of course he would just jump in and ask you.

Fuck you were shit at lying.

Still, the show must go on…

"Other than our usual disaster every other day? Nothing's happened." Regardless of you being so clearly on edge even through claimed exhaustion, you try your best to put on and project a casual air.

Lucifer regards you in a way you know says he's entirely unconvinced but still he doesn't immediately pry further.

"You need some company? I don't really have any plans for the day, I'd be uh," He progressively gets more awkward as he trails on, seeming to suddenly lose his confidence along the way. "Happy to hang out or something." He chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "You know, if you need it."

You can see the pain of his inelegance across his face, you can see the way his body physically cringes in response to it. It took you off guard sometimes, just how painfully awkward the devil himself was. It was entirely all too endearing—causing a grin to spread across your face you were helpless to prevent.

You give him a soft grin of your own in response. "That's really sweet of you to offer Lucifer, really. But I'd hate for you to catch whatever it is I might have." You try to reroute. As much as you'd genuinely love to spend time within his company, your sore aching body all but demanded you allow it to rest more. You wanted to shove and lock yourself in a dark cupboard only to throw away the key. You need time to come to terms with things and to allow your body to heal. Even by Hell's magical standards your wounds were still lingering beyond your familiar experiences.

"Oh come on, don't you know, I don't get sick. N-not really. It's actually kinda complicated, you see sometimes—" His shoulders quickly rise in realization of another repeated social faux pas, anxiety scrawling across his features before he's carefully schooling them back into a calm facade. "Sorry, sometimes I can't prevent the rambling." He chuckles awkwardly.

How do you politely tell the king of Hell, I'd love nothing more than your company right now but if you don't leave I might scream from overwhelm?

It's as though he can read the look on your face, his face lighting up with recognition that morphs into shame, his demeanor shattering the span of a few seconds.

"Sorry," he apologizes softly. "My siblings always told me I talked a lot—that I never knew how to read a room. You probably want to be left alone don't you? Fuck, I'm sorry."

He turns away from you, already heading back towards the door. His entire countenance is different, so far the opposite of the usual suave, confident man.

"Lucifer…" you call gently. "Maybe after I rest for a bit I'll shoot you a text and we can do something. I wouldn't be opposed to hanging out in the library."

You try to offer up as a compromise, an aching twinge shooting through your heart from the look of dejection marring his angelic face. You're delighted it does the trick, his eyes almost instantly brightening back up—a small but genuine smile pulling the corners of his lips.

"I'd like that hellcat."

"Oh and Lucifer, I promise I'm just really exhausted. You weren't talking too much or did you do anything wrong." You gently reassure, the need to widen his smile just that much more making you desperate to try.

It works and for a second, you feel more powerful than ever before making such a beautiful man look like that—to look at you like that. "Thanks. Get some good rest, I hope I'll see you later."

"I look forward to it." You offer with genuine warmth.

He beams at you for a moment longer before reaching for the door to pull shut behind him. Once closed, your left to the silent solitude of your room once more. You turn to your bed assessing it critically. The thought of the blonde walking away from your door, eager for your presence later temporarily distracts you from all the prior events with Alastor. But as soon as you begin to walk and collapse in it, you feel a jolt of pain lace from up between your legs out to the rest of your limbs.

"Fuck me." You stumble and collapse into the bed, cursing loudly.

~

Taglist: @angeldustharmony

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

Chapter Six: Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes

~

Materialist

AO3

~

Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warning/Tags: Please I cannot stress this enough, 18+ only please, minors do not interact. Oh boy, here we go. Dubious consent, biting, blood drinking, manhandling, threats, unprotected PiV, tentacles, low-key choking, unhealthy behavior

Word Count: 10.2k

A/N: This, this chapter right here is my ultimate magnum opus when it comes to smut. I don't think I've ever been more proud of my spicy writing. This is possibly grace for me and honestly, I wouldn't even be mad because holy fuck, do I think I knocked it out of the park with this one. And truth is, the story will only just get better with this new complication. So anyway, buckle up bitches we're going for an intense, bloody, sexy steamy ride. As always I'm dying to know some of your thoughts so if you're able, I'd love to hear from you in a comment or reblog. <3

One day you just wanted one day of some fucking peace. But no… with Alastor that felt like a nigh impossible ask. No matter what you did, you were on constant alert. It was impossible for you to leave the kitchen while preparing meals. It was almost guaranteed at this point that if you did—that meal would become a lost cause. Alastor was hell bent on tormenting you, your own personal poltergeist haunting your every waking moment.

You wanted to burn him from the inside out with your light. Chase away his shadows—force them to flee in fear and fright. You wanted him to feel the emotions he caused you—the frustration, pain, helplessness—his loathing was simply not enough.

He makes you feel like an insane person—a complete and utter madwoman. Never before had you ever wanted to scream someone away into oblivion. He's pushed, and pushed, and pushed—to the point where you really can't be held accountable for any of your actions these days.

Not really.

It's how you justify the wine glass you launch at his head upon the sound of his intrusion into the kitchen this evening. You felt like you were already on the brink of complete and utter collapse—a nuclear explosion on the precipice of detonation. Your breaths reflecting your already present raging frustration.

"Well now that was honestly just pathetic." Alastor intones casually, regarding the broken shards of glass on the floor with mild distaste.

"Argh! What do you want Alastor?! Because so help me god, if you are here to fuck with my cooking again I will be throwing more than wine glasses and cutting boards at your head. I've got a kitchen knife with your name on it and it's just itching for a taste of your blood." You sneer bitterly.

"Darling, did anyone ever tell you you have the voice of a songbird drowning in tar~?" His usual grin of sadistic pleasure from your petty pas de duex remains ever present and beaming.

"Oh go away you bitchy little rain cloud." You groan turning away from him in an attempts to ignore him.

"Now, now, no need to be so hostile." You can hear the edges of his tone curling with glee.

"For you I'm nothing but hostile." You turn your voice saccahrine—dripping with faux sweetness.

"Oh please, do speak your mind! I'd love for some silence."

"I didn't ask you to join me asshole." You growl clenching the edge of the counter. "God! Were you born stupid? Or did you just take lessons? Like fuck! Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?"

"My mother taught me plenty, thank you." His tone is curt, irritation evidented in audible bold font.

"Well either way, do your parents know that they're proof two wrongs clearly don't make a right?" You snidely gesture up and down his figure.

"I'd suggest you watch your tone." His static is reaching an incline, the harsh electronic sounds resonating deadly within the kitchen's walls.

"Oh come on Alastor, doesn't your dad know how much better the world would be if he had just pulled out?" You tauntingly mock.

He takes lunging step towards you, limbs threatening to twist and snap—teeth threatening to rip you into bits. "You should stop."

"I mean, your birth certificate really ought to have been a letter of apology."

"That's ENOUGH!!" His advancement on you is a menacing sight to behold, causing zero hesitation as you to turn in an attempt to flee.

You're not nearly quick enough as he captures you from behind—trapping you between him and the island. There's a momentary sputter where you hear him struggle with something, but the fear of anticipation in your veins is too loud—drowning it out. His fingers tighten on you, his rage reaching a point of intermission as some part of you steals his attention elsewhere for a moment.

He presses his body tightly up against you, his nose pressing deeply in the space between your two antenna. They shudder and twitch at the feeling of his hair brushing against them. He inhales a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of you in momentary confusion and intrigue.

This was new.

This was a boundary that had never been crossed between the two of you. Not during all the yelling and flinging of cooking implements at each other. The wasted food as you sabotaged the success of the other for dinner on a given evening. He had never been quite this close—this eager to be within your proximity and partaking in any sensation of you.

"A-alastor?" You question quietly as his hands increase their grip on you.

There's a momentary silence before it's punctuated with a shuddering exhale of air. Quietly—so as to barely disrupt the air between you—he responds, "Yes my dear?"

"What are you doing?"

For someone usually so composed, even admist the arguments and general bantering, this is a far cry from that. He seems to be losing some actual restraint on himself, the feeling of him behind you—each limb of his body tensing or flexing, his fingers twitching into your sides as he clutches them.

He's silent, his snarky remarks and snide quips vacant from the air between you. You can feel your heartbeat echoing in your ears, barely able to hear the subtle sound of the boiling pot on the stove.

You're not sure what to think.

You're not quite sure what to do either.

What is happening right now?

In the blink of an eye he's gone, shifted into his shadows away from you. You're left to half collapse into the counter, your legs no longer being able to support your entire weight.

What. the. fuck?

After closing your eyes and taking a few breaths in and out, you open them and slowly turn around. You're alone once more in the hotel's expansive kitchen. The only company the ticking clock and boiling soup.

It takes you a few minutes more to collect yourself completely, at least enough to gather your wits together to complete the dinner Alastor had so rudely tried to spoil. All you needed to do was just focus on getting the meal done. You had people that needed to be fed—to take care of. You could fuss and worry about whatever the fuck just happened later.

Your eyes follow the motions of your hands, muscle memory setting in and making the familiar dish you knew by heart even as your mind did its best to not follow your will.

You couldn't help but hyper focus on what just happened—replaying the interaction in your head over and over again.

What was different? What had changed? Alastor had never dared cross boundaries like this before—he was never physical. Was he okay?

Were you okay?

Somehow you finish dinner in a reasonable amount of time but find yourself far from hungry by the end of it. You shoot off a text to everyone announcing the meal was ready before making your way to the pantry to hang up your apron. You hope to be able to make your way out before anyone arrives to collect, you're not sure if you could handle much company at the moment—let alone have a full on interaction and conversation with someone.

Even the thought of confiding in Angel about this churns your stomach for some reason.

You wearily rub your eyes as you set a steady pace to head towards your room. You needed a long shower and an even longer amount of time to sit and think.

Feelings churn in your gut as you mull your thoughts over. You weren't sure if you should feel repulsed or strangely revered. You'd never put much thought into Alastor in much of a way other than bitter resentment and spite. But each time you recount the way his body pressed against you, the way his hands clutched at you like you were his final line in the afterlife—desperate; possessive.

A shudder rolls through you as the confusion moils about in your brain, mixed with minor frustrating feelings of pleasure and intrigue.

You were better than this, you were a powerful witch for gods sake. You should not be letting some old timey wacky ass asshole be getting to you like he was.

You're grateful to shockingly encounter no one on the journey through the bottom floor of the lobby and up the stairs towards the rooms. You're on the floor right below yours when you feel the creeping dread of someone watching you.

You'd been right to avoid the shadows—you could feel them laying in hunger and wait.

The hairs on the back of your neck tingle, while a slinking sense of impending dread settles its way into your body. You thought about running back to your room—dusk had not yet fallen leaving you without the ability to just blink yourself there—but you were afraid of making sudden moves. That seemed to be the far worse option here right now, and you couldn't exactly pin point why.

Maybe you wanted to be caught?

What the actual fuck was wrong with you?

You turn around to glance about the hallway, though to your surprise it looks normal—untouched by the presence of another. You turn back only for your breath to catch in your throat and your heart to drop in your stomach.

Alastor stands before you, eyes shifted to black—amaranth radio dials center pointing them. His teeth have grown into razors and his contorted antlers loom threateningly above. His already sharp claws turned to lethal talons as he rapidly captures you beneath your chin—shuffling the both of you back into the wall. His shadows emerge around the two of you creating a barrier you're helpless to see past.

The darkness they cast is oppressive and haunting. Fear unlike any other you've felt rooting itself directly in your core. Tears spring to your eyes as for a moment you're forced to remember just who exactly the hotelier and de facto enemy you had made yourself was. You knew you'd been playing with fire all these times with Alastor, not once fully realizing just how badly you'd get scorched.

It was a feeling you should know well at this point.

You wondered if you'd make it out of this unscathed or if you'd be forced to painfully regenerate after the carnage he might surely wreck upon you.

"What are you?" He growls caustically, his voice warped and distorted, the radio filter upon it heavy with more than its usual cracks and static.

You whimper. "What do you mean?"

"What's different about you? Huh? Petite Lunette." His neck cracks at a sickening angle. His eyes frightfully intense as he takes you in. His pointed claws dig deeper into the tender skin of your neck and lower jaw.

You try to keep yourself composed, to find one ounce of confidence and pride to be able to stand head to head with him the way you did in the kitchen. But here, in this hallway, with his shadows pressing in all around you and his body slowly pushing further into yours, you're helpless to admit that you're terrified and desperate for it all to end.

"I honestly don't know what you mean Alastor. Please, I'm sorry if I took it too far in the kitchen, I shouldn't have made a comment about your parents like that. But I'm sorry okay, please just let me go. We don't have to do this, you know how upset Charlie would be." You're desperate enough to pull that move, though you're not entirely quite sure if it's a good or worthwhile one.

His eyes narrow into slits, searching the space he finds in yours as though it'll give up the answers he seeks.

"No one has ever made me feel this way. I don't likethat I can feel this. What are you doing? What are you trying to do?" He continues to interrogate you further.

You can't help the tears that well up in your eyes, the stress and anxiety of this whole situation putting you on edge with your defenselessness. You try to shake your head back and forth but his grasp on you is too tight.

"Please…" You whisper as the first tear falls.

It takes a second to process what happens next as suddenly you feel a warm wet sensation chasing after the saline that spilled from your eyes. His long pointed tongue trailing after your anguish.

A satisfied groan echoes from inside Alastor's chest. His hold on you tightens but you feel his claws withdraw.

"Did you know I haven't been able to taste anything since I arrived here in hell?" His voice rumbles dauntingly between you. His breath hot and heavy against your cheek. "Smell is only a tease, a vague sense I'm able to partake in but only on occasion but never be able to indulge in the level I wish to. But you're~ the first thing to change any of that."

"What?" You stutter in stupid confusion.

"You bring to mind the memory of the pralinières my Mother used to make. A memory I haven't thought of in damn near a hundred years." His voice is low, borderlining on sultry.

You can't help the confusion that washes over you. "T-taste?" You swallow hard.

"Just a few simple strands of your hair actually—annoyingly caught in my mouth on accident. I was rather put off, especially after the comment you had made about my dear Mother. But we're far beyond that now."

"Oh?" You can't help but question, gulping wearily.

"Oh yes. You see, I'm quite intrigued by you now. I've never encountered anyone in my afterlife that stirred these feelings in me the way you do. Someone who I can taste anything remotely like I did back in life."

You'd known of Alastor's notorious history, not only here in the pits of Hell, but also his time in life—earning him his spot in Hell.

But to be confronted with it so boldly, it was a little hard for even you to stomach.

"Oh come now, a little witch like you has surely done her fair share of nasty things." He taunted as he traced a path with his nose down your cheek, over to your ear. He whispers tauntingly within it, "I know for a fact your hands aren't free from their share of spilt blood. One might even venture to guess, you probably even enjoyed it."

"Shut up!" You bite without thinking, knowing almost instantly you would regret it. You basically just laid down your hand.

"Touchy subject is it?"

Frustration boils underneath the surface, below all those layers of fear. You just wanted whatever this encounter was going to be to be over with. Whether it was painful or on the off chance he lets you go with a warning, you just wanted to already be out of here.

You can't help yourself from digging in further and growling up at him—baring him your teeth. "What the fuck do you want Alastor? I'm tired and ready for you to just get to the fucking point!"

"Oh ho ho, I must admit I really have admired your fire. There are not many in Hell who would be willing to stand off with the Radio Demon the way you do. It's truly something special. I think I much look forward to seeing what it might take to snuff that out." His eyes flare brightly, his grin wide with sadistic glee. "As far as what I want…" He trails off, his gaze being drawn to the exposed part of your neck and shoulder that wasn't covered by your wing. His body presses closer to yours and your suddenly confronted with a whole new perspective of the situation at hand. Something hot and frighteningly large twitches against your exposed stomach between you two. Your breaths coming out in progressively more panicked pants as the realization of how truly trapped and fucked you were.

He lowers his head once more, his humid breath trailing against your skin as he lowers to his point of interest. "I just want a taste."

You're helpless to prevent your anxious squirming as he closes in on your neck. You feel the slightly damp, hot contact of his lips on your skin initially. There's barely a second for you to prepare before his teeth are following in abrupt succession. It's so instantaneous that you aren't able to process it properly at first. You're unsure if it hurts so much that you're body has already gone into shock, and you can't feel the pain. Or if it's a pleasure building at such a startling pace your body has yet to catch up.

Either way you aren't given the time to decipher it because he's starting to suction to the wound and your thrown into an entirely new slew of sensations. A startled cry leaves your throat unbidden before morphing into a hesitant moan. Waves of hot tingles cascading throughout your body and out to your limbs. Your head feels dizzy and light. What little light pierced through his shadows blurred painfully in your vision forcing you to close your eyes.

You should feel horrified, absolutely terrified about what was happening to you. You should be furious but any part of you that might was far too quiet compared to the voices echoing the pleasure in your head. You've never felt anything that could be contrasted against what you were feeling right now. Not even when you had first felt your power reach its full potential, not when that power continued to grow as you lived through your afterlife and honed your skills and abilities.

This felt appallingly pleasurable on levels you never fathomed possible. Even as you can feel your body wane and wilt the longer his mouth takes greedy pulls of your blighted blood.

Your hands push weakly against his shoulders in a useless attempt to detach him from you. A growl resonates from his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer to him, pressing your bodies together as if he could merge the two of you together. His teeth slide deeper into your flesh, a pained shriek climbs your throat as you scramble to hold onto him instead.

"A-alastor!"

You're trapped in his hold a moment or two longer, Alastor seeming to savor as much of your taste as possible. You're lucky to feel his teeth finally release you, the pain of them retreating almost feeling worse than the initial bite.

You let out a weak whimper.

"Shh, my dear. It'll be alright." He whispers tenderly.

His tongue flicks out to lick around the wound he left behind. His saliva is scalding against the open site, the spots that are hit by the air when he moves sting only to be soothed when he passes his tongue over the spot again.

Your mind is starting spin sluggishly, your thoughts abstract and distant. You can't entirely remember what had been happening before.

What was happening right now?

Your tired bleary eyes search what little you can see of your surroundings. It was so dark. You felt as if you were on the verge of being smothered and snuffed out in totality by the shadows around you both. You can just barely make out the muddled pattern on the red wallpaper.

"I think this changes things between us entirely, don't you?" He moves to hold your chin delicately, cradling your weary head in his hand. Your eyes focus in on him as much as you're capable. You vaguely note that he's returned to normal, the face looking back at you the one you've grown annoyingly accustomed to seeing.

There's nothing left in you capable of giving him a coherent response. A undecipherable grumbled hum is all he receives. It must be enough because his grin increases its width.

"I found you an enigma since the moment you first took up residence with us, I don't think even I could have predicted it growing to a level such as this, especially so swiftly." His familiar red eyes searching yours with interested intent.

"You are something else entirely, aren't you?" He murmurs before using his hold to steady and draw you to meet him. He presses his lips to yours zealously—showing his fervent need for you.

What little is left working in your mind is slow to properly catch up to what exactly was happening. You're hesitant but impotent to do otherwise as you try to match the rhythm and pace he seemed intent to set for you both.

His lips part yours enough to slip his tongue between them both, eager to embark on further exploration of you. You whimper and whine as you are forced to take his intrusion, whether willingly or not.

You hate that you're not more upset.

You can taste your blood on his tongue, the metallic essence of you off of it filling your senses in a seductively cloying manner. You'd partaken in blood before—it was never anything you had turned your nose up at. But this was an entirely different experience. What brain you had left functioning was dwindling quite rapidly under this situation.

You're once more made aware of what exact position you found yourselves in, the shapes of his body pressing into you reminding you of how this encounter was affecting him. He can't help but rock his hips into you, a moan muffles from between your joined lips.

You were playing a whole new different kind of dangerous game with Alastor now. And this was one you weren't all that sure you'd be winning.

What happens when you lose?

Your mind was reaching it's stopping point abruptly, leaving you to give into Alastor and trust he'd take care of you. Your hands loosening their grip on him, your movements against him more sluggish and growing more increasingly feeble.

You try to murmur his name once more but find you no longer have the ability to do anything other than close your eyes and collapse in Alastors hold.

The last thing you fully comprehend is his voice tenderly cooing in your ear. "I've got you, mon chou."

~

The climb back into your conscious is dilatory, you can't fully remember why, but you're more than willing to take your time to get back into functioning. Your body feels heavy, as if filled with sand and concrete—plastering you to the surface below.

A sound of discontentment rumbles from you but no part of you makes to move. Everything about you felt worse than even your most abominable hangover. Even the one time you were forced to regenerate here in Hell didn't feel half as dreadful as you did now.

Your brain is delayed as it tries to piece together the events of your last conscious memory. Things don't come together nearly as fast as you'd like.

You have enough wits about your body to roll over and bury your head into the pillow you're resting on. You groan at the physical distress your body is warning you of as you shift about.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to consume so much?" An agonizingly familiar voice fills the silence around you. Despite how self satisfied he sounded there was a notable undertone of something that could be considered quite close to concern.

It's arduous to force your eyes to peel open meeting your unwanted companion. He's sat in a red wing back chair turned away from the lit fireplace dancing in the background behind him. His microphone staff is propped up against the chair. His left leg is bent, resting atop the right. He leans back casually against the chair's back, left arm folded to prop up his right where it holds his resting head. He has dressed down far more than you thought you'd ever be witness to. His usual suit coat is tossed across the back of the chair, his tie and button up shirt undone at his neck—a small peek of his bare chest can be glimpsed due to it. His sleeves are rolled up, his gloves missing from sight. His left suspender strap rests in its proper place, the right one lay limp at his hip. The button used to hold his trousers is undone but the zipper not yet touched. Even his usually well styled hair sits slightly disheveled around his face and head. His monocle missing from its familiar perch beneath his right eye.

You eye him with apprehension and shame. The events of it all crashing into you suddenly. You swallow hard wanting nothing more than to skitter and run away but are wholly incapable of doing such a thing.

You have enough wherewithal to make note that you're in a room you've not yet been guest in. There's a few key details that give you the assurance of still being in the hotel. That left the process of elimination and some obvious decor choices to let you know that you were in his room.

Laying in his bed.

You're wishing that he'd just killed you and left you to make it through the traumatizing process of rebuilding your body.

Your heart skips a beat, your stomach churns as you recognize the extreme—very delicate nature of the situation you're in. You hate to admit that you don't entirely loathe and fear the thought of this going exactly where you thought it was—based on certain bodily reactions you'd felt from Alastor in the hall.

Please be wrong.

Please be right.

"What now?" You can't help yourself from blurting.

He regards you with his intense discerning awareness.

"Quite frankly, ma Lune," He uncrosses his legs, leaning forward, both of his hands coming up underneath his chin for it to rest there. "I'm not sure I even have the answer for that myself."

To his credit he sounds honest and genuine.

You have no clue what that means for you.

Your limbs are frail and shaky as you make an attempt to push yourself into a more upright position. As you come back into yourself more you're able to take better stock of your immediate surroundings. The more you look around the more evident it becomes that you're in Alastor's room. Small touches of the man scattered throughout the various nooks and crannys. A small trinket here, a large object there, stunning artwork that a man like him could never go without owning. An old gramophone sat polished and gleaming tucked in one corner next to a book case holding a small vintage globe. You catch sight of a skull atop the mantel but something about the bone structure leaves you strangely unsettled, urging you to look away.

The small piano tucked opposite you in the room is stunning, an antique piece you're sure. The intricate carvings dug throughout the piece are nothing short of incredible, your fingers itch with the urge to pluck the old weathered keys.

Your eyes flicker back to his while you continue to push yourself into sitting up further. Your body protests at every little movement while a fresh reaction of fear settles in your gut at his ravenous stare trapping your gaze.

You aren't sure what happens next. Aren't sure if you're prepared for all or frankly any of the potential outcomes that might be where this encounter ends up. You're well aware that you're helpless to stop any of them, whatever they may be.

"You know, I think I might believe that you're just as clueless about whatever this is as I am." He speaks suddenly.

"It's the truth." You continue to further defend.

"That makes this conundrum even more puzzling I'd say. I'm quite pleased with the self restraint I've shown in all this so far. Even for myself, it is a bit admirable. You're unlike anything I've ever had the pleasure of encountering post mortem." He still continues to scrutinize you as you all but sit on display for him to view and appreciate.

Your head swims for a moment, forcing you to close your eyes as you brace a hand in front of you on the bed to steady yourself from falling into it. You take a deep breath in through your nose, holding it in your chest long enough for it to burn. Still you release the air through your mouth slowly, giving yourself the time you need to collect yourself and feel as if you had all your faculties about you. There's a small pulsing pain nestled somewhere deep in your head but it's slight enough you're able to ignore it for the time being.

"Alastor," You begin to say… well you're not sure what to say. You feel as if you need to say something though—anything to feel as if Alastor wasn't the only one with power in this interaction.

"Yes, mon chou?" His grin stretches, leering at you wolvishly.

When you look at him you have a moment to really sit and ponder on things. It's almost as if time itself slows down to give you time to process and compile your thoughts for a momentary instance. There was an ultimate war of turmoil being waged within you and your being. It was if your soul itself was being torn and split down the very middle, each side echoing their argument so loud you couldn't possibly dare ever ignore it.

You didn't want this.

Maybe you didn't hate Alastor as much as you told yourself.

He was a complete asshole of a man that you wished you never met.

Would it be so bad as to let him do this? At least it wouldn't end in ember and flame.

You feel wrong for even considering in the first place but you're also well aware that it's been centuries of loneliness and being touch starved almost your entire existence between both Earth and Hell.

But you can't deny the way your body feels at the recollection of just how tightly he'd been pressed against you in the hallway. What his heated lips felt like on your skin, what they felt like as they kissed you with a sense of desperation and devotion you didn't think you were worth receiving.

It hadn't been entirely unpleasant.

Yes you were still ramped up on fear and anxiety, it wasn't exactly what you had been wanting to do. However you would be lying entirely if you denied not liking it in any capacity. It made you feel a weighty sense of shame and dread at the feelings it forced you to confront, but you had to admit you might be too far gone to listen to any of them enough to stop and believe them.

He moves to adjust his position again, spreading his legs further, each of his elbows braced against their respective knee where he leans forward. His posture is exuding confidence and power, he's entirely aware of his sole control in this moment.

For a moment it feels like you're playing a game of chess and you're caught in the last few moves of the game. There's not really any options left for you, you're left to watch as your opponent decides their favorite option in which to end the game. Though you're afraid this will end bloodier than the average chess match. You can visualize your blood staining the chessboard in your minds eye. The queen laying on its side next to a few pawns and a rook in the small puddle of crimson.

"I don't think I've ever really had the urge to fuck someone the way I want to with you right now." He says it so blasé, spoke the words to plainly you were almost afraid you'd finally cracked entirely and imagined it.

You knew Alastor. You knew his reputation with this topic of things. You'd witnessed evidence of it first hand. He was not a man who was one to indulge in even entertaining these thoughts, let alone to be controlled by any sort of feeling or thing.

You were most certainly not imagining or misreading things at all in this case.

Oh no…

Your core clenches—your breath starting to disassemble its pleasant pace. His smile grows even more in response. Seemingly well aware of the effects he was having on you right now.

"Are you going to try and stop me if I do?" He questions, hunger filling the expanse of both his eyes.

There it was. The real question at hand.

You're momentarily taken aback by the fact that he was all but asking for your consent.

You weren't sure you could examine how the fact of that made you feel; yet.

He was watching you though. Anticipating your answer—his body wound tight with it. You dare yourself a glance to the space between his spread legs. Nearly choking on the sight that you were met with. Alastor was by no means a small man—in any sense of the word. You should have expected it with his height, with the way it felt trying to leave its imprint on your body, but still you were left shocked and instantly apprehensive about consenting in your answer to him.

Regardless of everything you felt you had a momentary period of control and you were terrified to wield it.

You look over to Alastor, your eyes wide and filled with fear. Despite trepidation filling your every pore, there's still that spark of pleasure and intrigue settled just below the surface.

You find yourself silently pleading with him, urging him to understand your conflict—for him to understand the turmoil that roils and brews inside you like a devastating—life altering storm.

"Lune?" He whispers questioningly in an urge to spur you to answer sooner. He's patient enough to wait, but even he himself admitted he was struggling to practice some serious restraint in this moment with you.

"No," The word slips from your mouth quietly and involuntarily with no restraint. "I won't."

There's little time for you to prepare between him rapidly standing from his perch and using his shadows to teleport him to you at his bed. He wastes no time in using his bare claws to grip your shoulders and press you to lay flat against the bed. Pinned under his form once more. You suddenly feel like one of those taxidermied insect pieces, sharp tacks keeping you fastened to the base beneath you. Unlike those fellow bugs though, you were alive and kicking. You had a conscious spinning fast enough to have you squirm in an automatic act of defiance, a sort of fight or flight still active in your limbs. Even with the knowledge of any attempts being futile.

Alastor's hair tangles and twists in small curls and waves around his face. The beauty he held that you were too stubborn to admit he had at any prior time, is put on a clear obvious display for you. His features are elegant and sharp, the kind of attractiveness and allure that signals danger—promises destruction.

He'll ruin you.

You think you might let him.

He looms in close to your face once again, growing increasingly more familiar within your personal space. He feels comfortable in it. It's strangely intimate to have him already so accustomed to it. His eyes drinking in every detail of your face as you stare up to admire those across his.

Watching you, watching me.

Wide eyes staring up into his, searching for the lie within. For the cruel trick of hatred and vicious mockery. But all that's reflected back out at you is genuine and sincere. You think he might be acting with seriousness for once. You don't know how to manage or control the seizing air in your lungs—so much is happening all at once.

He brings his mouth down to your ear, his words just as heated as his breath. "Shh my dear, I've got you. Just focus on me."

He places a searing kiss tucked at the base of your ear behind the lobe. The tease of his sharp teeth nick the skin before retreating. His gaze finds and holds yours once more. Everything about his demeanor is buzzing with unparalleled excitement, the restraint he's commanding over himself clearly showing in this moment.

He looms over you, pressing his forehead into yours. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stop myself at any point beyond this. I won't try to hurt you, but I can't promise that I won't. You don't understand the need and compulsion I feel for you right now. And let's be honest." He barks out a pained laugh. "I'm not known for being the most gentle demon down here."

Your breath stutters and skips around in your chest. The anticipation and anxiety surrounding this whole situation consuming you in a heavy cloud of confusion and need. Your body ignites with physical interest in the various places it's met with parts of his.

"O-okay." You're barely able to stutter out. It's entirely unnecessary but you still feel the need for it anyway.

He bites his lip, groaning and looking pained at your lack of resistance. Your willingness to give in and ultimately—readily submit to him—it sends feelings through him that make him feel feral and unchained. He wanted to split and tear into you, consume parts of you to hold with himself for the rest of his eternity down here. He wanted to hold and possess you for that same expanse of time.

"As-tu peur des monstres chérie?" His static drops in severity, a peek of his clear unfiltered tone coming through in his original tongue.

The tense feeling in your body increases at his question, having picked up enough of some languages to have a pretty casual or, with some, a common understanding of. French being one that was higher on your list in fluent understanding.

"J'ai toujours été un monstrre moi-même." You respond soundlessly.

He traces his vision over your face in search of answers, in a desperate need to understand. You can see a momentary wrinkle between his two furrowed brows before you blink and his face has returned to its neutral smile.

"Je ne pense pas que ce soit tout à fait vrai." His voice assures softly as he brings his lips close to yours once more.

There isn't much thought to it as you find it's yourself closing the gap between the two of you this time. Your lips press together in an unholy union. A deep rooted hunger echoing in the snarl between you two as he's granted a taste of your mouth once more. One of his hands shifts to hold and cradle your head as he captures your mouth repeatedly as if you were playing a game of war that demanded to be won. His teeth slice violently and unrestrained through your plush, swollen lips. A small whimper of pain escapes you only to be greedily swallowed by the demon trapping you with him.

This was playing with fire with the intent to be burned.

This was dancing on top of a thin tight rope balancing delicately between hate and love, desire blazing brightly along it—threatening the very integrity of the line.

The passion that flares between you is torrid, painful to touch. Your body responds in kind against him, your back arching up against the bed in an attempt to draw the two of you closer together.

His tongue has slipped itself into the crevices of your mouth once more, taking the time granted to further explore its spaces. The hand not occupied holding your face takes the opportunity to tease and trail its way along your body, pointed finger tips prodding and groping in interest at various places along the way. It finds its way to your breast where it's covered beneath your wrapped wings. His palm softly skirts across the mound, resisting from putting pressure on it—not quite just yet.

He pulls back to look down at you. Eyes taking in your heaving chest as you desperately try to swallow the air you needed. A light sheen of sweat has begun to coat your skin, glistening in the flickering light of the lamps and fire with the moisture. He regards your form with intrigue for a moment before his fingertips come to trace along the edge of one of your wings where it lays flush against your skin.

"These are a part of you, no?" He queries the obvious, his fingers trailing along the edge up to your shoulder before going back the other way, down to where it wraps at your hips and disappears behind your back.

You manage him a small affirming nod.

"Fascinating." He remarks in awe. His attention zeroing in on this part of your form, trying to make sense of it. "Let me see you. I don't want to hurt you by moving anything wrong." His own breathing is starting to struggle to keep steady with his excitement over all of this. "Please." He adds as a final after thought.

Even though you feel the anxiety rising inside to the point of strangling you with the intensity of it, you can't help but want to comply with his requested order. The longer you're beneath him, the less reasons you can come up with as to why you shouldn't want to be here.

"Okay." You agree softly.

He leans away from you enough to rest on his knees. He pushes the remaining suspender off his other shoulder, fingers impatiently tugging the loose tie from where it rests against his neck. He looms over you from the side, still close enough in proximity for you to feel the overbearing sensation of his power. He gives you enough distance to be able to sit up and do it comfortably. Though you can see how he's twitchy with the need to sink his claws and teeth in your flesh, to rip into you and consume you.

Slowly, with the muscles tight from remaining in this position, your wings begin to loosen and unfurl their way from around you. Your back aching from the stretch beginning to tug from it. Your set of wings make their appreciation of the movements known in the way they take turns singing silent praises through the limbs. Each inch of skin revealed setting your anxiety further and further on edge.

Your skin was never nearly as dark as it had originally been in life, another thing of pride you had ripped away from you when you fell into this cesspit centuries ago. Still, the truth of your personal history could be seen even still here in Hell.

You want nothing more than to feel pride and confidence as you reveal parts of yourself further, but the disgrace which you still felt about it due to the trauma surrounding your death was still too much for you to handle on even your best of days. You weren't sure Alastor would say something but the anxiety of the potential is strong enough to make you stress either way.

When your wings finally finish their reveal, each half of them resting unfurled at your back and sides. Your blemished skin is almost entirely on display, the only thing obscuring Alastor's view further is the black booty shorts still hugging your lower half tightly.

You know that if you turn around, the nasty burn scars that span littering across your back will be a front row show to one of the worst parts of your life's history.

"Si beau." Falls reverently from his lips.

He leans over you, capturing your chin once more. He tilts you to lay back on the bed, your wings spreading out to rest under you. His gaze is drawn to your bare breasts where they rise and fall with each of your taken breaths. His mouth parts in silent awe as he's faced with this newly exposed part of you.

"I'm going to remove these as well." He warns as his claws find the waistband of your shorts. "I like the display of my art to be entirely unobstructed."

You couldn't put up an argument if you even tried, the sensation of his sharp finger tips teasing at the delicate skin of your waist and hips is enough to make you squirm in anticipation of him.

The way he looks at you when you're finally entirely bare to him nearly prevents you from having any thoughts of shame or self doubt. You know he isn't looking entirely at you, not completely. His jaw isn't hanging open in awe to the sight of you as you truly are.

"I know that the physical form has never pulled this strong of a reaction from me. You should know, you truly are something special, mon chou."

"I wonder…" He murmurs as he locks his sight on the view between your thighs. "Is there a difference between them?" He's talking to himself as he does his best to just settle on a decision of where to start with you.

He doesn't give you much of a warning before his long, pointed, wicked tongue finds it's way to your center. He instantly begins to prod at your entrance, tongue pressing hard enough to delve and dig deeper.

A low moan reverberates out from where he's buried in your legs. He can't prevent his claws from scrambling to make purchase on your thighs, the vicious points digging painfully into the soft plush flesh.

Your hands immediately fly to his hair, securing your purchase in them and pulling hard in an attempt to restrain the indecent shriek that threatens to leave you. It's immediately as if all that's transpired between the two of you prior no longer matters. All you can focus on is the feeling of his heat between your legs.

The thought of hating each other in this moment seems so distant and far away—a mere glimmer of another lifetime's memory.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Alastor's sinful tongue hits a particular spot within you. Any previous pretenses of keeping your composure thrown out the window alongside your dignity. You whine pathetically upon his retraction.

He tsks mockingly at you, his tongue swiping out to gather your residual slick from around his lips. "Don't you know patience is a virtue?"

"Seems to me like you're the only one here lacking control?" Even in the haze of pleasure he's put you in, you can't help but dish something back at him.

"Oh, I'll have you begging for my hand around your throat momentarily." His fingers trail teasingly along your parted thighs. His fingers slowly growing bolder with each motion.

You want nothing more than to give him a snarky retort but the feeling of his claws lightly penetrating you has your mind turning blank. You vaguely note him dipping lower once more, tongue flitting lightly across your clit. The shocks it sends through your nerves rendering you momentarily dumb.

"Oh God." You utter helplessly, your fingers clutching frantically at the strands of Alastor's hair.

He pauses to nip warningly at your hip. "I can assure you—he is not present here. It'd be far more preferable to hear my name fall from those pretty, twisted lips." His free hand coming up to clutch your jaw, his sharp talon lightly pulling down on your bottom lip.

"Alastor…" You instantly offer—the desire you felt for him clouding your mind. You looked up at him through heavy lids, you were more than sure that your eyes were practically swimming with lust. You were desperate to feel him—for him to just keep touching you. You'd take anything he gave you and more. So long as it was him.

Ooh you did not want Angel to know about this, he'll never let you live it down.

"That's ma bonne biche." He whispers sweetly in your ear—your body involuntarily shuddering at the praise. The feeling of his fingers stroking inside you doing nothing to quell the increasing burning feeling in your blood.

He slides a second finger in along with the first, moving back and forth inside you gently so as not to tear your tender skin with his deadly digits. He captures your lips the same time he crooks his fingers at a specific angle. You whine and pant uncontrollably against him, your body feeling everything everywhere—all at once.

"A-alastor." You gasp into his parted mouth.

"That's it ma Lune, let me hear your voice, let me hear how you sing."

The pace of his fingers has picked up speed though he still manages to be careful as he madly thrusts them into you. Somewhere along the line a third finger made an addition, your body struggling to manage the stretch between you. Still the burn felt better than you wanted it to—the momentary loss of total control filling you with a sense of freedom unlike any other felt.

It was strange that it all came down to Alastor of all individuals.

After your death—so traumatically painful—you never had much desire to entertain any lovers. The men you had entitled themselves to your body right before igniting your fiery demise were enough of a reason to avoid it all entirely. By Hell's standards, you may as well be a virgin. Yet here you were with Alastor sat between your legs, knuckles buried deep between you thighs. The infamous Mr. Radio Demon himself and you were doing everything in your power not let your soul collapse in on itself entirely.

Of all people, why would you let it be him?

There's no time to linger on the thought as he moves to kiss down the column of your neck, his fingers continuing to brutalize you relentlessly, forcing you to finally tip off the edge completely.

Your orgasm hits you with a indelicate wail, the delectation Alastor draws from you unparalleled alongside anything else. You can feel his grin against your neck, evidence of his joy pressed against your skin. His name leaves you on a brief broken loop. Your brain feeling as if it's had a cursory re-wire.

You can feel the way he strains against you, the proof of the effect of all this being roughly ground into you.

You're half in and out of awareness as you struggle to come down from your passionate high. Your body feeling even more spent and worn than it had when you woke up. Your chest rises and falls as you stare up towards the ceiling, trying to wrangle yourself back into some semblance of composure.

That plan fails miserably quite quickly upon Alastor making the movements to further shed himself of his clothes. His movements are slow as he slips his shirt down the expanse of his arms. You can see the scars lacing back and forth—up and down across his arms and torso. His skin looks like there was once color that had been leeched from it. The discoloration of a history of scars mapped tragically across it all.

Even in the state of coming down from your high, you're left to appreciate him for a second. Finding yourself with the temptation to reach out and trace your fingers along each one.

His gaze remains hungry as his eyes stay on you, promptly freeing himself from the last few remaining barriers between you. The sight of him being so wholly exposed to you—the confrontation of all of him makes your cunt twitch between your legs. It's enough to catch his attention causing his eyes to snap immediately there at the movement.

"Like what you see?"

You barely have the brain capacity to give him one of your familiar responses, but you can't not manage something. "Shockingly for once, I do."

Shit eating would be the most apt description for the grin Alastor throws at you. There's a swell of pride now present in him that wasn't before. Seemingly your words giving him a strange sense of encouragement.

"Don't let it get to your head too much." Your voice comes out breathy as he chooses this moment to delicately run his claws along your inner thighs. His other hand moving to caress one of your breasts.

"It's honestly remarkable what you've done to me, Lune. I've never lostcontrol like this—I can't even muster up much frustration over it anymore." His breath ghosts over your neck, the hot air stinging against the still somewhat fresh bite on your neck. "Not with how delightful you look beneath me."

Your legs shudder and shake around his hips where he's situated between yours. His fingers driving you to the edge of insanity with their persistent teasing.

"Alastor…" You release in a shaky exhale. "Please…"

You hate the sound of your begging—if he hadn't driven you to the brink already, you'd have bound to your feet an escaped his hold long before now. But you're so caught up in the lustful haze he's induced in you—you can't bring yourself to care enough to do anything beyond letting him continue.

"You're so very pretty when you beg, what a shame you're not always like this." The voice he whispers to you in is unfiltered—natural, raw.

You can feel the blunt tip of him prodding between your legs, both your bodies burning with hellfire bred from hostile passion. He's gentle as he slides into the space between your legs. You can feel the hard heat of him burrowing into you—forcing parts of you aside to make room to leave his own inside you.

Your fingers scramble desperately to grasp onto his back and neck. You grasp the back of his neck tightly as he nuzzles his nose along your jaw and throat. His tongue flicks out to tease along the the wide expanse of your neck. His teeth slide threateningly along behind them. You can feel him sinking further into you—stealing the breath from your very lungs.

"Please do forgive me if I get a bit carried away." He says softly before biting into your neck a second time. Your fingers scramble desperately to hold onto him—anything to keep you grounded.

His hips finish their forward motion in one forceful, sharp thrust. His teeth sinking deeper with the motion.

There's no stopping the scream of pleasure that rips violently from your throat. You can feel Alastor's skin splitting beneath your jagged nails. You can feel him taking greedy gulps of your vivid life's essence. He gives you little room to adjust to the feeling of him inside you—of having another take up such an intimate place inside you. How could someone you loathed so wholly fit against you so perfectly. He groans low and deep as his hips set a powerful and rapid pace. The more of your blood he sucks down—the more vigor he feels in his attempt to consume you: mind, body, soul.

He would never let you go again.

He couldn't.

One of his hands traces beneath your upper back to better prop you up for himself. His hips keep steady as he all but gorges himself on your blood. You're left to keep to your desperate clinging to him, any ability to support or take care of yourself flying out the window. In this moment you'd let him do anything—you fear you'd even hand him your soul. The pleasure igniting in your blood and nerves reaching it's ultimate peak.

You fiercely try to hold on, to not collapse under it all.

You felt hotter than the brightest shinning star, no longer the moon but a dying star collapsing in on itself in a never ending black hole. You were spiraling, stumbling deeper and deeper into the pits of pleasure. Your mind could no longer work out which way was up or down.

There was only Alastor. The scent of him surrounding you, his body encompassing all around, the feeling of his skin pressed against yours—him buried deep within your walls. You felt as if you were being consumed by him—an even larger cosmic force come to swallow you whole.

Your orgasm crashes into you with brutal, savage force. The sound you produce being somewhere between a shriek and a wail. It's raw and ugly—almost primal in origin. Alastor's determined continuation of his current pace quickly leaves you in a pitiful cascade of whimpers.

"A— ah! Ah!! Too much, Alastor. Oh god…" You choke as he remains unrelenting.

He releases his teeth's vicious grasp on your throat. You can feel your blood bubbling up to ooze at the wound sight—a large trail of it sliding down to pool in the hollow space around your collarbone.

He slows momentarily, his eyes hungrily taking you in with captive intent. The look he gives you is one you wouldn't think him capable of—one of awe and wonderment, of admiration and raw desire.

"B-be honest, does it turn you on making me bleed?" You stutter, you mind still a bit dumb from the pleasurable aftershocks still rolling through your body.

Alastor's grin is stained bloody from you. "Oh dearest, you have no idea."

Both of his hands come to grasp at your hips, using the leverage and force on them to drag you to meet his each and every thrust—his pace once again increasing to drive you into oblivion.

"Alastor!" You cry wantonly.

"That's it, my dear. Let me know who is taking you apart. I don't want you to ever forget who it is you're giving yourself to."

He thrusts up to that specific spot inside of you, your eyes rolling back in your skull—your mouth going slack with pleasure. Your mind is blank, there is only Alastor.

"I'm going to rather have a lot more fun with our games now, don't you?" He taunts seductively in your ear. His hips ramming into you with increased fervor. Distantly you can make out the cracking and popping sounds of static, their concussion reaching a rapturous crest.

One of his hands remains desperately clutching at your hip, his other moving to grasp your arms by the wrists and pin them to the bed. You feel the phantom traces of cold air along your ankles, the sensation shifting to take more solid form as it grasps and restricts at your ankles—roughly pulling them apart to allow Alastor the ability to drive deeper into you still.

The sounds he draws out of you could rival a banshee, not a single thought of any other hotel resident hearing you crosses your mind. All you can think about is the intense white out pleasure as he sends you over the edge of your final orgasm. The feeling of your walls tightly restricting him causing him to shatter subsequently after.

He swells large and hot within your walls, his seed shooting out forcefully to coat your interior walls. The only sounds left in the room following are the sounds of your heavy panting breaths. Both of you doing your damnest to regulate it once more.

Your mind is heavy with the fog of exhaustion, your body being pushed to it's limits and beyond. You'd given Alastor access to parts of yourself never once touched by another. You're almost grateful for the exhaustion due to its prevention of your thoughts from snowballing further at the explored implications about everything that just transpired between you and your bitter rival.

Alastor hangs his head to rest against your shoulder, his hot breaths gently puffing along your equally heated skin.

Time passes slowly around you as the two of you take time to focus on coming down. The after glow surrounding you all tinged lightly with the memory of your virulent feelings for the fellow demon.

You don't know what to think, what to feel. Your debilitated body struggling futilely to stay completely awake and aware—your consciousness constantly threatening to slip away from you at any single given moment. You find yourself beginning to squirm, wanting space away for a while.

When Alastor does nothing to move you softly speak up. "Alastor, what are you doing? I need to move." You squirm a little more to emphasize your point.

"I'm just cuddling you my dear." He whispers back just as softly. His usually filtered voice still nowhere to be heard.

"You know there's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can't get away." You tease lightly.

"Are you aware that you talk entirely way too much?" You can feel his mouth quirking into a cheeky grin against your chest. "Stay, Lune. Rest."

You want to protest, fight him and disappear off into the safety of your own space. But somehow his words are like a haunting lull, your mind trailing off after them in a frantic chase off to somnium.

Strange to find comfort in such a demon's arms.

You suppose fellow monsters never really do fear one another.

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

Chapter Five: Prideless Power

~

Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warnings/Tags: None really Applicable

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This chapter may not be amazing, I will admit it's a little rushed because I was kinda just desperate to be able to finish chapter six after I finished it prior to this one. So apologizes for that and the smaller length but I promise, promise, promise, I make up for it in chapter six <3

Safety was a fleeting concept of the past now. You'd ensured that for yourself the week prior, but really, it's not like Alastor had left you with much of a choice in the first place. From the second he barreled head first into your psyche to his refusal to leave it now, he seems to have permanently attached himself to you—an undesirable specter haunting the hollow halls of your mind, eager to unpick and unwind each locked door.

You'd always been more preferable to the light—something you refused to read much into lest you embarrass yourself with it—but that grew exponentially in the past handful of days. Each time you turned a corner to be met with dark shadows at the end of the hall—you diverted your path to another. You could just be paranoid—overthinking things was something you did so happen to be a master in—but it was certainly growing to be a situation of better safe than sorry. After all, why would you subject yourself to the potential of more unwanted interaction with the obnoxious shadow demon.

There have been times at night you've found yourself wandering aimlessly throughout the gilded halls of the hotel. It's the only time you're willing to brave the shadows—your light stronger with the moon's present glow impeding the further growth of shadows. You could fight back better—should the need arise.

Alastor.

Mr. Radio him fucking self.

The almighty most feared Overlord of Pentagram City.

A bastard and a loser if you ever saw one.

Even now as you drift listlessly through the halls he haunts your thoughts and feelings.

There hasn't been a peaceful or safe dinner since his brave declaration of war against you that first night. Sure you may have had an instant rapid escalation in following response, but really—go big or go home, right?

If anything things were just continuing after that escalation and it was the both of you that were entirely to blame. It was like the world's most violent and most wasteful game of chicken. Both of you revving your engines faster and faster—neither one being capable of caring about all the blood hitting your cars on the way. The casualties didn't matter, not really. With Alastor's behavior, you couldn't let that shame bother you anymore.

Still you couldn't help but feel a little bad every time you scraped off several full plates as you scrubbed at that night's dishes. You could feel the disappointment in Charlie's gaze every time you and Alastor eagerly lashed at each other's throats. Each of you holding a sharpened blade against the fragile skin, teeth and claws bared.

You certainly didn't feel anywhere close to feeling bad for launching the cutting board at his head—that one was most certainly deserved on his end. It got him to shut up for a minute so in the end you had to deem it worth it.

Still being called a petulant child throwing a tantrum in response after, kind of made you wish you hadn't missed.

You've found yourself on the roof of the hotel. A small lounge area around a fire pit had been set up in one area of the roof. You'd never seen anyone else up here but you suppose that wasn't entirely a bad thing—after all, it was nice to have some peace and seclusion every once in awhile, especially in a place outside of your room.

You lay back on the couch, your eyes taking in the large expanse of the sky. You marvel at the beauty of it all. It'd been so long since your time on Earth that you struggle to recollect what the sky looked like there. You want to say—potentially—that it was more beautiful, but even in the horrible pits of Hell, the beauty of the sky expanded out in front of you was it's own marvel entirely to behold. You missed shooting stars though, that was a phenomena never once experienced in Hell.

Still the dark red and purple sky churned with the illusion of stars above you, an entirely different cosmos to the one you grew up beneath.

"You nocturnal, Hellcat?" Lucifer's pleasant voice chimes, interrupting your boiling cauldron of thoughts.

"Ugh, come on, not you too." You groan playfully, your eyes flitting up to meet the King standing before you just off to the side.

He chuckles. "What do you mean not me too?"

"Alastor was prying into what natural traits I ended up inheriting with my form as Sinner. He asked the exact same question."

Lucifer cocks his hip off to the side, eyes brow lifting in question. "Well, are ya?"

You chuckle softly finally drawing yourself up into a sitting position so you can better give the man your attention.

"It's complicated."

Lucifer hums.

"Mind if I join you? Can't say I'm tired much myself either." He motions towards the empty spaces around you two.

You shake your head. "Not at all, please."

You watch as he does as such. He sits on one of the single chairs to the side of the couch you made home on. He leans back casually in the chair, his legs spread slightly off to the side. He's dressed slightly more down again, similar to the way he'd been at breakfast just a few mornings prior. Today he wears one of his normal white button ups, the sleeves rolled up along his biceps. His vest hangs open by a few buttons, his pants their usual black. His hair has come loose from it's usual neat and tidy style. His eyes regard you sleepily but their still awake and wide with intent.

"Have you been doing alright Luna?" Lucifer questions gently, his tone apprehensive at the approach of a potentially delicate topic.

You shrug looking down to pick at your nails. A delicate breeze drifts through the rooftop teasing the strands of hair framing your face. "I've been better, but I've also been worse."

"Alastor hasn't been too hard on you has he?"

"Pfft." You wave him off casually. "He's not the worst bastard prick I've had to deal with, I'm doing just fine with Alastor."

"I don't know, dinner the other night feels like it's telling me a different story." He eyes you skeptically but it's with concern over judgment.

"That was a calculated move that had necessary casualties, it's only fair after what he did to my cooking." You mutter, your fingers angrily picking at the cuticles surrounding your nails.

"Is that what caused all that?" His brow quirks.

"Alastor thought it would be riot to ruin my lasagna for everyone, it's only fair he had a taste of his own medicine right after. I mean come on, how much of a raging dick can one guy be?!"

You can't help but feel a bit justified in your rage. Obviously Lucifer didn't deserve to be witness to such things, he really had no part in this—but your anger was bubbling into a stewing rage and it had to end up somewhere.

"He is a massive dick hole, isn't he?"

"The most massive of them all." You grumble bitterly.

"What'd you even put in his jambalaya? I haven't seen Charlie suffer through that much pain in a couple centuries or so."

"The hottest chilies Hell can possibly produce. I dabble a little in botany and gardening. Learning the different varieties of seeds and offerings of Hell's vegetation. I'm not even sure there's many hell born who eat varieties like the one I included in dinner. It was honestly meant to be a special kind of fuck you for him, but I don't think I saw him end up taking a single bite. Shame too, if I'm honest."

"Wow, you're a bit of a fucking nerd, aren'tcha?" He teases.

"Hey, sometimes being a nerd comes in handy. Besides, I very much got to savor the intended reaction I got from him regardless. Even if he didn't suffer himself, his ego took a hit he's still scrambling to recover from."

Your eyes flit back up to the sky, taking in the momentary silence between you as you wait for his next words. Somewhere off in the distance you can hear the sounds of shrieks and cries, squealing tires cutting off somewhere down the Morningstar district, echoing off so far it can barely be heard is a series of gunshots cracking through the night air.. Though quiet hung between you two—Hell never ceased in it's violent clamor.

"You're something else entirely, Hellcat."

"You don't even know the half of it." You toss him a wink as you chuckle.

"Charlie mentioned you've been around the block a time or two, how's someone like you survived this long down here?" He lifts his arm to prop his elbow up on arm of the chair—resting his chin atop his hand as he keeps his attentive eyes on you.

Your cheeks warm at the thought of Charlie talking to her Dad about you. Lucifer was a handsome man, a kind man. He made you feel important just by talking to you and when he'd stood up for you against Alastor during breakfast, you felt your cold, decayed heart flutter in your chest with tabid twitterpation. It was so infrequent when an individual had stoked feelings inside your long empty cavern of affections.

"What do you mean someone like me?" You raise a brow of your own.

He stares at you for a moment, thoughts seeming to flit back and forth in him before your very eyes. His mouth parts to speak but no sound follows. He scrutinizes you with quizzical intrigue.

"Nothing, I'm sorry I must have misspoke." He keeps his tone light but you can hear the slight strain beneath it.

"You sure about that?"

You suppose if it's something he really doesn't want to clarify on—you won't push. However that doesn't prevent you from stressing on just exactly what it is he may have meant.

Someone like me?

"I've survived with intelligence and my power mostly, though not nearly close to touching the scale of what I'm sure you must be capable of."

"Of course not, no one is capable of what I am!" He flashes you a bold, cocky grin. "I'm limited edition, one of a kind really! Never made another one like me."

You laugh lightly, his charming attitude and relaxed personality was easy to fall into, especially with the lack of others around you. Individual interactions were always your preferred but that didn't prevent the anxiety you felt surrounding it regardless. Even with Angel Dust sometimes you still felt your stomach churn with the feelings of social anxiety. The stress of always doing or saying the wrong thing weighing in heavy over your head.

"Lucky we ended up with you here then, huh?"

His eyes momentarily go wide, choking a down his second of shock, before making an attempt at recovery with an awkward chuckle. "You really think so?"

He asks it with something that should sound like confidence but you can hear his own underlying anxiety within it. For a man with so much power and influence, his confidence was so shaky—the foundation crumbling further with each passing year of his wife's departure. You didn't want to speculate—let alone on the king of hell himself—but if you did, you'd say Lucifer was a broken man. Someone that was just so desperate to be loved and wanted—to feel appreciated for the good he has done, even amidst all the bad. He wanted nothing more than to be acknowledged as good when everyone else told him he was the opposite incarnate.

You had to admit, it broke your heart to see.

"Yeah, I actually think you're pretty cool Luci. I'm glad Charlie got you to stick around here more often. It's honestly pretty nice seeing you here—having you for meals. I'm sorry there have been so few good ones." Your face twists embarrassed, you hand coming up to scratch awkwardly behind your neck.

"I'm pretty glad you're here too, Luna. It's nice having another pleasant face around here. I genuinely look forward to getting to know you better, that is, if you'll let me."

The sincerity in his expression and voice touch you in ways you'd not anticipated. The fallen angel was a gentle soul—so truly ironic for the devil, for the one they called God's most hated creation. His pale face is illuminated gently by the hotel's bright marquee making it so his angelic features appeared even more so. Soft eyes matching a soft grin that was threatening to stall your breathing.

"I certainly wouldn't be opposed to that. Besides, new friends are always welcome. And after all, who could say no to the demon king himself." Your eyes glimmer with mirth.

"It'd be nice to have a resident whose company I'd enjoy seeking out."

"Well I'm rarely other places, so you'll always know where to find me."

~

"I'm way too sober for this." You groan in dejection as you continue to get hounded by your two friends.

"I mean it Ace, promise me you'll stop. No, promise me you won't do it again." Husk pleads across from you at the bar. He's paused in his current task of cleaning the bar's glasses—his white dish rag frozen in his grip, glass momentarily forgotten off to the side.

"You know I can't promise you that Husk, besides haven't things been easier for you with his attention focused on me." You try to show him that he was benefiting from this. "If I can keep him distracted from antagonizing you on the daily—well I'll continue to do it proudly dammit! Besides, it's fun watching him lose his composure. God he's like a wind up toy constantly waiting on the edge to be released, before he snaps and goes off on a tirade about ready to rip your soul to shreds."

"Ya know, that's a pretty accurate description of Smiles." Angel says following a sip of his drink.

"See!" You gesture towards the spider. "Even Angel agrees with me. God, I fucking hate him though."

"More like ya wanna fuck him." Angel teasingly prods, his tongue tucking cheekily into his cheek.

"Come on Angel, you gotta stop." You sigh a bit irritated.

"I really think it'd be the solution to all your problems with the guy. The dude looks like he wants ta' fuckin' eat ya half the time."

"Ugh, as if I'd ever give him the chance." You roll your eyes dramatically, slamming back the rest of the vodka in your glass.

"Seriously, the guy is not normal about you."

"Can you even define what his normal is? Because it honestly seems to me like he's just an asshole to everyone, I just happen to be current enemy number one. Hell, I'm almost tempted to think he hates me as much as Vox."

"Oh it sure seems like he hates you, but trust me Ace, not even you would be able to make him hate you as much as Vox. That relationship runs far deeper and more intense than either of them will ever let on." Husk interjects from across the bar. "But yeah, I guess you come it as a good second. Alastor is definitely fired up over you in a way I haven't seen him with others."

You nod your head slowly, your thumbs fiddling awkwardly with the rim of your glass. "Good to know, I guess?"

"If you're lucky he'll tire of you quickly, moving on and leaving you alone with minimal damage." Husk grimaces at the end.

You lean across the counter, your eyes catching his with intrigue. "And if I'm not lucky?"

"Let's just hope there's some pieces of you left."

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

~

Chapter Four: Half Baked Ideas

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Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairings: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Alastor gets a big ol' taste of his own medicine, copious cursing, Angel Dust being well... Angel Dust, wasted food

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Take the hard labor of two days of staring at my laptop for unreasonable amounts of time because I just started writing chapter four and never really stopped. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as I did writing it. Holy fuck these two are a riot to write! <3

"Ace no."

"Ace yes."

You stare Husk down from across the bar top, the glass of whiskey you've been sipping from this afternoon pushed off to the side. Your attention has been diverted away from it to your grumpy feline friend.

"You're so lame when you're grumpy." You pout, giving him a playful glare.

"You shouldn't keep fucking with him, Ace. Trust me, I'm not exaggerating this. He's not the kind of demon you want to fuck with down here, not even with all of your accumulated power would you be able to properly take on Alastor. You're powerful hun, but you wouldn't be able to hold your own against him for more than a couple minutes, tops." His eyes a weary, you can see the clear signs of attrition in them.

Husk…

You can't help but throw your hands up in exhaustive defeat. "What the hell else do you want me to do Husk? I'm not going to just back down from this, he does not get to keep getting away with treating people like this. I understand he's beneficial to the entire working operations of the hotel, but fuck! Does that seriously give him free reign to just be a raging dick whenever he so pleases?" You can't help the way your tone elevates in your anger and frustration.

"It's not like anyone has the power to get him to stop, you saw how he treats Lucifer. He doesn't have a single fear of repercussions. I hate to say it but, this isn't one you're going to be able to win. You're smart, you've been around longer than all of us here combined, so please quit while you're ahead."

Husk's gaze is pleading as it holds your own, your heart wrenches and pulls with the tragedy beheld within them. Your stomach twists sour with foul indignation at the Overlord and his evidently repulsive treatment of your dear friend.

You reach your hand out to place it on top of Husk's where it rests on the bar top. The both of you were so far from his Casino halls that you two had met in. Where you had so bravely gambled against the Overlord above it all and won out of what Husk still likes to consider 'sheer dumb luck'. You suppose he may not be wrong, considering you'd never once won a game against him since—but you'd never give him the pleasure of admitting such a fact. You wouldn't have any souls under you if not for that 'sheer dumb luck'. Ownership over another individual usually left a bad taste in your mouth considering most individuals and their treatment of those under their care.

"What happened to you Husk? What did Alastor do to you?" Your voice is timid—shy as you pry carefully into the broken pieces of your friend's past that you'd been absent from witnessing.

Husk grimaces, his hand making to retract from underneath yours. You give him resistance, not offering him the chance to retreat from you and a rare moment of vulnerability.

"You and I both know you're shit with emotions. You bottle it up just to wash it down with several glasses of regret. It's me Husk. How long has it been? Please, you've got to open up to someone, some time. Not to toot my own horn, but I think I'm just about the safest it gets." You implore resolutely.

You refused to lose another friend, to see the spark that made up their soul wither and fade under the hand of their new owner. A soul would truly never be it's best unless under the control of its host—if the hands of another touched it, it would always be corrupted; wrong.

His eyes slide shut, agony pulling into a furrow between his brows. He's ceased his struggle against your touch but does little more than remain where he is. He takes in a deep breath, the weight of decades of misery and torment catching up to him in the flood of a single instance.

"I'm not who I used to be…" He whispers the utterance brokenly.

The shards of pain in your heart continue to slice further into the muscle, true desolation being felt at the quiet admittance left between you two.

"I'm not sure how you've done it," He continues on, his eyes still closed—face awash with pain. "Held onto your own soul your entire tenure in Hell. I didn't make it even half a century before I lost my soul in a bet I should've known better than to place. When I say he's not a good man Ace… I'm not saying it lightly. You know I wasn't the best of Overlords at the table, my hands were dirty with my fair share blood spilt. But the things I've done because of Alastor…" He turns his head away from you, shame marring his rugged features.

"Husk…" You slide your thumb under his palm, giving it a gentle squeeze to offer some reassurance. "You can't blame yourself for all of that, not when you aren't being given a choice."

"Can't I though?" He opens his eyes to peer back into yours. Years of ghosts haunting the hollows of them. "It's been my hands. Just because he gave me the ax, doesn't mean I'm not still the executioner."

"Well if it's between some random Sinner's and one of my best friends, I know who'll be winning ten out of ten times." You try to offer him a warm grin, a reminder that he really wasn't as broken as he felt inside.

"What are you talking about?" He inquires wearily.

"At this point, you and I both know—and can see what a horrible person Alastor is—you wouldn't be doing his bidding if it weren't under the threat of your soul. So if it comes down to the deaths of a bunch of random Sinner's or one of my best friends, the lives of the many will never out weigh the life of you."

"It ain't just the killin'…"

"My same point still stands. You're here, I get to spend time with you, that's all that matters."

He shifts his entire body back to face you, his entire body looking tight with exhaustion and apprehension—yet you can see the beginning's of the emotions starting to melt behind his pretty golden eyes.

"We've all done things we're not proud of to survive, but we keep fighting regardless. When you can't fight alone, my hand is always extended in offered assistance. I'm never going to tell you to stop drinking, fuck knows I'd be a hypocrite for trying to, but please—don't let that be your only solution. I'll always have time to sit with you."

"I'm glad you ended up here Ace." He murmurs quietly beneath his breath, the barest hints of a smile teasing at his lips. His hand giving yours a vague squeeze back in response.

"Me too, Husk. Me too." You grin warmly.

You release his hand, grabbing your neglected glass and taking a large gulp of the potent liquid.

"But I'm serious, he fucked with the wrong witch. And my lasagna nonetheless! I feel awful, I didn't deserve to have that ruined, let alone Angel—he's the entire reason I cooked it in the first place." You grit your teeth with your continually growing aggravation. "We'll see how much everyone likes his famous jambalaya when he confounds an ingredient or two."

Husk sighs, but it's the sigh you receive when he already knows you've made up your mind and there's little to be done to stop you. "Please don't do that…"

"Oh, I'm totally going to do it." You throw back the rest of your whiskey, the burning catching in your throat—spreading down into your stomach below. "It's a shame that's the menu for tonight, because revenge truly is a dish best served cold, but I suppose hot will just have to do." The grin you shoot Husk is manic and full of chaotic promise. It was a look he knew very well, and by now should really know that there would be no change in the trajectory of your forward action.

~

Lucky for you, Hell so happened to produce pepper plants so hot that even Lucifer seemed to struggle upon consumption of some of the vegetables produced. You'd heard that Alastor liked to boast about his tolerance for various levels of spice, able to consume whatever Hell could produce without so much as a single wet eyelash. Whether this fact was bullshit or not, you knew ruining the dish he planned to provide for the entire hotel would be reason enough to piss the pretentious asshole off.

You felt a bit bad about sabotaging dinner for the rest of the inhabitants, they ultimately didn't deserve to be caught up in this game that Alastor had swiftly set into motion between the two of you, but you suppose every war had it's casualties. Besides, if no one wanted take out you after, could offer to cook a replacement meal in it's place. You were sure that would be something to grind Alastor's gears just as much as the blow to his enormous ego.

There's an itching sense of paranoia and dread that has settled beneath your skin as you traipse into the kitchen on your hateful heist. You're lucky that Alastor seems nowhere to be found in the current vicinity, the kitchen devoid of life—the only sounds that could be heard occupying the inside was the subtle bubble of the jambalaya on the stove.

You approach cautiously, your ears perked up—trained at attention for the potential of any sounds that may be amiss. The last thing you wanted to do was be caught in the act, it'd be no fun if the fun stopped before it had the chance to properly start. Still the kitchen remains silent.

Carefully you pull the lid off the simmering pot. You're grateful that the burner is turned to low, no flames to distract you from your task with panic. You pick up the spoon from beside the pot, giving the mixture a stir. You detest the admittance that it smells incredible, the subtle aroma of balanced spices mingling pleasantly with tomato sauce, chicken, shrimp, and sausage.

It's not fair that he's a good cook, it'd be so much easier if he wasn't.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, the need to sample the dish before tainting it beyond any saving grace is too great. You dip the spoon in, ladling out a small portion of the mixture to bring to your face. You blow gently on the steaming bite—the rice glistening prettily in the light, the spices filling your senses with their warmth.

You hate the pleasure your taste buds feel upon it's entrance into your mouth. It's an explosion of harmonious flavors, each playing their part without out shinning the other. The various components play beautifully with one another to easily produce one of the more tasty things you've had the enjoyment of eating in your afterlife.

Oh fuck him. Fuck him all the way down to the seventh ring of Hell.

That's just not fair.

You can't help but stand over the simmering pot, a look of glowering repugnance locked onto your features. His food was good. It was really good.

Fuck, now you felt bad for ruining it.

But then you remember his comments, his stupid fucking, cocky ass smirk as he ridiculed and mocked you. The way he ruined something that you deemed so precious to yourself. You remember the way he snaps at Husk, and the lack of light in the latter's eyes.

Fuck him.

You pull the packet of dried and powdered chilies—the hottest you've made record of existing down here—dumping it directly into the batch of stewing rice. You feel a pang of regret as you stir the hellish seasoning into it all. It was a shame you suppose, but he deserved it.

You had to keep telling yourself that.

Alastor definitely fucking deserves this.

You could feel how hot the flames you were playing with were now, you really hoped that the burns would be worth it.

~

Your presence at dinner has set the room into an automatic state of tension, the rest of the residents seeming to hold their breaths as you and Alastor occupy the same space once more. Lucifer is once more in attendance taking up his spot at the head of the table. Leaving you off to his right side. You had no intention to eat the dinner placed in front of you. Oh no, you were here for nothing more than pure and utter entertainment.

There's still a small amount of guilt niggling at the back of your mind—a constant reminder that the others don't deserve this, not even to bear witness to. Still, you'd played your move and could do nothing other than wait and see how it unfolded.

You keep a polite smile fixed in place, passively taking in the atmosphere of the settling dinning room around you. It was the brief calm before the proverbial storm that was surely about to wreck through the room. Husk eyes you wearily, he catches your eye giving you a slight look of disapproval at the brief flash of a triumphant grin you give him. He shakes his head, a sigh of disappointment leaving his mouth but he keeps his mouth shut. You suppose he really does know you better than most.

The various scattered conversations reach a slight lull.

"Thanks for cooking dinner tonight Alastor!" Charlie beams proudly down at him. The girl was always so eager to hand out praise, no one was exempt from it. "Your jambalaya is always such a treat to have."

"Why of course Charlie." He grins wickedly, his hands waving her off casually. "It's really never any trouble. There was never a need to offer for a replacement in the first place." His eyes cut to yours, pride glinting cruelly within them.

"I wasn't trying to replace you." Charlie tries to defend.

"Don't waste your breath Charlie." Lucifer warns from the head of the table. "It's not worth it."

"No, what do you mean? I just don't see why there can't be multiple people using the kitchen, I mean it is huge, after all. I wasn't trying to cause any problems." She sounds so helpless, genuinely distressed by the contention that she had seemingly—unknowingly—instigated.

Vaggie is the first to take a bite of dinner.

"El pendjo!" She curses loudly. "This is really fucking hot. Holy shit!"

The fallen angel stands abruptly before barreling into the kitchen.

There's a shared miriade of confused looks, several others having just put their respective bites in their mouths. Charlie's eyes widen with distress, Niffty's large eye begins to water, Angel looks fine for only a second before a similar reaction is evoked in him as well.

Oh shit, now you really felt bad.

Husk sips from his current bottle of booze, the look on his face reading endless exhaustion.

Lucifer looked down his plate before casting a suspicious glance towards you. You intentionally divert your eyes away, instead finding Alastor's.

Oh yes.

That look.

That's exactly why you did this.

The usual calm composure of the infamous and proper Radio Demon is wound tight in a determined resolve to not completely snap free and rip your soul to shreds. His smile is corkscrew tight, as if a single turn more would crack and shatter it. His posture is sharp, his muscles tight—a hair trigger away from snapping and contorting into eldritch proportions. You can see his glove covered claws digging into the table beneath them. The veneer he was so desperately clutching onto was splintering.

"I was going to give you a nasty look, but I see you've already got one." You can't help but bite out a retort. Your brow lifts in a silent challenge.

Check.

Your move.

"What did you do?!"

His rage his thinly veiled, though his threat obvious in tone alone. His claws gouge grooves into the wooden table.

You make a distant note of Charlie rising from her seat and making a mad dash for the kitchen herself. You really hoped for their sake the milk in the fridge helped, if not—you were at a loss for aids.

Your grin is smug even ad midst your feigned innocence. "I'm not sure I know what you're referring to, Alastor."

"Your practice in reticence is horribly uncharming as usual, petite lunette. What a shame, that of all the decisions you chose to make today, it was to die." His eyes flash dangerously with red dials.

"What's wrong Alastor? Can't handle the heat?" You taunt boldly.

The abruptly mounting tension between the two of you is palpably felt among the few who remain in the room. Angel is across from you trying desperately not to fall apart from the gradually increasing heat enveloping his mouth. Husk has laid his head on the table, his acceptance at not being able to stop you extending into a lack of need to watch your grisly demise. You can just barely make out Lucifer from out of your side eye, lifting his finger as if he means to interject.

You lift your hand out to him. Silencing whatever it was he might feel the need to say in your defense. The smug smile you still wear at the feeling of your victory remains securely in place. Your eyes dance with malicious mirth as they challenge Alastor.

"This is my mother's recipe." He growls violently.

You shrug gesturing down to the abandoned plates. "Shame, seems like she was a poor cook. Guess I can't blame you for being so bad at it then."

You can see the thin cracks of his facade fracturing further, his taught frame growing impossibly tighter with the twisting of his joints. Radio feedback squeals sharply in the dinning room, static crackling deafeningly through the air—distorting his usually prim, proper voice. "My expectations for you have been on the floor, and yet here you stand with a shovel."

"Life is full of disappointments, just add me to the list." You wink, blowing him an exaggerated kiss.

"I hate you." He seethes openly, rising to his feet. His antlers have begun to snap and groan, extending far beyond their usual boundaries atop his head.

"Oh you hate me?" You give a cold theatrical laugh. "Join the club. They have weekly meetings—it's around the corner of fuck you street and kiss my ass boulevard."

"Luney…" Angel sounds apprehensive and distressed, still audibly struggling with the heat filled dish. His worry is founded—you really couldn't blame him for it, still it was currently a frustrating battle to be fighting on the side.

"Oh darling, it's so clear your inferiority complex is justified."

You can't help but lunge from your own seat, slamming your hand down on top of the table with a loud resounding smack. You point your other finger at him accusingly, your words filled with venom and virulence. "Listen here you abominable shit demon."

"Whoa!" Lucifer finally jumps in, getting to his own feet in a desperate grasp to distill the tension. "Slow down ya little Hellcat, you're going to get yourself killed at this rate." He chuckles awkwardly.

"I'm willing to take my chances." You snap bitterly.

"Why does it hurt so bad?!" Niffty's tiny voice pipes up from the other end of the table. Her big eye swimming in tears. Small whimpers falling from her lips from the pain.

Alastor's grin stretches impossibly wide. "Are you really?"

"Don't argue with idiots," Lucifer cuts his glare to Alastor. "They will drag you down to their level, and then beat you with experience. He's not worth it."

"If ignorance was a virtue, you'd be a saint by now." Alastor smolders back.

"Oh my hate for you runs deeper than even your own ego." The blonde glares at him sharply.

"Your mere existence is proof that failure has a sense of humor."

Lucifer's eyes flash dangerously, fire dancing wildly within their endless depths.

"Dad!" Charlie's voice interjects loudly, turning all heads to the kitchen door. She's holding an ice cube to her tongue, her usually pale face tinged rosy and misted with sweat.

"Charlie!" Lucifer says just as exasperated, shoving his hands in gesture towards the still distorted Alastor.

"What the fuck is even going on?!" She's entirely agitated, confused and disheartened.

Silence lingers heavily in the air surrounding the dinning room. The suspense hangs with unstable certainty. You keep your eyes on Alastor, his holding them in return. Lucifer is turned to face his daughter. Each of your faces frozen with varied expressions. You silently dare Alastor to speak first. That's right, clean up your fucking mess.

You could almost laugh at the sight of Alastor quickly returning back to his usual kept form, attempting to appear as though nothing had ever been amiss. He picks at the cuffs on his suit jacket as he sits back down. "Sorry Charlie dear, it seems the drivel has yet to know her place."

"Your mother may have told you you could be anything you wanted Alastor, but I don't think a douche bag was what she meant." Lucifer shoots across at the demon.

"Dad, can you at least try to be nice?" Charlie pleads desperately.

"He's still breathing honey. That's me being fucking nice."

"The petite papillon de lune have nothing to say for herself?" Alastor keeps his attention focused intently on you.

You remain standing in your place, your chest rising and falling swiftly with the breaths you take. You were in control here though—this was your win. You would not let this mother fucking asshole take that from you. "I'd love to insult you but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to do a better job than mother nature did."

The harsh record scratch accompanied by feedback rings deafeningly in all your ears. Alastor's composed facade remains—aside from the sickening crack of his neck as he regards you malignantly. "If you wished for death my dear, you could have just asked politely." His Cheshire grin full of sinister promise.

"Didn't your mother teach you to respect your elders?" You can feel your palm begin to heat with warm light, the tension rising in your blood igniting your powers to flow freely through you. No matter how long you'd practiced otherwise, you couldn't help how intrinsically tied your powers were to your emotions at times. When you began to slip in control, your feelings took the reigns.

"You aren't worth the dirt they buried you in, let alone my respect."

Your smirk is devious. "Who says they buried me?"

"I'm going to strangle you." He says calmly but you can tell he's still riled.

"Is that a promise?"

Static snaps within Alastor's growl.

"Ace!"

You shrug innocently, settling back down in your seat. You cross your arms in front of your chest in an attempt to conceal the increasing glow of your hands. You weren't ready to make your grand escape quite just yet. "Sorry, I wasn't looking to press all his buttons. I was honestly just looking for mute."

"You've done enough." Husk sounds wrecked, his face full of pleading desperation.

"Oh no Husker, I'd love to see how far down she digs her hole." It's blatant that the Radio Demon remains vexed with you but somehow he's still keeping it together.

You want to go stab him with a fork, just to see him snap completely. He's made you angry—absolutely filled you to the brim with indignant rage. He's nothing more than a playground bully with malevolent tendencies.

"Hey Alastor, why don't you go slip into something more comfortable. Like a coma, preferably." You feel one of your antennae twitch with annoyance.

"My dear, if you were on fire and I was holding a glass of water, I'd drink it."

"For the love'a god! Just fuck each other already and get over it!" Angel cries, his face still tinted with a deep blush—his fluffy fringe sticking to parts of his forehead with sweat.

"Angel!!" Charlie chastises around a mouthful of ice.

"What?! I have a feeling we'd be back to peaceful meals in no time if they did. You know hate is awfully~ close to to lust psychologically. Besides, there's nothing' like a good hate fuck to get things outta your systems." He offers it up like gold star advice, his smirk wicked as he catches your eyes.

"I'd rather die." You spit wretchedly.

"I suppose this is the only time I can admit we share an agreed sentiment." Alastor continues his disdainful regard of you.

"That's what they all say." He says with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Look ya can't always be the sharpest tool in the shed, but'cha can always be a hoe."

"Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut and give off the impression that you're stupid rather than open it and remove that doubt for everyone." Alastor snaps over at Angel.

"Hey!! You don't get to talk to people like that. I don't care who the fuck you are, you bitch baguette. It seems to me that everyone who has ever loved you was wrong." Your hands feel unbearably hot—itching to singe and burn.

"See what I mean?" Angel says suggestively waggling brows at Charlie. "They're basically rippin' each other apart naked in their minds already, they just need a nudge to take it into reality."

You had to admit, this was one of those moments even you were desperate for your best friend to shut the fuck up. "Angie…" You warn in your loving tone of if you don't shut the fuck up, I'll kill you. It was meant entirely with endearing intent but still serious enough to let him know you really weren't fucking around right now. "Not the time."

Your nerves were tight, you had control of the situation—at least you felt like you did—but it felt as if it was beginning to slip from your tense hold. You needed to ensure you left this situation on top, you would never kneel to this man—you refused.

"Oh toots, it's always the time." He winks back at you.

"Are you proud of the company you keep?" Alastor interjects snarkily.

Despite your fatigue with Angel you still stand up to his defense. "Absolutely! Unlike you, I'm proud to know Angel. Knowing you is just an unavoidable inconvenience."

"Oh I know you don't like me, and that implies that you need to learn better taste. The effimanent spider you keep as company is just further proof of that."

"You do realize most people just tolerate you, right? At least we're the kind of people that others enjoy being around."

"Careful dear, or I might just have to teach you a better use for that mouth." Alastor challenges coldly, a distant shriek of agony echoing from the mic between his hands.

"See!" Angel gestures boldly back and forth between the two of you. "That's some kinky ass shit!"

"Angel!" It's Husk's turn to interject on him.

"What?! Tell me I'm fucking wrong!" He tosses all four hands up in exaggeration.

"That's not the fucking point." The cat grumbles in return.

"I'd call you a tool but that'd imply that you're useful for something." You throw at Alastor.

"Oh my god, I can't believe I'm doing this." You hear Lucifer mumble under his breath off to the side. "Enough!" He bellows loudly, the deafening roar of an irate devil forcing everyone and everything into undisturbed silence.

Despite the heat from the rage coursing through your veins—a chill slithers its way through it all, settling into dread along your spine. You hadn't witnessed Lucifer's merciless—almost bestial side up until tonight—you weren't sure how you felt being present to it.

Even Alastor snaps his head up towards the hellish king, intrigue and irritation both hold residence in his gaze.

Charlie looks worried but mostly overall relieved. The sounds of Vaggie banging around in the kitchen can still be heard through the open door behind her.

Angel holds a look of concern but it's matched alongside a suggestive smirk still targeted towards Husk. The latter rubbing his thumb to ease the crease between his crumpled brows. He looked like a disappointed father whose child had just gone beyond the point of saving.

It felt apt for the unfolding scene.

Sorry bud, pour one out over my second grave.

"It's alright, I think I'm done anyway." You reply calmly, unfolding your arms as you feel your light begin to dissipate. The injection of fear that Lucifer put into you did wonders to wrangle your emotions back in. You stand up, brushing your hands down your tight covered legs. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but I was raised being told it was impolite to tell lies."

You throw one last repugnant glance at Alastor before fading into a soft blur of light.

Even with your absence, the atmosphere of the room remains taught—the potential for it to be cut with a knife far too accurate of a statement. Lucifer manages to take a few breaths to compose himself, while Alastor sits opposite him, his eternal grin bolted tightly in place—the rest of his expression frozen in a state of disbelief.

You were a far more formidable opponent than he had initially given you credit for. It had been quite a long time since he had encountered unforeseen circumstances when it came to a target of prey, you were so intelligent in comparison to most—it was bordering on bothersome at this point.

Alastor really hadn't expected you to retaliate so brazen and boldly. He wouldn't have been able to taste the tampering if he had partaken himself—the universes malediction to him in death preventing even the faintest of flavors to grace his tongue. Shame everyone else had to suffer for it instead, oh well.

"Well, aren't some people such treasures you just want to bury them?" He grits as he stands from his seat, brushing off non-existent dust and debris from his suit.

"Alastor, you're not pretty enough to have this ugly of a personality. You can't keep harassing the poor girl this way." Lucifer effetely sighs.

"Even his royal daftness must see that this clearly isn't a single sided affair." He can't help but defend. Besides he didn't exactly want to stop. Now that you'd left the room and he was given a momentary reprieve from your loathsome presence—he was reminded how fun this was at it's core. He just needed to make sure your win from tonight didn't last long.

He would not be the ultimate loser in this little game between the two of you.

Of that he was certain.

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

~

Chapter Three: Happy Accidents

~

Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairings: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Valentino is his own warning, flashing (in more ways than one), a copious amount of curse words, Alastor being a ruthless dick.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: I had way too much fun with the end of this one, holy shit I never expected just how easy it would be to write Alastor. I'm having a blast with this! I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

"What the fuck was that at breakfast this morning?" Angel sits from across you, the smell of rot and sulfur over powering the smell of the strong bitter coffee placed between you both. "Don't get me wrong, I haven't started off my day with that much drama since I was forced to work a triple shift at the studio and we ran out of lube for the orgy scene that morning. Let me tell you, you neva' wanna do that shit dry. Learned that the hard way. And I love some good drama, but like, you've known the dude two seconds, haven't ya?"

You sigh dramatically, setting your coffee on the table. While the brew had done a bit to help how you were feeling, the feelings of incense and annoyance at all that happened are still running laps around your head. The longer you had the chance to sit with it, the more upset you are that Alastor felt the need to still instigate such conflict in front of the rest of the hotel's occupants. You weren't thrilled to be putting on a show in front of everyone with him, but he kept pushing all the buttons you just really didn't want pushed.

"Alastor is an asshole, that's what the fuck happened at breakfast." You grumble bitterly as you glare back at the hotel off in the distance.

"Well, yeah. I coulda' told you that one. But I thought the two of you hadn't met yet, I didn't expect a war zone to break out as soon as ya' did." Angel shrugs casually.

"Technically we met last night when I was cleaning up after cooking for the girls. He all but jumped and cornered me right off the bat. Was apparently listening into the conversation like a creepy ass bastard too. How is he the one Charlie ended up with as a business partner?"

"It's a long story." Angel waves off easily. "But somehow we ended up with freaky face as a permanent part a' management. He's still here despite all that's happened, so I guess even I gotta' hand him that. Still, he remains said asshole as you said. S'pose Charlie might think the benefit out weighs the rest. But your guess is as good as mine. What'd he say? Did he do anything ta ya'?"

You pick up your coffee, taking a long pull of the bittersweet liquid. "He mostly just seems set to rile me up. He seems desperate to piss me off. Charlie offered me free use of the kitchen so I'm sure that's not entirely thrilling to him."

"Oh yeah, that'd probably do it." Angel takes a sip of his own coffee, face grimacing. "I tried to cook in there once, and I mean once, and he about bit my hand off. And that's not a metaphor. My hands are very valuable in my line of work, so it's not something I've eva' been willing to risk again. Dude's a total asshole with anything relating to food or that kitchen."

You hum, nodding your head. "That seems about right. He really didn't seem to like that I offered to take on cooking for everyone at the hotel."

"He's a total control freak. Of course he wouldn't want you taking over. Besides, he just loovees to exert control wherever the fuck he can in the hotel. God, I don't even wanna know what poor Husker has to do for that chuckle fuck."

"Based on how different he is from before he made his deal with Alastor, I'd say it's nothing great." You grimace as you drain the last vestiges of coffee from your cup. Setting it back on the table in front of you so you can pick at the paper of the cup in an attempt to keep your hands busy. "He's still Husk, but he's not…"

Angel shows a renewed intrigue in the conversation, a subtle shift in his body language that wouldn't be noticeable if not for the decade of friendship under your belt. Angel was the kind of person who kept his cards close to his chest at all times—rarely showing any hints of anything other than what he wanted you to see. But after so much time with him—and what opening up you'd gotten him to do—there were things that he couldn't hide even from you.

Your lips quirk into a grin, the skin around your eyes crinkling with mirth. "You and him seem to be close."

Angel splutters a bit, caught off guard by your call out. "After the time we've all spent t'gether, it's hard not to get to know each other a bit."

"Is that what you call it?" You waggle your brows playfully. "Getting to know each other a bit?"

"I don't even know what you're insinuating." He defends playfully but you can tell there's a bit of underlying uncomfortably at being confronted by his potential feelings for the fellow Sinner.

You decide to ease up on him a little, not wanting to dig too deep before you really get the chance. "I don't know who I'd hate to own my soul more, Alastor or Valentino." You shudder at the vague creeping thought of the moth demon.

~ A Decade or so ago…

It was hard not to be reminded of that fateful night you and Angel's paths had first crossed. It had been a long day—the kind that leaves you desperate to let loose and forget your inhibitions. The club scene had grown on you over your years in hell. With the changing of the times and the growth in popularity of this type of night life amongst the denizens of hell, you'd eventually caved and given it a shot. Though it wasn't your preferred way of unwinding, you still found some pleasure and entertainment in it.

The sound of the bass echoed loudly within the walls of the dim club, the vibrations climbing their way up to settle in your chest. There was a slight haze to the air, it put the establishment under the filter of a pinkish hue. Hundreds of bodies packed tightly together on the dance floor bumping about like a can of sardines trying to have a rave. The rest of the club was nearly just as full but the patrons were a little more sparsely populated throughout.

From your vantage point by the entry you can see the placement of three different bars throughout the club—some being more crowded than others. The one that catches your attention the quickest is in the back corner on the second floor. It was a place where you could still feel like you were part of the action of it all, while still remaining somewhat secluded.

You're shocked to find how comfortable the plush velvet stool at the bar is—a far cry from some of the places you've been to prior. The cushion cradles you pleasantly as you order your usual poison from the bar. You had plenty of time to learn your tastes and preferences for vices, and while you liked a good variety of everything, you were still guilty of having favorites.

Across the way from you on the upstairs stage you can see a thin spindly spider Sinner dancing and revolving on one of the three stages poles. His long limbs twisting in graceful fluid motions as he turned and spun about. He was handsome but the most apt word you could find to describe him would be honestly be pretty. His snowy white fur was complimented beautifully with quartz pink accents. A black cropped halter covered his top half while on his legs a matching set of high waisted black booty shorts sat. There was a heart cut out at the waist line that gave a good look at his toned midriff. Garters attached the shorts to a tall set of leather boots that matched the rest, gloves covering his four arms and hands finishing off the ensemble.

You couldn't help but admire his grace and poise as he moved about seductively on the stage. A growing crowd of Sinner's starts to fill in around the stage, many of them wearing leering predatory looks on their faces. You can't help but grimace in distaste at the lack decorum constantly on display within places like this. The rest of Hell wasn't much better, after all, why would anyone care about propriety down here? Divine judgment has already been passed, the buck stops here—leaving no room for change or improvement. So why would anyone try?

You keep to your spot but admire from afar. There is an art to his performance, the technique of his movements mesmerizing to behold, even from this distance. You find yourself almost envious of the elegance he exhibits despite the display being so openly provocative. The balance he manages between the two is truly impressive.

You're so caught up admiring the display on stage you don't notice the large looming shadow over your left shoulder. It isn't until the imposing figure makes himself known that your attention is drawn away.

"Well aren't you a pretty sexy thing?" A heavily accented voice coos in your ear followed by a haze of pink smoke surrounding you.

You can't help the moue that pulls at your lips with the immediate distaste you feel in this situation. You're sadly not unfamiliar with the face that you turn to greet—you were well aware of who was who in the Pride ring's hierarchy—it was easy to recognize the erotic Overlord stationed beside you.

His eyes are predatory as they take in your decorous form where you're sat. The way he ogles you makes you want to squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

"You know," He purrs. "I don't think I've ever seen another Sinner down here like me, where's an alluring beauty like you been hiding all this time? You new down here? You'd make a perfect star among my collection."

You've never felt more like you were being undressed by anothers eyes, the way he looks over your body leaves you feeling borderline nauseous. You can't help the way you physically lean away from him but he's frustratingly quick to follow.

"I appreciate the offer," You start, already doing your best to reign in your contempt at him for invading your space with so little gallantry. "But I'm not sure I'm you're girl."

"Sure you are," He hums. "There's not many Sinner's down here that can catch my attention the way you did. Baby doll, I've seen it all and you're really something unique—something special. Why don't I take you somewhere that's a bit more secluded, more private."

His smile is lecherous as he leans closer. At this point your ass is hanging half off your stool, one of your heeled feet already braced against the ground prepared to dart away any second. He brings his cigarette up to his lips, inhaling a deep lungful of the acrid fumes. He purses his lips sideways, blowing the rose colored smoke just off to the side of you both. You have to suppress the cough that threatens to expel from you.

God there was nothing worse than assholes who couldn't take a hint.

"You're too kind." You begin to placate gently. You'd gotten good at mollifying men in power who had trouble taking no for an answer. "Really. But I'm okay, it's a date night with my wine kind of night and I'm not looking to add additional company."

His chuckle is low, almost menacing underneath the loud bass of the club's music. "Really querida, do you not know what I'm offering you here? Do you not know who I am?"

Fuck off, oh my god.

"Oh trust me, I know who you are Valentino. Kinda hard not to, and while I…" You trail off momentarily to find a pacifying word. "Respect, the work you do, it's really not my type of scene. Honestly, I'm saving you more trouble here than you realize."

"Surely there's some way I can entice you otherwise. I happen to treat my souls very well."

"There surely isn't. I'm sorry." You try to offer him a polite smile, hoping for this interaction to just be over with already.

"Nothing?"

Your resolve to remain nice is starting to rapidly crumble, the invasion of your space and time really starting to get on your nerves. You're not sure how much longer you have it in you before you start to be anything but nice.

"Nothing." You shrug, turning to take a sip of your drink in an attempt to remain impassive.

His hand creeps up your back, along the edges of your delicate wings. "I'm certain I could change that, I happen to be very," He leans in close, the cloying scent surrounding him making you want to violently gag. His lips brush the shell of your ear. "Persuasive."

This time you almost do retch, the blatant denial of not only your refusal but his persistence in violating your physical space it what snaps your final straw.

Ultimately, not very long.

You shoot to your feet, taking several large steps around the stool and away from the fellow moth. No longer able to keep a pleasant facade, your face is marred with a irritated frown. There was no room for niceties, not with your rejection being so horribly ignored.

"My answer is no. Now I'd rather you leave me alone, I was rather looking forward to enjoying my drinks tonight, but I have no qualms with finding some other place to spend my time tonight." Your tone is harsh, leaving no room for misunderstanding the words said with it.

You were tall, even by Hell's standards, but when Valentino takes a daunting step forward even you can't help but cower at his sheer size. He would be intimidating on height alone, yet knowing the power he held and capabilities that came from it, even a powerful witch and Sinner like you had reason to be afraid.

"Ooh I've always loved the ones that play hard to get, so much more satisfying when they finally break and give in." There's a wicked glint in his red eyes.

"For Lucifer's sake, fuck off!" You yell, drawing the attention of many of the patrons on the second level to the scene unfolding between you two. You note distantly that even the dancer on stage has paused, his focus turned towards you both as well.

Valentino growls, one of his hands darting out to grip your wrist cruelly. He gives a tug, pulling you closer to him. You dig your heels into the ground, hastily forming your plan of escape. It becomes clear that you might have to use your detested last resort.

Fuck, the middle of a crowded club was the last place you wanted to do this.

With a strength that surprises the Overlord himself, you rip your arm from his grasp at the same moment you step backwards. You feel your wings begin to quickly unfurl, the pair swiftly opening up to lay rigidly against your back. You can almost feel the light flow through you as it spreads to your wings, growing brighter and brighter till it explodes from them like a flash bang. Immediately disorienting those around you, including the hostile man in front of you.

"Goddammit!" Valentino's shrill cry pierces the air amongst the groans of the other Sinners scattered about. Two of his hands come up to rub at his eyes, the intense light near searing his retinas.

You use his disorientation to make your get away. Quickly covering yourself back up with your wings before darting to the large staircase at the other side of the room. You keep your head low as you make your way down the flight and into the crowded floor below.

This was most certainly not how you wanted your night to go.

Fucking men.

Hoping to keep possible attention on you to a minimum, you navigate your way to the club's back entrance. Only feeling like you can breathe a proper breath of air once you clear the doorway into the grimy alley.

You take a moment to yourself, your back pressed against the cool brick wall—the sensation of it helping to ground you alongside your deep breaths. You lean your head back against the wall, your eyes closing for a moment as you inhale the putrid air of Hell's streets. You force yourself to make note of the texture of the brick beneath your exposed skin, the chilly air that nips at it your edges. The smell of rot and decay fill your lungs but you use it to anchor yourself to this moment, force yourself to not get lost amidst the flurry of emotions and feelings threatening to well up and consume you.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, holding it in your chest for a moment. You open your eyes to peer at Heaven's gate where it tauntingly gleamed above all of Hell, a constant reminder of just how close you were to never having something better than this. Sometimes you wonder if you were punished unfairly—questioning if God really did hate witches like you were always made to believe. You had ultimately been someone you'd considered a good person in life, your only true sin being born in the wrong body and your practice of dark magic and witch craft. If that's all it took to be thrown into Hell, maybe you didn't want to know what Heaven was like.

But you'd be lying if you said the years weren't weighing on you heavier and heavier with the never ending passing of time. An array of faces and experiences blurring together in one incomprehensible afterlife experience. You were so exhausted, so tired of having to be strong—constantly defending and protecting yourself from vile individuals like Valentino. From life and to your death beyond, it has always been your biggest struggle. Having the power to defend and protect yourself meant everything to you but you hated that it was something needed to be done on a near daily basis.

You were so tired of fighting. Constantly battling not just fellow demons in Hell, but the demons within you. The ones that festered and bred inside your very soul—that turned your mind dark with the decay of loathsome thoughts.

You just wanted a reprieve from it all.

The sound of the club's door swinging open into the wall of the alley forces you to release the breath that's been burning your lungs. Your head snapping immediately to the source as your heart rate picks up a rapid pace within your chest.

You dread the thought of Valentino having followed you out here, eager to get revenge for your audacious behavior; you're pleasantly surprised to see the dancer from the stage upstairs, his clothes having been changed from the daring set he'd been performing in. In their place he wears a cropped long sleeve sweater in a shade of pink complimenting his patterned fur. A pair of navy blue shorts hanging slightly askew off his hips, a set of black boots finishing the look off. Though not dressed as captivating as he'd been while preforming, he still looks incredibly attractive.

"Damn girly, you got some serious guts to do something like that. I don't think I've seen someone say no to Val in such a bold manner before, let alone literally flash him in the process. Nice tits by the way." He shoots you a wink, a wide jesting grin pulling at his lips.

You're left in shocked silence for a moment, not sure how to respond to the compliment. What did this guy want?

"I wish I had your courage, honestly."

"Thank you…?" You respond a bit awkwardly, not sure how to take this interaction and where it might be going.

"You are very welcome. I gotta know, can I buy a bad-ass bitch a drink?" He's come to a stop in front of you, both sets of arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall opposite you.

You shake your head. "I am not going back in there."

"Pfft, I wouldn't ask ya to in the first place. Besides, the drinks in there are terrible anyways. Let me take you somewhere nicer, somewhere we won't have to worry about Val either. Fuck knows I've had my fair share of his shit today."

You take a moment to consider your options. So far he hasn't given you a reason to say no, and you were going to find a different place to drink anyway. Besides, after your altercation with the fellow moth, some pleasant company wouldn't be so bad.

"You're not trying to do any shady shit, are you?" You can't help but question, part joking, part serious.

"Nah, that's not my type a thing. I'm usually the one having shady shit done to them." He grins extending one of his hands out to you. "Name's Angel Dust, if you didn't know already."

You can't help a small smile of your own, pushing off the wall to step toward Angel and accept his out stretched hand. The name does ring a vague bell—now remembering cursory mentions of Valentino having a new rising star from your brief ventures onto Hell's various social medias and news outlets. You more often preferred to get your information the old fashioned way but even you couldn't help but admit the convenience of cell phones in this modern age. It really was incredible sometimes with the expansive amount how much you've witnessed change in Hell during your extensive afterlife.

"Can't say I had the proper pleasure of knowing, but it's nice to meet you Angel Dust." You give his hand a firm friendly shake. "This nice place walking distance or taxi distance? Because I do heels well, but I'm not without my limits. It's a whole different kind of hell themselves, aren't they?"

"Oh sista' you're preaching to the choir." Angel laments dramatically alongside you. "It's not too far, maybe a couple a blocks." He extends one of his arms out to you, offering for you to link yours with.

You hesitate a moment, taking a brief calculation of where you'd want to set boundaries off the bat with him—only you find yourself shocked when you feel a sort of trust built into the camaraderie you already feel with Angel, something you hadn't felt in a long, long time. Your grin stretches wider as you lock your arm with his, following dutifully alongside him as he accompanies you to your next destination.

Talk with Angel is pleasant on the short trip there and continues as such even after gaining entry and securing a booth in a more secluded corner of the bar.

He hadn't been wrong about bringing you to a nicer place—this place was far finer than the club you'd been before. The ambiance was far more mellow and subdued, the lighting less harsh and intruding. Cerulean lights trailed along the edges of the ceiling, on the floor strips of cobalt ones reflected the same edges of the ones above. The tables were a dark mahogany with the chairs and booths surrounding them complimenting with their rosewood upholstery. The croon of an elegant lounge singer filled the air from her place on the stage.

"Damn, you weren't kidding around when you said nice." You compliment as the drinks you both ordered are placed in front of you. The wine Angel suggest you try was far nicer than you'd ever been willing to pay for yourself. An old vintage from the vineyards down in the Gluttony ring.

"When you're constantly working in clubs, it's not always the environment you'd wanna unwind in anyway. Besides, who says whore's can't be classy?" He throws you a cheeky wink with his black sclera eye.

"You might just be as classy as they come." You tease.

Your chest feels light with the ease you feel in Angel's company. It feels warm, familiar—despite being strangers up until this point. He felt like the type of soul you were destined to meet at some point in your lives histories.

"So what's your deal, huh? I feel like I woulda' seen a gal like you around these parts before now. Val certainly woulda' noticed ya as quick as he did tonight."

You shrug as you take a sip from your large glass—hell never really skimped on the pours, a fact of which you were grateful. "I've been around, here and there. Never stay in one place long. You gotta have a rotation of things to keep things fresh when you've got eternity stretched before ya."

Angel lets out an interested hum, indulging in his own glass. "So these really ain't your usual haunts, huh?"

You respond with a shake of your head. "Not as of the recent years, no."

"You gotta job?"

"Sometimes, mostly not though."

"Right now?"

"No."

He squints his eyes at you, taking a large gulp of his wine before posing another question to you. "How old are you, Luney?"

You can't help the ditsy laugh that erupts from you at the unexpected nickname. You can feel how the alcohol has settled in your veins with a comforting, familiar warmth. "That's what you're going with?"

"That's what you are, aren't ya?" He gestures with two of his hands towards your entire body. "Moon moth or some shit right? Definitely not the color of the ones I saw a few times back on Earth but the wings look simila'."

You smile nodding your head. "I was a lepidoptera witch in life, only thing I can likely theorize to be karma's reasoning for settling me with these fucking things." You gesture lazily to your wings and antennae—the latter twitching with annoyance. It wasn't that you hated them, per say, it's just to say they were wildly inconvenient even at the best of times. Getting used to two new, rather large appendages upon arrival in hell was not the easiest of times for you.

"See, it's perfect!" He smacks your shoulder lightly in jest causing him to earn another laugh from you.

"You're fun Angel." You smile gently at him.

"You too, Luney." He shoots you a cheeky wink.

Between the two of you, several more rounds are ordered throughout the night. The conversation passing between the two of you getting progressively more personal. The ease you found in Angel's company continued to shock you; finding yourself opening up and divulging things to him that had taken you years to do with prior individuals.

You're both aware that there's even more that lays beneath the surface of what's being shared, two broken souls mirroring each other—dancing on tip toes around one another trying to decide whether or not to start throwing up walls. There would be more time to spill each other's histories to one another—the bond building between you feeling like one built on memory of each other's souls alone. This was just the start after all, the start of one of your best and truest relationships.

Truly, Angel Dust was one of Hell's most generous gifts to you.

~

After coffee with Angel the two of you part ways, his intention of going further into the city to do some shopping makes your head ache with disinterest. You were pushing it this morning with your exposure to the sun. Even with your sunglasses blocking out the now mid-afternoon light, you were exhausted, your eyes hurt, your head pulsed with pain—and quite honestly all you wanted was a nap.

Your lack of ability to light travel during the day continues to be a progressive pain in your ass as you walk back to the hotel on foot. Occasionally pausing to close your eyes and rub at your temples. The caffeine you had just consumed with Angel seemed to be doing nothing to help ease your exhaustive blight.

You groan loudly as you enter through the front doors of the hotel. The lobby is currently empty before you, not even Husk manning his forced post at the bar. Your brows furrow momentarily before you push forward despite the confusion. The hypnotic draw of the promise of your warm bed tempts you into going directly to your room. However the conclusion you'd made on tonight's menu drew you into detouring to the kitchen.

After spending time with Angel this morning, you'd been feeling beyond grateful to be in his company so frequently once again. He was lucky one of the dishes you cooked best just so happened to be one of his favorites. Lasagna was so simple at it's core but was the type of dish that could unlock magic and memories for the right person. One of the biggest compliments you'd ever received over your cooking was when Angel broke into tears upon trying your lasagna for the first time. He admired that he still preferred his mother's recipe, but yours was the closest damn thing he could get to it here in Hell. A taste of home that didn't bring memories of bitter resentment and despair.

Getting the sauce on the stove was easy, you just had to leave it on a low simmer on the back of the stove for a couple of hours—it was really the most time consuming part of the dish. Sure, you could whip up a quick pasta sauce that would taste sufficient enough, you'd still be sure to receive compliments and people producing clean plates. But when you allowed the flavors to simmer together, the simple mix of just a few veggies in a pot with some herbs, it would elevate your dish to an entirely new level that even Alastor couldn't be in denial about it's taste.

You place a cover on the pot, checking the temperature one last time before turning to leave the kitchen. Blissfully unaware the entire time of the preying eyes that had been lurking on the kitchen's periphery during your prep for dinner. They took note of your each and ever action, malevolent eyes perceiving your momentary bit of isolated existence. The specter feeling a malicious glee as it becomes very aware of your fatigued state. Perhaps you did fall more into your form's baser instincts—more than you might let on. Distantly, your silent audience makes notice of your avoidance of the large gas range at the back of the kitchen, opting once again instead for the induction range at the island.

Odd.

The resentful glee felt in your bystanders at the retreating of your back to them is paramount, feelings of vindication running through them as they step up to the pot you'd so innocently left unattended—spilling in the small baggie of white powder into the pot of stewing tomatoes.

Your behavior towards him was untoward. You should have been a new source of joyful mindless entertainment as the newest resident in their shit show cast. A centuries old Sinner with a bountiful history to unravel. A new toy to pick at and pull apart, see what made it tick only to slowly pick its pieces apart. He hadn't expected you to have nearly as much bite as you did. You were vicious, far braver than many a soul that had come face to face with the Radio Demon the way you had this past twenty-four hours, and survived. He could see that there were cracks in your facade, little chinks in the armor you tried so desperately to wrap around and shield yourself with. He wanted to know how to make them bigger—wanted to dig his twisted wretched claws into them and rip them to ribbons and shreds.

You shouldn't have been able to see any of his similar cracks and flaws. No one in Hell had been able to so rapidly pick at his stitches with so minimal effort.

He wanted to break you. He wanted to see how much pushing it took until you were unraveling at your own seams. He wanted you to spill your guts and promise him your soul in return for fixing it all.

Alastor had never been so excited and frustrated about a new toy.

He was determined to break you; far before you ever had the chance to do the same to him.

~

"Heya', Luney…?" Angel speaks up sheepishly from further down the table.

"What's up Angie?" You look up, your fork poised mid air.

"Not to ah, be a bitch or anythin' but, what the fuck did ya' do wrong this time? You and I both know, this is not your lasagna." He gives you an uncomfortable tight grin.

"What?" You ask confused, the gears in your mind already starting to turn at the potential of what might have gone wrong.

The other faces around the table have also begun to contort in various shades of repulsion. Dread settling in the pit of your stomach at the thought of such wide scale failure.

"You've fucked up dishes before sweetheart, but this has gotta be one of your worst offenses."

"Shut the fuck up." You snap trying to keep your voice light but struggling to do so at your mounting frustration. You hesitantly take the bite you'd had prepared on your fork, only to immediately lunge in reaction for your napkin. You tried your best to remain polite as you violently spit the food into it. The pungent, bitter, sour sauce coating your tongue in a painful layer.

This was most certainly not your fucking lasagna.

Your eyes immediately shot to the other end of the table. You meet Alastor's lazy grin with a pernicious sneer. The rage flowing through your veins may have been an over reaction, but the thought of someone—him—tainting your food, ruining the one consistently good thing you had going on within your afterlife—embarrassing you in front of the entire residency with only your second meal with them all—your abhorrence with him may never show its true bounds.

You try to steel yourself, you really do—inhaling a large lungful of air, holding it to stabilize your mental state.

It doesn't work.

He notices the shift in you, the contempt reaching its boiling point—about to erupt. His grin sharpens, his eyes glinting with triumph.

"I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but I'm guessing it's hard to pronounce." You seethe bitterly, only barely being able to prevent from raising your voice.

The seams around his spiteful glee stretch. "I'm not sure whatever it is that you could be referring to, my dear."

"Oh like there's no way it wasn't you." You glare venomously at him.

"What was me?" He challenges with a raise of his brow.

"Umm, Luna?" Charlie calls over to you, her tone apprehensive and weak. "What's going on?"

You ball your hands into fists, sharp nails digging into the soft skin beneath. Deep breath in.

Hold.

Out.

You cross your arms on top of the table, leaning your weight forward on them as you continue to stare the man down. "The infamous Radio Demon is nothing more than a petty child, that's what's going on."

"I think what's happening here is that there was an attempt at greatness—it's rather a pity that it was just an attempt." He bites out with a charming tone despite the cruel words.

The fury inside you continues to rage, launching you to your feet as you snapped down the table at him. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Ace!" You hear Husk snap your nickname but Alastor continues talking, blinding you with hostility.

Alastor leans back in his chair, hands crossed in front of him casually—grin fastened securely in place. "Oh darling, you couldn't even if I handed you the knife and stood still. If you were anything less threatening you'd be a dandelion. Come now, let's be realistic."

You snarl. "Holy fuck, what the hell is your problem?!?"

"It's hard for you to pronounce, remember?" He lifts a brow while giving you a mocking chuckle.

You want to let out a scream of frustration, you want to lunge at him and slit his throat. You wanted to make him bleed the way you made your murderer's bleed. You would not be unwound by a man. You would not be broken apart by one. Not even Alastor, the great Radio Demon would see her fall to pieces and shatter.

No man deserved that privilege.

Your nails dig deeper into your palms, your eyes squeezing tight. You take a deep breath in and in a momentary flash of pale yellow light—you were gone.

The dining room is left empty, the implicit unspoken dialogue being left to hang heavy in the air above the rest of the occupants heads.

Flashing back up to your room, the pale moonlight streaming in peacefully through your open window, a chill breeze filtering through your room. You let go of the breath you were holding, the air coming to you now in short panicked gasps. You were overflowing with emotions, too many things all at once clouding your shaken and addled mind.

Oh, you most definitely lost this one.

[speedycoffeedelight]

Bon Appetit

~

Chapter Two: The Fine Art of Bullshit

~

Masterlist

AO3

~

Pairing: Alastor/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Reader, Lucifer Morningstar/Alastor

Chapter Warnings/Tags: A whole shit ton of cursing and insults

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: I'm posting this at *squints at time* 2:30 am. I'm a masochist because I know I'm going to be exhausted when I wake up with my four year old son in the morning, I'm probably going to cry from how tired I am, but did I just desperately need to finish the chapter and get it uploaded? Why yes, yes I did. I hope ya'll enjoy <3

~

Waking up the next morning certainly didn't have the same feel to it as the past week had. It felt as if there had been a physical shift, as if the very air within the walls of the building had grown thick and tangible. There was a weight to the atmosphere that hadn't been there the day previous.

You weren't eager to have a repeat encounter with Alastor any time soon. Last night's introduction seemed deterrent enough to give him a wide berth. You'd stand your ground if forced to, but that didn't mean you were going to go hunt down and poke the deer.

Based on what little you had known about him before, you knew he wasn't likely to be a stellar guy, but something about his instant hostility and eagerness to antagonize you right off the bat sat poorly with you regardless. You suppose he really was just some dickhead who loved to get off on other people's misery and distress.

A wave of exhaustion and a loud rumble from your stomach force you to take your chances. You're suddenly desperate for a good plate of breakfast and a decent cup of coffee.

After your foray into the kitchen last night, you were left with the conflict of whether or not the kitchen was even safe. Ultimately this was the princesses hotel and she was more than eager to turn over use of the kitchen to you whenever—you'd like to believe she had the final say. But the fact that there wasn't a single scrap of your encounter with Alastor that you would deem pleasant leaves you apprehensive.

This isn't who you were, you weren't the type to bend to men, no matter how scary and powerful. You could fear them deep down, locked in the safety of your own mind and thoughts, but refused to let that leak through to your exterior.

You refused to show Alastor even an ounce of your disquiet.

The curse of your body continuing its needs from your time as a mortal continues to frustrate you. It was something you never liked being apart of your time on Earth, having to cave into the demands of your body whether you wanted to or not. Having that follow you into your afterlife felt like a cruel punishment in of itself. You hated being a slave to your needs. You wanted nothing more than to be in one hundred percent control of yourself, it bothers you greatly that you aren't. It was the one thing your powers couldn't grant you.

The journey from your room, down the three floors and into the kitchen, is one of silence and solitude. Still there is a gnawing feeling of waiting for some other shoe to drop as you reach your destination.

The stillness follows you into the expansive space. There's a feeling in the room, and emptiness that makes you aware of being the first to enter it today. It looks the same it did when you left last night. Not a single thing different from when you'd exited the night prior. The only thing that seemed out of place was the heaviness permeating the air.

Your first task of the morning was coffee. You weren't keen on using the fancy espresso machine tucked in the corner of the counter. There was such great joy to be found in the changing and advancement of technology, however that didn't always mean you had an easy time learning it. There were some kitchen appliances that you'd mastered day one of using, others… let's just say you were fighting the urge to just run to one of the nearby coffee shops you'd been going to the rest of your mornings. There was a moment of facing off against the beast of complicated looking dials and buttons before you were able to build up the determination of not letting it win against you that easily.

You advance towards it with determination and false confidence. Determined to forcefully brute way your way through this if it meant you got your divine bean juice by the end of it. It's been hundreds of years of learning new things and surviving even more, you were not going to be defeated by one little machine.

How would you survive living with the Radio Demon if you let one stupid coffee maker win?

It frustrates you that it hasn't even been a full twenty minutes since you woke and dragged yourself out of bed, and already you've thought way more about the demon than you feel comfortable with. It hadn't even been a full day, not twenty-four hours had passed, and you feel as if you've already lost control of yourself. Your anger and vitriol for him feels unreasonable with so little basis. You have to remind yourself that it was a very horrible interaction, not really the tone you'd want to set with a new introduction, but it wasn't like he was giving you much room for things to go otherwise. Plus, one of your most cherished friend's soul was owned by him, it was bound in chains so thick and tight the only way to escape would be a second and more permanent demise.

You remember back to when you and Husk first met, connection and bond forming in a near instant. You'd never met an Overlord like him and were more than pleasantly surprised when he'd been such good company, enough to wind up considering him a dear close friend (even when there'd been so much lost time between you). But with the time you'd gotten to catch up since moving here, you can see the obvious evidence of him not being quite the same Husker as when you'd first entered each others lives. Your heart fractures at the thought of what he might have been subjected or forced to do within the confines of his deal with Alastor. There used to be a light in his eyes unlike any others you'd encountered here, but every time you sat across from him at the bar looking for it—no trace of it could be found.

You suppose there was an honest reason for you to so openly display your pedestalled hate. His ownership of your friend, and the potential damage he'd done to him should be reason enough. Your introduction to Alastor just so happened to end up being the cherry on top of the shit cake of your hate.

You growl, physically shaking your head in an attempt to rid your head of your all consuming odious feelings.

The coffee maker proves to be a good distraction, perhaps a bit too good right off the bat. You hate to admit how clueless you are right now, fiddling with things you're sure weren't what you needed yet cursing profanely when your pursuit continued to fail.

"Son of a god damn, mother fucking, cock-ass bitch!" You shout before needlessly hitting the appliance in frustration.

"If you're not careful, I think you might end up proving lasts night's assumption true."

Too good a distraction indeed.

You whip around rapidly to be met with the vexing wide grin of Mr. Radio himself. He looks the exact same way as he had the several hours before—in this very same situation. He's sat in the exact same spot at the breakfast nook he'd been. If the light pouring in from the windows wasn't plain evidence to the contrary, you'd think neither of you had ever even left.

The need to aggravate your thoughts simply wasn't enough you supposed, he needed to do the same in person.

This was going to be a lot harder without the caffeine.

"Honestly, I'd say I've seen more formidable foes in a toddlers tantrum. Not able to handle a little coffee maker?" His smile may as well be a sneer. There is a malevolent glint to it that you know is directly targeted towards you.

Okay, maybe impossible was a more apt term.

Your teeth clench, your frustration over the espresso machine coupled with the spike from his mere presence in the kitchen leaves you feeling borderline homicidal with rage.

Knowing that attempting to go toe to toe in your second interaction together would be a terribly poor decision, you take a mental step back to reign yourself in as much as possible. A few subtle deep breaths as you asses your next move, allows for you to make a more rational decision on this dreadful Tuesday morning.

"Good morning, Alastor." You evenly intone, though you're more than sure the daggers leaving your eyes are evidence enough of your displeasure at his interruption.

"It is a good morning, isn't it?" He tilts his head to the side with smug amusement.

Your teeth grind down against each other. Another deep breath in.

"I have to say I'm shocked to see you up and about so early. I could only assume you might be reversed to the rest of us, after all." His wicked, gloved claws motion to your entire form.

Though not completely sure on the divine reasoning for the body you ended up in as a Sinner, there are some theories you've crafted over your hundreds of years in Hell as to why your body so closely resembled that of an aticas luna, or in other words—a moon moth. It took years of staring in mirrors, and other various forms of your reflection, to acclimate to the various changes that you'd gained on your body and features.

Your skin remained the most similar to that of your living body, but after that, the similarities ended. Your hair was no where close, a deep saturated periwinkle cascaded from your scalp, almost as if it were mimicking a fantastical waterfall. Two similarly dark, fuzzy, violet antennae adorn the top of it all. The base of your wings were made up of a rich navy, that, when caught in the right light, reflected back in a near hypnotizing, iridescent manner. The details patterning them are intricate twists and swirls of dark lilac, further adding to the mesmerizing tapestry that was your wings.

Due to constant battles with trying to get them into various articles of clothing, and each experience getting progressively worse, you began to use your wings in place of them instead. The only cloth that dons your body being a simple pair of booty shorts over your underwear and the tights you'd more often than not slip on beneath them. You learned to comfortably twist and wrap them around your body in a manner that you could deem somewhat fashionable. The tops of each wing crossing over your chest before wrapping around to do the same in the back. The size of them, coupled with your height, left the tails of them to rest a little past a quarter down your thigh. After so long, wearing your wings felt like a second skin.

You never fully understood making suppositions about Sinners merely based on the form they ended up in. Yes, there were many a Sinner that embodied a majority of characteristics made part of them by the body they ended up in down here. But the many were still few. It was instead more likely for a Sinner to have little to no shared characteristics with the source inspiration for their forms.

You suppose you landed somewhere in the middle of the two camps, even indeed leaning on the more nocturnal side, but this fucking bastard didn't need to know that.

You bring your hand close to your face, lazily examining your nails in an attempt to seem unbothered. "You know what they say when you assume, don't you?"

His eyes narrow but still hold a malicious glee. "I'm not sure I do know."

"It makes an ass out of you and me." You deadpan to him before turning to head to the pantry.

Coffee later, you guess. But dammit if you weren't going to make yourself a killer breakfast. Maybe feed the other hotel residents, you were sure they'd all like it. It was just a bonus that it had a high probability rate of pissing the new bane of your existence at the same time. It might just be the thing you would need to turn around your morning.

If you could just survive him until then.

Your mind drifts through your mental index of recipes, skimming through the bunch until you settled on something you deemed perfect. Something so stupidly simple but with flavors that would impress even the harshest of food critics. You smile thinking that even Alastor might not be able to deny the excellence in your cooking with it.

You just hope he choked on an egg.

After taking a moment to familiarize yourself with the layout of the pantry, you find quite quickly how upset the order and organization of everything makes you. Oh no… This would definitely make cooking frequently much more difficult on you. The order was all messed up, none of it made sense to you. It looked like utter chaos to your eyes.

You wonder if it was worth the risk of reorganizing it all if you ended up cooking as often as you have been considering. Surely if you were the main one in charge of cooking duties, you should have the final say in how things were layed out.

With a brief grumble of displeasure you set out to grabbing the various ingredients you needed from the shelves. Olive oil, an onion, garlic, and a bundle of fresh tomatoes joined your arms. Sweet paprika, cayenne, salt and pepper top the pile.

Alastor is still in the same spot, his amaranth eyes slightly squinted as he scrutinized the ingredients you held close to your chest. You try your best to pay him no mind as you place each one on top of the counter. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing further as you turn once more to the back of the kitchen.

The frigid air of the walk in is certainly a bit of a pick me up in the place of your unfulfilled caffeine needs. It's hard to be sleepy when you have a wall of cold air surrounding your body. You find the order of the fridge not nearly as off putting as the pantry. For the most part it seemed to follow the basic rules of food safety, something you certainly couldn't argue with. You quickly grab a bell pepper, a carton of eggs, and some crumbled feta. Happy to need so little and get back into the warmth of the kitchen.

You place the additional ingredients beside the rest before moving on to grab the tools you'd need to prepare everything. You try your best to pay little to no mind to Alastor, even as you feel his eyes boring holes into you from across the room. You hate the prickling feeling on your skin, ignited by the low crackling static permeating the air.

You set about cutting and preparing the vegetables. Slicing off the ends of the garlic and onions, slicing the first thinly and the later a small dice. You roughly chop the tomatoes and bell peppers after giving them a good rinse in the sink. You set them all aside before grabbing a large cast iron skillet down from the rack hanging above the island counter. You're grateful for your height removing any need you might have for assistance.

You eye the gas range for a moment. It's beautiful and in all honesty you're desperate to use it, but the thought about fighting with the ignition and what seeing the flames may potentially trigger in you, you thought better of it—especially with Alastor in the room. You place the skillet on the smaller induction stove instead, setting it to be brought to your needed temperature.

You turn to the oven and set the temperature there as well, making so it was guarenteeably ready to use once you were done with the prep work.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the curve of a shadow looming just off to your side. You're not entirely sure, but you make a gamble it's some extension of Alastor's. You suppose he's keeping quiet for the moment so you could figure you'd prefer to be dealing with this silent penumbra instead.

You oil the pan after checking it was properly heated, following it with the onions and peppers shortly after. You push them around the pan with a wooden spoon ensuring that each piece was coated with oil to help it begin to soften from the heat.

"Where are you from?" Alastor's filtered voice draws you out of your slightly zoned out state as it echoes in the kitchen once more.

Well that didn't last long.

You notice his shadow remains, looming closer now, if anything else.

You pause, considering and weighing the options of the potential answers you could give him. The routes of honesty and deception trailing into two different directions for this interaction. You suppose this was something that wouldn't hurt too much in the way of offering him honest answers. You could be vague whilst remaining truthful.

"Massachusetts." You offer with you back still turned.

"Boston?" He raises a brow.

"Nowhere you would really know." You opt to lie.

"Try me."

"The rumor mill says you're from New Orleans?" You deflect smoothly, doing another few stirs around the pan to ensure their even cooking.

The look he gives you lets you know he's not amused by your attempts to veer his attention in a different direction than where he was trying to head. He seems to debate with himself on whether to push you further or give in and provide his answer.

"Indeed I did." His brilliant grin stretches wider. "Born and died. I traveled a few times but no place ever quite felt the same as home. Made for good hunting grounds amidst all the night life."

"Sounds like a nice place. I would have loved to see it." You muse genuinely. Electing to ignore the information he was implying.

You toss in the garlic to travel around the pan for a minute or so, then following it closely after with the spices. You measure with feeling as the scent grows more invitingly aromatic, pausing for a moment to let it all blend together before judging if it smelled correct. You scrape the chopped tomatoes in with the rest. The sound of the wet tomatoes mixing harmoniously with all the other sauteed vegetables sizzles happily in your ears.

Even with Alastor's less than ideal presence in the room you still find yourself enjoying the task at hand. It felt wonderful to be cooking on this level again. It felt right, resonating ardently inside your soul.

"It was." The look on his face is thoughtful, warm with nostalgic recollection. "The whole time period from when I'm from really. Truly seems to me that the world only declined after I died. And such a shame really, it had the potential to be so much better."

You hum thoughtfully as you cut the heat. You use the spoon to create little pockets in the cooked veggies, then turn to grab the eggs off the counter behind you. You crack the entire dozen into the tiny wells you made for them. You rub the feta between your fingers to crumple it into smaller pieces atop it all. Grabbing some hot pads you maneuver the skillet from off the stove and into the oven. Setting a quick timer for eight minutes to ensure for an even cook on the eggs while the center remained yolky.

"Plymouth?" He takes another shot.

"Wow, nothing in this kitchen has ever smelled this good before. Good lord what am I smelling?" The addition of a new person turns both your attention towards the kitchen door.

Lucifer saunters into the kitchen like he owns the place. His eyes scanning over Alastor with an obvious distasteful sneer. You make note of how casually he's dressed this morning. He's wearing his usual black boots with his white trousers but in place of his regular white button up, it's a deep maroon one. The top three buttons of the collar undone leaving a bit of space for his pale chest to peak through. His hands free from gloves.

You'd be lying if you didn't say your brain buffered a little bit on instinct. His hair was messy, yet to be properly styled for the morning, sleep still lingering behind the king's eyes. He was a sight to behold, a true angel in every sense of the word. You'd be blind if you couldn't see that.

"Good morning Lucifer," You greet cheerfully. "It's Shakshuka. I'd usually be serving it with some sliced baguettes but the dish on it's own is never a disappointment."

Alastor stands strolling over to stand at the counters edge. "Yes, if you think second rate cooking is good."

"Hey Alastor, you have your whole afterlife to be an asshole," Lucifer derides snidely. "Why not take the day off?"

You watch Alastor physically bristle with contempt at the blonde's words. His eyes narrowing in a vicious glare to the shorter man.

You're a bit taken aback, not quite having expected Lucifer to jump to your defense in that way or really at all.

"Already fired up and ready to go, are we your majesty?" Alastor sarcastically bites back.

You're beginning to get a pretty clear picture of the fact that Alastor was well, just an asshole to everyone. You weren't some special target. You don't know if that made your hate for him stronger or lessen.

"I don't know Bambi, maybe if you wouldn't go around antagonizing the brand new residents, the hotel might be doing better." He goads with a wide grin.

You're amused by such an open display of hatred and contempt between the two men. You feel as though you are witness to a level of loathing unknown by any others. And even you could admit to yourself that the defense and protection from the devil in this moment felt good, especially at this moment. You're sure you'd have been able to keep your calm for a little bit longer had he not shown up, but that didn't mean you weren't grateful for his intervention nonetheless.

His compliments to the smell of your cooking certainly didn't hurt either.

"I was merely providing observational critique, that's all. Her technique is awful sloppy for someone who'd so proudly call themselves a chef."

"Oh bite me." You snap, not being able to stop your irritation from rearing its head a bit.

"Don't tempt me." He threatens with a glint of his wicked teeth.

You shoot him a look of disdain. "Oh go buy a brain."

Lucifer laughs boisterously, a bit caught off guard by your willingness to snap back and go toe to toe with the infamous Radio Demon just the same as he. He was merely delighted by the fact that someone could do so on such a similar level.

"You're really something else aren't you, newbie?" Lucifer bumps your arm with his own, his glee malicious as he watches Alastor's ears twitch in annoyance.

You smile back at him, his joy a bit contagious despite the situation. You still hold a lot of irritation for the other man in the room but it's eased by the presence of the second.

"Something like that."

Your timer goes off signaling the conclusion of the dishes cooking. You place the same heat pads back on your hands before opening up the oven to pull out the dish.

The potent smell of warm spices fills the air comfortingly. The combination of the flavors mingling together in a tantalizing manner.

"Don't suppose you have a way to let the others know there's food ready?" You question.

"I actually don't think we do. I could just send everyone a text." Lucifer suggested with a shrug.

"That'll work."

You set about to retrieving the plates and silverware. Moving between the dining room and kitchen as you get everything set out in preparation for the rest of the residents.

It isn't long until they filter their way down to the table in the dining room. Each of their faces a varying degree of fatigue. Angel looks dead on his feet, faint dark circles that could be seen worn under his eyes. You figure he must have had a rough night in the studio, Val working him to the absolute bone the way he usually did, pushing the poor spider's limits beyond what even he was capable of sometimes.

Husk looks the way he's been perpetually since you'd reunited here at the hotel. A unique look of haggard exhaustion that permeated down to his very bones. Something that wasn't just physical, but mental and emotional. A toll unknown by most, but the ones that understood looked to with gentle empathy. You couldn't say you approved of Husk finding his solutions at the bottom of bottles, but with your own relationship with drinking you certainly couldn't judge him. That would just be like the pot calling the kettle black.

Vaggie stretches her arms in a large yawn upon entering the room. Sliding into one of the chairs with a bit more awareness in her eyes than the others but not by much. You worry the poor girl doesn't take care of herself the way she should. At least you knew she had Charlie to be there to insure there was someone watching out for her.

Speaking of the princess, her and Niffty were the only ones who came into the room with their usual energies present. Charlie has a wide grin on her face as she takes in everyone gathering and settling into the room. A look of pride taking over her face as she watches you set the skillet and serving spoon in the middle of the table.

Alastor shadow warps into a seat at the head of the table. Elbows sat atop the table, hands clasped together to support his chin propped up on them. A smug smirk on his lips as he watched over everything.

Lucifer walks in from the kitchen, settling in next to the empty seat at the other head of the table.

Angel offers a yawn of his own, inquiring about the meal about to be served. "Is this one of your dishes that's going to make me feel betta' or the type that makes me reconsider why I let you feed me?"

"Hey asshole, you don't have to eat the food I make you. You're more than welcome to go cook your own." You playfully tease with a motion towards the kitchen door.

"Hey, no need ta' get so defensive. You've just given me food that would send me into another afterlife with the level of spice you add to it, and I thought I was capable of handling a lot."

"What is for breakfast?" Charlie asks eyeing the food curiously.

"It's called Shakshuka. From what I've learned it's a North African dish originally, but there's different variations of it depending on where the person cooking the dish is from. It's also popular in countries in the Middle East. Please by all means, serve up and dig in. It's a dish much better warm, I assure you." You inform. Grinning joyfully as you watch the rest begin to take turns serving themselves all a portion of the food.

"Thanks for cooking for us again." Vaggie praises kindly.

"No problem. I just hope you all like it."

You're the last to serve yourself a portion and you make note of Alastor's lack of partaking as you do so. It's fine, fuck him you figure. He doesn't deserve to try your cooking anyway.

You tuck into your food as you hear sounds of pleasant contentment resounding throughout your fellow dining companions. They take turns complimenting the flavors and your skills in cooking. You can't help but warm over with the praise, feeling quite good underneath it all.

You can still feel a subtle prickling dancing across your skin from where Alastor's eyes still remain on you, observing you as you interact with the rest of them.

"This is really incredible. It tastes even better than it smelled and that's saying something." Lucifer commends genuinely, his fork already scraping down towards the bottom of his dish.

"Yeah I gotta say Luney, this is definitely a feel betta' kinda dish. So thanks for cooking, I guess." He teases with a wink.

"Forgot you actually had some serious skill. It's been so long since I've eaten any of your cooking." Husk throws his own accolade to you.

"That's really sweet of you Husk, thank you. I've missed cooking for you, you know?" The warm smile you throw him stretches a bit wider when he returns it with one of his own. It's weary and dare you say almost broken, but shows you a glimpse of your old dear friend.

"Our resident drunken feline has a connection to the new resident? I'm shocked your capable of friendship what with your head always stuck in a bottle." You watch as Alastor's eyes light up with sadistic interest at the new information. A fresh target to exploit for the both of you.

You hear Husk growl from his spot directly across from you at the table. A low sound of frustration and annoyance at the discord his boss was always so intent to sow. You note a tick in Husk's jaw as he prevents himself from biting out whatever clipped remark he might have in response. You hate to see it, your own anger mounting along your annoyance.

"You know Alastor, I really envy everyone who has never met you. You know people might respond to you better if only you weren't such an intolerable piece of shit all the time." You keep your tone even but inflect your words sharply. Your head tilts as you give him a contemptuous smirk.

There's a ear-piercing squeal and scratch of static and feedback. Alastor's ears pinned to the top of his head, eyes glaring your way with clear antipathy. You are intimately aware the rest of the others at the table can most likely feel the sparks of hatred burning in the space between you. The very flames of hell not scorching nearly as hot as your loathing for him.

"What did you just say to me?" His voice is a thinly veiled threat.

You fold your arms across the front of your chest, leaning to settle against the back of your chair. "You clearly heard me."

"Yet you clearly don't want to take the risk of repeating it." He tilts his head to the side.

"Heyyy!" Charlie interjects sharply yet awkwardly. "Why don't we steer this conversation in a different direction huh? We should be trying to make new friends not new enemies. Ahem! Alastor!" Charlie huffs upsettingly towards the demon at the table's head.

His smile turns sharp, thin. His odium for you still clear even as he apologizes lazily to Charlie. "Apologies Charlie. It seems the petite Lune brought something rather vicious out in me. I'd hate to go about upsetting such precious new potential."

"Oh like you didn't deserve exactly what she was giving you." Lucifer interjects in opposition of his daughter.

"Dad!" Charlie admonishes.

"What? I think it's entirely earned if he deems it appropriate to treat others in a similar fashion. Honey, I hate to break it to you, but your business partner is a dick." Lucifer finishes dryly.

"What I think, is this is exactly how I want to start my mornings. Breakfast and a show." Angel pipes up happily. One of his multiple hands propping him up on his chin while he munches on bites he feeds himself with another. The tiredness fading a bit from his eyes, with his interest and amusement.

"This is spicy!" Niffty pipes up at the end of the table, momentarily tearing the attention away to her. She laughs wildly before rapidly scooping up and finishing the rest of her serving.

Your eyes linger on Alastor, the feelings inside you still flaring hotly, passionate vitriol clashing back and forth about inside you. Where the fuck did this asshole get off?

You scrape the bottom of your dish, finishing off the remaining bits of your food. You suppose you can't help but get one final jab in at him.

"I have a feeling becoming worm food was the most productive thing you've ever done."

Without another addition you push your chair back from the table, rising to your feet to make your way back into the kitchen. You're followed by loud static pops and cracks, the feeling of monsters gnashing and snapping their teeth right behind your heels. Still you continue forward, not sparing a further glance back.

You walk away for a moment feeling like you might have won the round of whatever game this was.

Maybe you had a fighting chance after all.

You really needed a fucking cup of coffee.