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alastorsfuckassbob · 8 months

Text

Killing Me Softly- 4

AlastorxFem!Reader part 4

A/N: Ok so this is..uh LONG but its finally here!!! Val's text is in purple, yours is in blue, and Alastor's is red! As always bolded portions are the past..Yes I did revert to using another song sue me. As always: MINORS DNI

Plot: Valentino is a piece of shit You and Al are so shitty at feelings and communication..thats basically it.

⚠️Warnings:⚠️

-Sexual innuendos (they aren't graphic but they are spicy)

-Domestic abuse (this got a lot worse so please be mindful of that and use your own discretion- you are responsible for your internet consumption)

-Alcohol use AND abuse

-Violence!! ~mentions of blood~

-A LOT of cursing 🤠

You had decided to take “small nap” to rid your body of the final remnants of exhaustion from night before. That so called “small nap” somehow lasted a good ten hours, leaving you with only two before you needed to arrive at the club again. You sat on the edge of your bathroom counter, the excess silky fabric of your slip cascading over the edge. You grab a stray eyeshadow pallet and begin to apply your makeup. You had decided on an inky toned smoky eye and a lightly lined liquid lip. It was a bit different from your usual look, but it complemented your new wardrobe perfectly. You glanced over at the folded scarlet fabric, excited to wear it again.

You had decided to get ready at home today. Angel wasn’t working tonight, so there was no sense in being at the club earlier than you really needed to be. You snapped your fingers, and the shadow behind you began to style your h/c hair in his place. It wasn’t often Angel didn’t have to work on a Saturday night. Even in Hell, weekends came with higher foot traffic. Val insisted he had earned a break after yesterday’s long shoot. It was a rare occasion but not entirely out of character. Val couldn’t break his favorite toy.

After a few more pins, the shadow dawned a bright smile and jazz hands upon completing your hair. You looked absolutely gorgeous, the pitch black entity had done a fantastic job. Your hair was twisted into bouncy side swept curls adorned with tiny sparkling gems. You wanted to meticulously appreciate the effort it had so graciously put in, but your guilt riddled conscience kept you from any real form of enjoyment.

You needed to stop thinking of him. The more you let yourself fall back on memory, the more you would love him. The more you loved him ,the more it would hurt when he realized he couldn’t love you anymore. It wasn’t his fault, no one could. This was your penance. It wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Memory had sunk its claws into your wrist. It hopelessly dragged you along by its blood lined chains and scarlet stained fingertips like an old desperate beggar. The hold Valentino had on your soul was insubstantial in comparison to the grasp Alastor had on your heart. You didn’t understand why that was. Val was your whole life, and he would be until eternity itself figured out a way to die. It would make sense for him to reside in the core of your thought, but he didn’t, he never stayed there long.

Unlike Alastor, Val owned you.

Unlike Alastor, he was there

Unlike Alastor,

you could actually feel his lips on your skin.

He had a predictable consistency to him. It was always the same constant battle between his unquenchable hatred and guilty heart.

Val insisted he “loved” you in his own way. From the shackles on your wrists, he had tied you to the stake-All so that he could look for your love. He struck the match against your skin, and lit you both ablaze because he hated that he wanted it. In the end it would never matter how many times the heat touched your skin, it wasn’t going to feel like love.

You knew what that was supposed to feel like. You had shared your heart with a great many souls in your time on Earth. Love was bathed in forgiveness and brushed with magnolia petal kisses. That love didn’t see you through eyes lined with antagonism, sparkled with fury and blended out with shades of exasperation.

Valentino did.

His lips were colored in hot pink brutality. It would smear across your skin with every kiss. He would leave you haloed in messy lipstick stain bruises and be on his way.

His absence never lasted long. The color in his cheeks was permanently rouged with the lethality of your figure. Eventually, the guilt would seep through his pores, and the chemical reaction would wash his face of your blood. He would return with a silver plated tin bracelet and a few mangled words of affirmation.

“ Y/n, you know I love you. I didn’t mean a word of it Mi Amore. You are the most beautiful demon this side of hell. I just get so upset sometimes there’s nothing else I can do. I can’t control my anger Amorcito, you know that.”

It’s not that he couldn’t control his anger, he was fully capable. He just didn’t. He never thought it was important to try. Even in his time on Earth, he didn’t care to put forth the effort. He was born with distain and died with detestation. He had always been this way. The guilt he felt afterward would never amount to the freedom found in his bloodied hands. There wasn't a finite limit to the apologies he could patch the holes he punched into your heart with. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Any remorse he felt would slip from his conscience like every instance before it. It made sense how quickly he was able to rise into over lord status.

Your focus shifts to the cherry fabric folded beside of you. You haphazardly grab the dress, lifting it over your head. Its crystal beads babbling in your ear as you slide it on. For a moment, the ghost of your human body silhouettes your demonic figure in the mirror. Distant memories began to bubble up to the surface. In the true spirit of avoidance, you hopelessly shut them out as you grabbed your satin purse and walked out the door.

As you left the building the newly warmed breeze swirled through your hair. The sunny weather practically lifting your wings for you as you flew towards the club. You reveled in the distance it granted you from your life. From the above clouds, Hell was actually rather pretty. The seemingly dull color scheme found a bit more variation the higher you flew. The different areas of the city blending into one. With each flap of your wings, the clouds whispered murmurs of freedom into your ears. For just a moment, it almost didn’t feel like hell.

The rest of the flight is relatively peaceful, excluding the occasional scream from the city below. Eventually you arrive at the club and head to your dressing room. You plop down on the velvety plush sofa seated against the wall. It was still a bit early for places, so you elected to read one of Angel’s trashy magazine to pass the time. A ginger knock at the door draws your focus from celebrity scandals and tv drama.

“Amorcito”

Valentino’s voice worms itself into your ear. He leans against the door frame looking for any indication of fear on your face. He didn’t want to scare you off before he had the chance to explain himself. You shoot him a tired glare and return to your magazine. Even if you wanted to answer it’s not like you had the ability to.

“Right, I forgot.” He muses, his smirk practically bleeding into his eyes. With a wave of his hand , the sigil on your wrist begins to spark in a hot pink glow. In a puff of smoke, your voice returns to you.

“Do you need something Val” you ask. It comes out a bit raspier than you had intended. Hopefully he didn't take it as a form of aggression. You had somehow landed yourself in his good graces, and you didn’t want to fall from them any sooner than you had to.

“I can’t have you sitting silent for your dear clients now can I y/n?”

You didn’t respond. Mentally, you rolled your eyes. The statement was laughable. He would tear your soul to pieces if he could hear the sarcasm racketing around your brain at the current moment.

“Mi amor, you know I didn’t mean it. I can’t have my favorite muñeca upset with me, can I?”

You stay silent. Your body still wept with the soreness of the night before, but he had come here with the expectation you would nurse his pride back to health.

“You know that I love you baby” His tone was permeated with an emotion you couldn't quite place. For the first time, the desperation on his face surpassed the bloodlust. It lacked his usual innuendos and crude curses. If you hadn't known better you might have believed he really did- yet something deep within you really did want to believe he could be good. Maybe he didn't love you but he did feel slightly sorry and maybe that would be enough. You stood up from the sofa and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you do Val. Don't worry about it" The words are sweet but the emotion behind them is entirely dead. His arm slinked around your waist, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

"I want to thank you, for the dress. Its really beautiful. You have great taste” You added. Your hand layered on top of his, a gentle, but very obviously fake smile curving into your lips. Val loved compliments, the antennae on his forehead usually perked up whenever he received one.

To your surprise, he started to laugh, his shoulders shaking in its ferocity. “ Y/n you can’t be serious.”

You didn’t really understand what was funny or why you were nervously laughing along with him. You didn’t have to know why, you just had to go along with it. If you had to guess, he was probably intoxicated in one way or another. Most of the other performers and employees constantly were on some level. It would make sense if he was too. “I’m almost insulted you would even pretend that I would put you in something that tacky, and not to mention conservative. I treat you better than that don’t I?”

With that, you were even more confused..Did he not gift you the dress? Where the hell else would it come from? You couldn't even begin to craft a response. You had to come up with something quickly, and improvisation(lying) was not your best skill. Your mind darted from one lame excuse to another. You didn’t have time to think critically about it you just had to say something.

“Yeah I thought it would be a funny joke, I agree it is a bit old fashioned, It definitely needs a little update..I liked the color though.” You lied straight through your teeth. It wasn't clear if he had bought into your practically incoherent rambling. As all good liars do, you dug the hole a few feet deeper with a few more details to seal the deal. “I wasn’t sure how to alter it so I thought I’d ask you for your opinion”.

Even if the excuse was lame, it covered all the bases.

“In my opinion we shred it” His quiet laugh sounded egotistical to say the least. If something or someone didn't fit his taste he saw no reason why it should exist.

Disappointment drapes your frame from the tips of your horns to the bottom of your heels. Even if the dress had apparently spawned from some freaky stalker, you really did like it.

“Are you sure I couldn’t just wear it as it is for one night? I could add a slit or something for the next time "Hope laced your bargain as you spoke. You knew he would probably say no but you couldn't help but ask.

“Y/n, Baby, as hot as I think you look in anything. This dress is going to need some serious alterations if you expect to wear it in front of our rowdy crowd. I can't let you go out there dressed like a nun, it would be awful for business” His face twists into a sly sneer. An idea bubbled on the surface of his thoughts.Before you can register what is happening, his hands are tracing the outline of your hips. Each separated claw of his fingers ran down your body until they stopped just above the outer edge of each thigh. On the surface the action didn't exhibit his typically harmful nature, but if you dared to look even a fraction of an inch closer you would see its minatory subtext.

“Don’t worry, I think we can figure out something simple out for tonight”. His fingers draw together into a unified line. He digs his nails in a little deeper into you as he drags them down your leg until they reach the floor. He had effectively sliced a high slit on both sides of the dress, with little to no effort. He had pushed a little too deeply in some areas, small pricks of blood leaked from a few irregularly shaped scratches in consequence.

“You look like perfection in red baby”, he breaths out. He stayed crouched on the floor for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he was admiring the surprisingly straight lines of his work or the dots of blood that speckled your skin. He takes your hand in his and places a wet kiss on your wrist where the sigil had been burned into your skin.

“I can’t wait to see you shine tonight Amorcito”

He kissed up your arm as he rose from the floor. The way his tongue slithered around your forearm made you dreadfully uncomfortable. The feeling was slimy and otherwise indescribable. You were almost grateful you didn’t have the words to describe your disgust so that the feeling would die with you instead of being passed around to others by language.

You were eternally grateful when he finally walked through the exit. He was finished with his fun with you, at least for now.The club had opened a little more than ten minutes ago. As its owner, he had an obligation to fulfill his duties (flirt with hot guys) ,and supervise the club floor (get blackout drunk and fuck aforementioned hot guys ). Val loved to watch as sinners got down and dirty in the corners of his dimly lit clubs. It was a bit of an ego boost to know he had helped create an environment that led to that sort of thing. He enjoyed the epigrammatic conversations and miscellaneous substance his customers brought with them. He was great at sharing when it came to things that weren’t his own. He loved to hear them praise his accomplishments, and disclose the desire they shared for him and his performers almost as he loved to get high. By the look of tonights crowd, he was in for another pleasurable evening, or so he thought.

A curt laugh track interrupted the regularly scheduled cycle of conversation. Val’s head practically spun backwards upon noticing the deer eared demon lounging at the edge of the balcony.

"What the fuck is he doing here" Val grunted under his breath. He was supposed to be dead.

Alastor, apparently, never received the memo. He sat with a glass of indifferent whiskey in the VIP segment of the balcony above. He was fitted in a well cut vermilion pin stripe suit and a pair of wing tipped oxfords. Despite his polished exterior and perpetual smile, his eyes were glossed in boredom.

The conversations of lower demons never really intrigued him, they didn't speak much about anything outside of the bounds of recreational drug use. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he had spent time in that particular circle back in his younger days. Perhaps it was the drastic change of aesthetic, or maybe the culture surrounding it had just shifted too much for his liking, but it just didn’t appeal to him anymore. Alastor found the environment dreadfully exhausting. The distinct loud bump of electronic base and synthesized beats made it hard to hear his own thoughts. He was in for a long boring night. There really wasn’t anything more for him to do than pass judgment on the tasteless decor.

He looked around at the tacky overtly sexual paintings hung against the walls. It was one of Valentino’s classier clubs, but that doesn’t mean the interior designer wasn’t entirely delusional when they picked out its color pallet. For lack of a better word, it was just ugly. The Deep pinks and vibrant reds of the walls accented the white porcelain pillars that framed them. (Vaguely reminiscent of a tampon) The dark purple of the leathery chairs somehow blended in with the black marble tile in such a hideous way the word “unity” didn’t even begin to spark his mind.

With the exception of its more intimate performance space and higher end clientele, it wasn’t that much different than the typical club experience Valentino provided. It still featured his usual sex rooms and coke lined tables, despite its overall calmer energy. Alastor didn’t understand how you ended up in a place like this. It didn’t seem like you. He had instructed the newest soul under his contract to follow you and figure out your daily routine and “basic facts of life”. He would never admit it, but he was mostly curious to learn of your relationship status. He wanted to know if you had gotten married or if you had moved on. He had been dead for years ,it would make sense if you had. He didn’t want to step back into your life unless he knew everything.He needed to know what approach would work best on you. “Evidently” you weren’t just outwardly spouting that information into the hilltops. The poor soul came back with a list of two locations and not much else. Naturally, it didn’t get to live much longer. He was not a man to have his time wasted. If he wanted something done correctly the first time he should have just done it himself. So here he was, awaiting your performance.

Valentino walked across the crowded floor, his clenched fists glued to his sides. Alastor’s bored expression made his blood boil. He carelessly dodged dancing couples and trays of champagne in his quiet anger. Val never liked that old timey prick or his rickety dated voice. It grated his ears endlessly, not to mention he was just flat out annoying. If Val wanted to listen to some random lanky old man’s diet British accent and senseless uppity rambles; he would have turned on Downton Abby or some other old pretentious shit. Each step he took towards the radio demon deepened the scowling smirk growing on his face. If Alastor was going to ever so nonchalantly seat him self and a glass of whiskey in the VIP section of HIS club, at least one of them going to have his fun with it.

“I didn't take you to be a fan of my work Alastor, lovely to see you as always” Val slid into the booth across from him. The remaining groups still seated at the surrounding tables grabbed their drinks and found a better place to be. It was a well known fact the two of them weren’t friends

“I am most decidedly not! however the streets of hell will not stop praising a certain canary singing on your steps, and I am by far intrigued" His eyed narrowed as his grin grew wider.

“Oh really? It is my little siren you are interested in? Don’t let her pretty little face fool you, she’s a real bitch to work with. She thinks shes hot shit just because the sound of her voice is enough to chain any demon.” He feigned disinterest, flicking his nails to the side to observing their color.

“Oh really~Where ever did you find her? Surely if she is this talented I would have heard of her already" Agitation seethed through Alastor's voice. He had never liked Valentino, he found his methods to be crude and unseemly. The way he spoke of you hazed Alastor's vision in permanent red. He had killed far greater demons for far less than the disrespect he had sent your way. However, he knew he couldn't act on that urge quite yet. He was on a mission. He needed to know more about why you were here first in the first place. No one here would know better than the sleazy club owner himself.

“ I don’t really think that’s your business" Valentino accused, venom dripping from his tongue. He didn't really care why the radio demon had taken such a fast interest in a lowly sinner like you. It didn't matter. It gave him something to work with. He had something he didn’t. Pride is a fickle thing, he could use this to get under his skin.

He didn't want a physical altercation by any means, not in his own territory anyway. Vox would never let him live it down if he started a fight in his own club and accidentally tore it to the ground in the process. A verbal sparring session would have to do for now. Val loved starting any sort of argument he could conceive.

"My little dove tends to shy away from the limelight. She used to do all of her performances behind a mask, but don’t you worry I was able to coax her out of it." (are you secretly the masked singer?? omg) "You'll be in for a wonderful show tonight." Pride overtook Valentino's usually mendacious features as he spoke. He had something Alastor didn't. Val wanted nothing more than to spark jealousy in his heart. Alastor, wasn't oblivious to his intentions, it just wasn't his primary focus. More-so, he felt frustrated with questions he couldn't ask. You couldn't have been in Hell for more than a few days. How many performances had you really had time for? The possibility you had existed down here for any longer than that didn't exist to him.

"Now Valentino, there's no reason to be secretive, unless you have something to hide. Surely if this woman is as fantastic as you say she is, there is no need to hide the details of her origin, I'm sure it must be quite the story" A deceitful glimmer coruscated his smile, as he took another careless swig of whiskey. His pointed fingers gripped tighter around the glass, cracking its edge.

" Actually-it’s the opposite, trust me its not even worth mentioning” Val laughed. “Why not enjoy the present and focus on her current skillset a? Surely you must have seen her around somewhere, she’s a real star on film." His tone was maliciously sweet, but the dry rasp of his voice revealed the truth. A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he thought of your previous work.

Getting information out of "barney the big purple pimp" Valentino was going to be harder than Alastor had previously anticipated. Any information he might’ve had on you was under lock and key. At this point, he considered just ripping off Valentino's stupid little egg shaped head and calling it a day. He didn't understand what you saw in him or this dingy sweat stained bar. In your time on earth, the two of you had spent many nights dancing together in the speakeasies and glitzy clubs of New Orleans. This wasn't the type of establishment you would usually go in for. He had always known you to see the best in others, even if they so evidently didn't deserve it. You sharpened your sword for those you deemed worthy even if they despised you for it. If you were here it must meant you had seen something worth redemption within him.

"You must be very proud of her accomplishments to rave on about her in this way" Alastor’s voice was fitted in the same snarky tone you often took with Valentino, but unlike you, he could tear the whole club apart with a snap of his fingers. Val didn’t want to deal with that, not here. He would have to wait and slit the radio demon's throat outside of his territory.

"Enjoy the show Alastor.” He quipped promptly showing the conversation to its end. Valentino walked away before he could get in a word otherwise.

Val didn’t know the nature of Alastor’s apparent attraction towards you, but he personally knew the pain desperately wanting something you couldn't have caused. Ironically, Alastor was the indirect cause of that familiarity. Through Valentino's partnership with Vox, obsession had sprouted. Something about the way his televised voice distorted in anger drew him in. He had been caught on his snarky personality and quick wit almost as much as the pitiful reassurances the TV demon would occasionally throw his way. He knew the feelings he had amounted for Vox were never going to be reciprocated. He would never look his way so long as the radio demon walked the streets of hell. Even if Valentino couldn’t bring about his revenge in his typical violent way, he was determined to get it. You were the key he didn’t know he had. After all, no sinner could resist the call of your sweet song or the appeal of your hips. The radio demon would be no different.

Eventually, one of Val’s assistants called you to places. You walk through the backstage area, a trail of glittery red streaming behind you. You always loved the moment before the show began. It was typically quiet, everyone attended to their own business. They rarely stopped to bother you, it offered you a moment of order before the chaos this performance would plunge you into. You grab a sugar rimmed shot glass from underneath the bar cart left for the performers. You didn’t bother to read the labels on the bottle as you poured a heavy handed shot. As soon as the liquid touched your lips you realized it had been gin. Despite the burning in your throat, and the sour taste it left in your mouth, you refilled the glass a few more times. On some level, you felt guilty for the amount of alcohol you had just consumed.On a deeper level, you knew you couldn’t make it through a set without it. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

Valentino’s compulsion for revenge had led him towards the velvety amethyst curtains of the stage you stood behind. Whatever good mood he was in earlier had vanished, his disposition was dripped in murderous rage. He storms up to you, roughly taking your chin in his hand.

“I don't fucking know why or how but the radio demon is here. You better make me look good-I’ve already throughly sung your praises and I will not be embarrassed in front of that shit head” He paced as he spoke hostility following at his heels. “For some reason, he has taken an interest in you. I need you to give an extra little show to the balcony he’s seated in the center. Hes the lanky washed out red asshole with the bitchy little antlers, you can’t miss him.” The words he had spoken jumbled in your brain. You weren’t really paying attention, the calming aura of the alcohol had begun to hit your system.

“I thought he was dead, are you sure it’s him?” you mumbled as you picked of the remaining sugar crystals from your glass.

You had briefly heard of the radio demon in your time-He hadn’t been around for years, most demons speculated that someone finally managed to kill him. He disappeared three years after your arrival in hell, but his methods left a lasting impression. The agonizing screams he had broadcasted still echoed in your dreams occasionally. However, despite your deeply rooted fear, you admired him on some level. He was clever to say the least, and his morals weren’t entirely questionable either. He thought dealing in cheaper souls was crass and frankly unnecessary. He left weaker demons alone, unless they stepped in the way of his path.He wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone he didn’t deem strong enough to fight back.

His hands shoot against your throat, the force of the action drags you into sobriety. His fingers thrust deeper into your skin as he lifts you from the floor by your neck. He had a lot riding on this, and he wasn’t going to let your indifference ruin that. Your grasp on the shot glass loosens as your vision begins to spot from the lack of oxygen. It falls from your hand and shatters with the impact.

“Your job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to get out there and make me look good” he drags your body closer and growls into your ear.

He slams your body against the floor of fragmented glass. The sole of his foot makes contact with the palm of your hand, pushing the shards deeper into your skin. Crimson flowed through the wounds in a steady pour. Hot tears took residence in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“ If you fuck this up for me, I’ll do a lot worse than just take your voice Y/n. You don’t want to see me angry. I promise you, you won’t like it.” His foot presses harder against your skin. His dark tone sends shivers down your spine. He had released his grasp on you, but the syllables that slithered out of his mouth constricted around your throat.

Despite your decision not to cry, the tears began to spill. They weren’t entirely motivated by the pain. The situation had become too similar to those that had existed in your life, and this was your body’s reaction to that. The heat from his glare could have cauterized your wounds. He removed his foot from your hand as he crouched down next to your tear stained figure. His fingers graze the edges of your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he wipes droplets from your face.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight Amorcito, you always put on such a good show for me.” He kisses your injured hand, the cuts begin to close as his lips come into contact with your skin. He licks the remaining blood from his lips and returns to the club floor- leaving you in a pool of maroon colored regret and splintering glass.

You watch the stage manager’s eyes roll as they grab a mop to clean up the mess. Whatever they were getting payed, it wasn’t enough. Although the ordeal wasn’t out of the ordinary, it was definitely inconvenient. You stand up from the floor brushing the remaining glass off of your dress and walk through the curtains and onto the stage. Even without a physical mask, you were still wearing one. You dawned a bright sultry smile and an uppity attitude as you waved to your adoring fans. At times the outlandishly theatric persona could be fun. The ecstatic cheers of the crowd after each movement made you feel powerful in an odd way. The attention often fueled your performance into the more seductive destination Val had wanted to begin with. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

“Good evening to all of my lovely sinners in the audience” The sound of your voice echoed over the endless chatter of the club. You sat down at the edge of the rounded stage, your legs dangling over its edge. The short demon in front of you practically drooled as your body edged a little more off the platform in his direction. You noticed his reaction and wanted to take things a step further. Your wings spread, taking you closer to the table he sat at, the edge of your finger tilting his head up to meet your own.

“I’ve got a wonderful show in store for just you tonight” Seduction over took your tone as you blew the demon a kiss leaving the entire table absolutely dumbfounded. You travel back to the stage with various sexual remarks towards the other inhabitants. You sit back on the stage, slowly extending your legs to the side, crossing them as you do. You tease the slits in your dress to the side revealing a bit more skin. The patrons erupt into a sea deafening screams.

The lights suddenly cut out, you dissipated with them. The shred of an electric guitar echoed throughout the space. An array of red and purple spotlights flood the center of the stage. You reappear in a puff of smoke as they do. The music was a bit “edgier” than what you’d usually go for. The genres you listened to spanned a vast array of styles, but you usually preferred to sing the softer tunes of the earlier decades. Valentino’s typical clientele however, needed a newer, rougher pop/rock sound. The drum set clicks in tandem with the percussive click of your heels as you begin your dance.

A wickedly wide grin stretches across your face, you were ready to start the show. You began to sing.

“I heard he sang a good song

I heard he had a style”

This was your compromise. You could sing anything you wanted to so long as you updated the instrumentals. Most of the people in the club were too wasted to listen to the lyrics anyway. It didn’t really matter what you sang as long as you sounded good and looked hot doing it. Hell’s population would eat up anything you served them. Their mouths began to water as you drop to the floor, arching your back away from them. The music flowed through you, awakening a deep sensuality in your movement . Each twist of your hips accented the intense chords and high hat hits of the accompaniment. Your hair formed a halo around you as you turned onto your back. Your legs extend into the air earning an influx of vulgar cheers from the surrounding demons. Any softness your voice had once held disappeared as growled into the next phrase.

“And so I came to see him

To listen for a while”

You slowly slid up from the floor, your hands following the shape of your curves until they reached pit of your neck. Your fingers splayed against its circumference as you rolled your eyes back into your head. You glanced up to the balcony to make sure the radio demon was watching, the dim lighting prevented you from seeing anything more than his silhouette.

Alastor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the glance you threw him, or your performance. On the one hand, he was endlessly enamored with you. Alastor would have dedicated the rest of his life to sing your praises in that moment if you had just asked him to. He loved to listen to you sing and watch you dance in any context.

On the other hand however, it made him extraordinarily jealous. He hated the lewd comments and desire filled glances of the other demons around him. It made sense they were attracted to someone like you, but that doesn’t mean he liked that they were. He would remember each face that dared utter such filthy things about you, and deal with them later. His attention shifted back to your voice as you spun your voice into a decadent riff.

“And there he was this young boy

A stranger to my eyes”

You turned upstage to the silver pole that spun in its center. Hundreds of eyes glazed over in pure lust as your spine pressed against the pole. You were practically suffocated with screams as your form flipped upside down. You dropped one arm from the pole, the tips of your wings grazing the floor as your newly freed hand followed the lines of your body.

Your exaggerated and frankly pornographic expressions as you twisted against the pole made Alastor apprehensive. The feeling of unease was not caused by disgust but concern. As much as he loved to listen to you sing, this didn’t feel right for him to watch. It felt too fake. You looked far too uncomfortable for his liking.He had seen you in a more intimate light before. Even decades later the mere thought of your gentle gasps and fluttering lashes dragged him up from hell and sent him straight to heaven. He was familiar with the grind of your hips against his own, and the feeling of your hands in his. He knew every freckle on your body and the exact degree of your spine’s curvature. He loved nothing more than to worship each fold in your figure. He adored the gentle light that always seemed to flicker in your eyes in those sensitive moments. He reveled in your loving glances and gentle touches he was not bothered with the sexuality of it all but rather its performative nature. This felt too over the top. Despite your energetic movements and sensual smile, your eyes were cold and dead. He didn’t want his memory caught on your legs wrapped around his waist or his head between your thighs if it was just a performance. It didn’t feel right to. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the sound of your voice. Even with its dolorous tamber the whisper of your gentle heart found its way to seep through.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

You notice Val seated between two tall blonde demons with their legs crossed over his. He was very clearly not impressed with them or your movements on the pole. His disinterest grew with each sip of his drink. He gives you a pressing look. In that moment you knew exactly what he wanted. He had had enough of your stalling. You looked good but you needed to look better.

"Killing me softly with his song

Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

With a slight roll of your eyes, you fly up to the balcony. You place yourself onto the thick marbled railing with your back to the radio demon. With a quick twist your of your hips, you straddle the banister your body rolling against it ever so slightly. You make direct eye contact with the patron in the center booth. He wore a mask crafted in wilted black rose petals and the scent of death, but underneath he held your late lover’s face. His deep red eyes meet your own e/c ones The glimmer of his previously golden swirled dark brown eyes clashed against his current ghostly red ones He brushed a strand of his straightened two toned hair to the side of his face. He carried the same nose, body, and expression as Alastor- Your Alastor. You turn upstage to compose yourself. You sway your hips to the beat of the music in order to keep up appearances. You turn your weary head behind you to his table to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. Even in its outstretched state, his smile gave him away. It really was him. After years of searching, you had finally found him, or better yet, he found you. For just a moment, you had forgotten your penance and your heart flowed with oceans of love. You floated within them in pure ecstasy. In that moment, and animosity you held for him faded away with the weight of your excitement.

"I felt all flushed with fever

Embarrassed by the crowd"

Abruptly the realization hits you, he was seated where the radio demon should have been- that must mean that Alastor; Your Alastor, was the radio demon. Your mind flipped to the initial radio broadcast he first spoke to you with, as well as the note signed “yours truly”. Alastor had used that phrase so often as a sign off from the radio show…..Perhaps you weren’t the sharpest little crayon in the demon filled box- considering the embarrassingly long time it took you to put the pieces together.

"I felt he found my letters

And read each one out loud"

Realizing this sent a wave of relief through you. Perhaps he could free you from this life, he was one of the strongest demons in hell. If anyone could break your contract with Valentino, it would be him...Would he even consider it? Your mind swirled in a storm of questions. Why the sudden change? As the relief of the initial realization began to fade and a new understanding took root. He had left you in life, why would he want to help you now?

You couldn’t help but wonder why he was really here. Considering his previous track record, nothing made sense. Why would he speak to you within his broadcast, or gift you the dress, or show up to your workplace if he hadn’t payed you any mind in such a long time?

He must have wanted something from you. That would be the only logical reason for his sudden appearance. If he truly had always been the radio demon, he held power. He had all of the necessary resources to find you and he never did. He didn’t need to.

"I prayed that he would finish

But he just kept right on"

You think back to the various gifts he would purchase you before he asked something of you, or the roses he would send to your apartment if you two had an argument in your life together. Your years of wondering why he had left boiled down to one simplistic answer…He had always just needed something. The more you thought on this, the more painfully obvious it became. He wasn’t here because he loved you. He was only here because you had become convenient again.The second he deemed you impractical, he would leave you as he had before.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You fly away from the balcony, sliding down the metal pole in the center of the stage to reach the floor. You were thankful the stage lights blinded you from his pressing gaze once you were on the ground. You would ignore the balcony entirely for the remainder of the performance. It didn’t matter if Valentino would be upset, you couldn’t bear to look at Alastor anymore- Yet even with your newfound distance, he had chained you to memory. You were transported back to the downtown apartment in which you had previously spent so many hours with him in.

1930 New Orleans: Your apartment

The candlelit room was a patchwork of miscellaneous vintage furnishings and modern decorative trinkets. You had moved into your apartment not long after your father had passed. Most of the items within it were gifted to you upon his death. He preferred victorian architecture over all else, it was natural his taste in interior design would follow. You leaned against the sage patterned love seat with a cooling cup of tea in hand. The star speckled sky, and tepid air of late April seep through your opened window.

You awaited the arrival of your lover. Alastor wasn’t a man to be late. He was meticulously early and always prepared. His absence had begun to torment you in anxiety. The grandfather clock stationed in the corner of the room struck midnight, furthering your worries. He was supposed to arrive at 7:30, obviously it was long past that.

He had promised to take you out dancing to make up for the late hours he had begun to keep at the studio. He had become more withdrawn than you cared to admit. He disappeared for days at a time. On the few days you managed to get ahold of him, he dismissed you, insisting he needed to keep working on his show. It aggravated you to no end, but you would never want to be another obstacle on the way to his dreams. It was easier to let it go and enjoy the time you did have with him.

You had the bad habit of jumping to the worst scenario.You didn’t live in the safest sector of the city, it was entirely possible he had been attacked along the way. Your mind shifts to the uprising of missing person’s cases New Orleans had been plagued with. The media speculated a killer of some kind, but the police department denied those theories. They hadn’t found any of the bodies, and refused to believe they were going to.

If he wasn’t here within the next hour, you were going to search for him yourself.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

An abrupt knock steals you from your worries, you rush to its source without a second thought. You open the door to the dark curly haired man you had been waiting for. To your surprise, his usually tidy hair was unkempt and rumpled around his newly bruised face. His disheveled blood stained clothing reflected the crimson pouring from his nose. You froze like a deer in headlights, it was one hell of a way to show up for a date.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

“Oh my god” you whispered under your breath. Your hands appear at the sides of his face tracing each little scratch and the deep bruise forming around his eye. “Love..what happened? Are you okay?” You stuttered out.

He sent you a sheepish smile, not wanting to raise any concerns.“May I come in” he asked placing his hand on top of your own.

His “previous activities” were rather impromptu. Usually, his targets were much better thought out, and handled much more methodically. Although he enjoyed the anguished screams of his victims, he would never hurt anyone who wasn’t actively or indirectly hurting you, the same applied to this kill. The timing wasn’t ideal but it was a necessity.

He had decided to walk to the flower shop from the station so he could surprise you with a fresh bouquet before your date. He felt tremendously guilty for his recent absences, and wanted to alleviate that with a gift. Even if he missed you dreadfully, New Orleans birthed the scum of the earth. It was more important to keep you protected than to keep long expanses of your company. He would never forgive himself if something he could have prevented happened to you.

Upon his arrival into the shop, he was rather annoyed with the short brutish man that held up the line. He shamelessly flirted with the owner of the shop, who very clearly did not care for his advances. Alastor wouldn’t stand for such behavior. It was better to deal with the issue then instead of allowing you to continue to exist in a world full of degenerates. He would do anything to keep you safe.

Once the man had finally left, he followed him until they reached a quiet alley. He pulled the knife from his coat pocket, ready to strike. He stabbed the man’s back and twisted the knife in as far as it would go. However, the man was a bit stronger than he anticipated. It was the first time anyone had bothered to fight back.

His most recent kill had gotten sloppy, and here he was covered in blood on your doorstep in consequence. He never wanted any of the evidence to be tied to you, so he had learned to keep his distance. On this particular occasion however, he didn’t have much of a choice. He had dismembered the body and left it tucked in an alleyway, to be disposed of later. The only evidence remaining was the blood staining his clothes. If someone saw him walking through town in his disorderly state, that would raise questions; questions that could indirectly put you into harms way. Although this wasn’t ideal, it was the only option. -Besides, he had accidentally missed your date, you were probably worried sick over him.

“Yes of course I’m sorry, please follow me” You stammer out grasping his hand and leading him to the bathroom. You weren’t entirely sure of the nature of his bedraggled state, but you were determined to fix it. You reach under the sink and dig out the first aid kit you kept on hand.

You reach for the bandages and a dampen a small cloth. You press it against his bloodied nose and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Are you alright” You ask hesitantly. Your mind burned with questions, what had happened to bring him here in such a state?

“It’s nothing I can’t manage I’m sorry to drag you into this.” He replied, remorse seeping into his tone.

“No it’s alright I’m just glad you’re okay.” You responded as you began to bandage the scuffs on his hands. From his demeanor, you gathered he didn’t really want to talk about this, but you couldn’t help but ask.

“What happened Al?” You questioned. Your shoulders were slumped in his direction while you carefully washed the cuts on his face.

“It’s not important my dear.” He responded with a nonchalant smile.

"Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

His indifferent attitude did anything but calm you.

“You can’t show up on my doorstep like this, and not expect me to be concerned for you. Please, just tell me what happened love” You begged.

“I had something to take care of. It’s not important” He dismissed you again as you unbuttoned the clasps of his shirt to tend to anything below the surface. Through his bloodied exterior, you couldn’t discern what stemmed from him or another person.

“Clearly-" you huffed. You examined the small contusions that littered his chest. “Please don’t run from me Al” Even though his injuries are less severe than you’d thought your lips contorted into a deep frown. “I’m worried about you.” Your e/c eyes bore into his smooth brown ones.

“I just.. got involved with the wrong person y/n, please save your worries for a worthy cause.” He murmured. He attempted to dissuade your worries with another smile, it only multiplied them.

“We should report this to the police Alastor I don’t care who you got involved with they don’t have a right to leave you like this” You urge, your fingers mindlessly trace the edges of each forming bruise.

“Y/n just drop it.” He finally snapped, his voice is intense and almost feral. His shoulders tense up almost as quickly as they release.

“Please”. He softens, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

"He sang as if he knew me

In all my dark despair"

1930: New Orleans: Your apartment, six months later

Another pressing knock awakens you from your sleep. You didn’t even have it in you to be upset anymore. It had become habitual, he would show up on your doorstep a little before four in the morning speckled in bright red blood; just as he had done every few weeks for the last six months. It wasn’t worth asking for explanation anymore. He would ramble out the same tepid excuses and unconcerned reassurances.

You opened the door to his typical scarlet splatted clothing. The longer his little escapade expanded, the less injuries he sustained afterwards. It was a double edged sword. You were glad he never walked in branded in bruises or dripping his own blood, but it also made you apprehensive. How was he able to hurt another so easily with no more damage than the occasional scrape on his knuckles? Nothing about the entire affair made sense. You recall the vague details he had mentioned after the first incident. If he truly had been accidentally whisked into the company of the wrong individuals, why didn’t he just leave? He worked in radio, theoretically he could accomplish the same goal in a different location. There wasn’t anything to stop him. You had assured him you would drop everything and go with him if he only asked you to. New Orleans had no reason to hold onto you in his absence. You were a matching set.

With a small kiss between your drowsy eyes, he walked into your bedroom to shed his dirtied clothes. Upon his return, he flitted about your kitchen collecting the necessary materials to make you both a cup of tea. It was routine at this point. Accompanied by the smooth lull of the radio, you would drink your tea and chat. He was never at a loss for words, and you loved to listen. You didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, just whatever happened to cross his mind. You sit curled into his arms tea in hand. You couldn’t help but wonder why this was all happening. You wanted him to open up to you. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. Maybe if he told you, you could find a way to help him out of this

“Al..why don’t we just leave here? I don’t like that you keep showing up like this. I promise I won’t be upset with whatever details it holds…I just want to know that you’re being safe.” You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, as you speak.

“My dear, we have been over this, it is nothing I can’t handle. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it” He smiles down at you and presses another kiss against your forehead. He admired your care, but he feared your judgement too harshly to admit the true details of his actions.

"And then he looked right through me

As if I wasn't there"

“This is the second time this week Alastor. I’ll support you through anything but I deserve to know the details”. You plead, lifting your head to better observe his features. He looked completely and entirely unbothered.

"And he just kept on singing

Singing clear and strong"

"y/n I'm telling you to drop it" His hand cups your cheek.

"No you don't get to tell me that anymore. I'm concerned for you Alastor.” Your voice gets louder as you pull away from his touch.

"I've told you before darling, you needn't worry" He tucks a stray loc of your hair behind your ear. "I promise I would never hide anything from you for longer than I needed to dear.I will always be truthful with you y/n” He pulls your body back into his lap as he speaks.

“ I just can’t tell you yet… It wouldn’t be right to involve you in this.” His voice is indistinct and distant, as his arms wrap around you into a tight hug.

“ I can’t risk you getting hurt, You are my perfection dear”

Your heart falls from your recollection as your body finally drops to the from the spinning pole. Alastor didn't end up keeping his promise of eventually veracity. How many other things did he simply “not tell you yet”.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You were convenient and gullible, you had loved him too much to even consider that he might have been hurting others and not a victim himself . You lived in the middle of the city, giving him a central location to act from. He hadn’t lied when he said you were perfect.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

It was much deeper than you previously thought. You weren’t just someone he kept around for the occasional favor or entertainment. It was deeper than that. The bloodied clothes and unexplained absences finally made sense. He would’ve needed to harm a lot of people to hold such an astute amount of power upon his arrival in hell. You were the unknown tool that helped him reach that status.

"Telling my whole life with his words"

No wonder you ended up in hell. Any sinful actions you may have taken or blood on your hands was nothing in comparison to the amount he spilled with your help. You were nothing more than an accessory to his crimes. You had wasted your life on counterfeit kisses and meaningless utterances of love. You had wasted your afterlife believing they held some merit.

"Killing me softly with his song"

He didn’t come for you because he didn’t need anything from you. He never actually loved you enough to search for you beyond that.

The music crescendos into its final note. You take a slight bow as the crowd exploded into a sea of cheers.

“Thank you for being such a darling audience, I’ll be out to speak with you soon” you announce as you blow a kiss in their direction. Val would have to be mad later. You needed to get out of there

As soon you walked off stage, the lively armor of your theatrical persona was thrown aside, leaving nothing to guard your wounded heart. You stumble down the hall towards your dressing room ,a freshly opened bottle of wine in tow. You wanted nothing more than a moment of clear unfeeling peace. Valentino preferred you to mingle after a performance, but you needed to collect yourself and dampen your anger before you had to speak with your untamable fans. Alastor’s appearance had shaken you to your core in ways you weren’t prepared to confront. You didn’t have time to accurately process those emotions so you would settle for a second alone to compartmentalize. By the time you reach the dressing room’s door, the bottle in your hand is nearly empty. You turn the knob to reveal to a vase of crimson roses reflected in your mirror and the shadow of his antlers on your face.

“Why are you here.” You asked pointedly. Your voice held the typical icey air of a frigid hellish morning. You had no intention of letting him stay long enough to propose whatever twisted favor had brought him back to your door.

“It was you that contacted me dearest” He ignored the frostbite forming on his finger tips from your cold shoulder- His frankly untrue statement struck more than a few of your nerves.

“If I had, don’t you think I would have done it sooner?” You seethed with aggravation. Alastor hadn’t a clue as to why you were so cross with him. Perhaps guilt motivated your responses and he was simply caught in the overtly anguished crossfire. You had always been slightly oversensitive to your effect on him- maybe that was it?

“Now my dear you haven’t been in hell very long, you mustn’t blame yourself for needing a bit of extra time to understand your skillset. I was pleasantly surprised to hear your sweet voice interrupt my usual broadcast- Although, I must say I wasn’t aware you were so interested in continuing show business after death. Had you asked before finding your own way, I could have connected you with a classier establishment"

“A bit of extra time is the understatement of the hour” you huff under your breath.

“Most demons take weeks to learn control, you on the other hand managed to do so in a couple of days you really should be proud” He sent you a reassuring smile.

You laugh dryly, confusion overtakes his features and seeps into his smile.

“Oh sure you’re absolutely right! I should be proud it only took a day or so- give or take a few years” The sarcasm radiating from your response would have slit the throat of a lesser demon. This confused Alastor even further.

“y/n, how long have you been in hell.”Bewilderment etches across his lips, he had never considered the possibility you weren’t another new arrival before then.

“Ten years, eleven next week.” you admit. His eyes grow wide in remorse.

“Dear I am so very sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Between your anonymity and my little leave of absence, we must have just missed each other. I assure you had I known you were here I would have been chasing at your heels.” Despite his deeply genuine intentions, you perceived his words as nothing more than another manipulative tactic to persuade you into whatever twisted plan he had in store.

“Please- Al, you can cut the act already. To be entirely frank, I don’t need any more of your sweetly worded lies, I know who you’ve always really been now. I’m telling you it’s not going to work anymore- I’m not that stupid.” Your retort was accompanied by the roll of his eyes.

“You left me without a care in the world, and with a child for that matter. It stands to reason your sentiment wouldn’t change, even in hell. I don’t care for whatever old favor you’re trying to call in. I’m not helping you.” Even across the room, the edges of his raven tipped hair practically singed at the weight of your words. For the first time in his hellish existence, his everlasting smile dropped. He didn’t know he was a father. He had died before you had chance to tell him.

“ We had a child?” His voice is weak and raw, entirely devoid of its usual crackle. His eyes hold a deep sadness you had only ever seen in your own reflection. Your posture visibly softens at his sorrowful reaction. The realization hit you: He never got to meet his son. At least you were granted a moment with your baby swaddled in your arms. Alastor hadn't been so lucky.

“ Yes.. his name is Eugene. He turned 50 last year...He was such a beautiful baby. He had your brown eyes and curly hair. I swear I could almost hear you in his laughter.” The corners of your mouth begin to peak up in response to the remembrance. Despite the short time he had been a part of your life, Eugene was everything you lived for. You endured every sleazy comment and blood splattered old fashioned in the hopes you could see him again. You even went as far to marry the bar’s immoral owner. You suffered a lifetime of abuse and the plight of that man's own children on the half hearted promise you might have been able to regain custody in your newfound stability.

“Did he live a good life?” He was overtaken with dream-like sun spotted snapshots of you and his son. The hypothetical moments alleviated his guilt slightly. At least in his absence you weren’t entirely alone. Alastor's legs carried him to your side. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the melancholy from your face and offer you comfort. His hand gently outstretched to your shoulder. The silence that overtook the room was hinted in comfort instead of animosity.

“ Yes..he did" you finally respond.

Your mind wanders to the flower shop he owned downtown and its painted green exterior. The lavender cursive of the sign above it read "Eugene's Fanciful Flowers". He was a complete and total dork, just like his father. The older you got, the more you found yourself walking past it. He had sent you a bouquet of daffodils once. You kept them in the vase next to your bed long after they had begun to wilt and shrivel. You weren't sure how he knew of your existence or even where you lived. He was only 18 months old the last time you had held him in your arms. You weren't really his mother, just a circumstance of his birth. You never had the chance to watch him grow.

"I just never got to see it” You snap out of your memory inspired daze.

He never got to meet his son because he chose not to. Any remorse you felt was quickly scrapped from your system. You could have watched your son’s mind grow and learned the nuances of his little voice if Alastor had just stayed. That’s all he had to do. You didn’t care if your eventual marriage with him would have crumbled in the process. For all you cared, he could continue his distant nature and whatever wicked deeds he pleased, just as long as he stayed…He made his choice to walk that crestfallen path alone, separating you from him and your son in the process. You shrugged off his soothing hand and turned away, effectively burning a fire flecked wall between the two of you.

“I had to give him up. The radio show shut down in your absence. I couldn’t support the both of us with what little I made at the bar.” Bitterness seeps into your previously softened voice. You weren’t going to allow yourself to be manipulated by his falsified concern. The mirage of imagined moments you had collected of your son over the years flashed through your mind all at once. You were devastated by the memories you didn’t get the chance to make.

“Y/n.. I am so sorry.” He is nearly frozen in place, shocked by the sudden shift in your demeanor. If you weren’t so angry, the pathetic broken string of words would have shattered your desolate heart.

“ You can stop pretend to care Alastor. You had no issue leaving us then- What do you really want from me? Just get it over with so I can go back to forgetting you exist.” The short horns peaking out from your hair nearly doubled in size. You were growing frustrated with his half assed excuses and blatant lies. In that moment, you didn’t care if he disappeared entirely. The deserted lovesick island you had so often found yourself stuck on burned to the ground in the back of your mind.

“Why would I, an overlord, want something from a weaker demon such as yourself. I don’t know who placed that foolish notion into your head, but I assure you, I don’t want anything from you” Anguish accented the pungent inflection of each word. Alastor was growing tired with your antics he didn’t want anything from you other than your forgiveness. He had apologized for the first time in decades, and meant it. Why couldn’t you just accept that? Your resentful resolve exasperated him to no end.

“ I just wanted to see you again, I thought you might like the same, evidently I was wrong.” His typical smile pressed into an uncharacteristic sharp line.

“Will you please just stop?” Your voice raised far more than a few decibels. He couldn’t take the hint, and you were not sober enough to keep reiterating it.

“Darling it has been agony sitting around waiting for you here, only to find out you’re cavorting around with Valentino. Leaving you wasn’t my fault, you can’t blame me for something I didn’t wish to do. As much as I wish to I can’t control my circumstances. I’ve already apologized I don’t know what else you want me to do." He would gladly do anything you asked to mend the bridges you had set ablaze in your unreasonable fury. He hadn’t meant to die, it just sort of happened. Were you really blame him for his untimely demise?

“Didn’t wish to do? How stupid do you think I am?” You scoffed.

“The only thing I want you to do is leave.” Your voice wavered but the sentiment was strong. He could almost see the fighting spirit that traced your form. Alastor couldn’t help but laugh. He had done nothing but answer your call, and you had the audacity to reject his answer. If you wanted to fight, he would fight with you. If nothing else, it kept you talking to him.

“Naturally, because you are just so much happier leashed to Valentino and spinning around that pole” He taunted, his scornful sneer seeping into his cadence.

"Believe me I'd rather be anywhere else-" You snapped. He had added fuel to the fire and the weight of its introduction flooded you with spite.

“Don’t pretend that you’re any different from him Alastor. You are two sides of the same coin- except unlike you, Valentino actually owns my soul. I have to put up with this shit from him. I’m under no obligation to take it from you. I am not a toy for you to pick up and put down whenever you need something to play with- I’m not some tool for you to use whenever decide you need a favor.”

You didn’t really believe the words coming from you, you just wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you. Evidently it worked a little better than you anticipated. His eyes contorted into the shape of radio dials, the static erupting from his core in tandem. His height over you nearly tripled, as the horns on his head wept out jet black roots that stretched into the ceiling. His voice distorts into a vicious growl.

“You don’t get to stand here and pretend that I am entirely to blame. It isn’t my fault your life went so poorly. Let’s think reasonably for a moment, provided you haven’t completely lost it. You could have made any number of different choices, but you went with the easiest option, just as you always have. As for your current situation, you did the same. Although I regret not finding you sooner, you clearly had the ability to reach out if you truly needed something. You don’t get to blame me because you finally started to regret your careless mistakes. You have no right to be angry with me for your own choices. Look at how pathetic you’ve become y/n.” He grasps your chin, tilting it to meet your eyes in the mirror.

“I don’t know how I ever managed to love someone stupid enough to waste their soul on nothing more cheap liquor and lust rolled cigarettes.”

The radio static that had permeated the room just seconds before fizzled out leaving you alone in the silent pit. His antlers returned to their normal size as he observed the void that replaced your sparkling eyes. As soon as he saw the tears welling up within you, he realized what he had said.

In actuality, he didn’t mean a word of it. In his time in hell, he had grown too accustomed to uncovering the insecurity of his opponents. In that moment, he had forgotten you really weren’t one.

He didn’t truly blame you for anything that had happened. How could he? He knew he was mostly at fault for the more unfortunate aspects of your life. His heart incessantly throbbed with guilt just thinking of what you must have gone through. He hadn’t known what he left you with in such an unforgiving world. If he had, he would have found some way to pluck the bullet from his skull and return home to you.

As for the quality of your after-life, he knew the blame belonged entirely to Valentino. You had always been strong, but you had never been cruel. To survive in this hellish landscape, you had to be on some level. You probably would have ended up just another lifeless body bloodying up the street if you hadn’t taken the offer. Valentino had taken advantage of that, and Alastor hadn't been there to help you find another solution. Even if you didn’t want his help, he would never forgive himself if he didn’t find a way to break the deal you had made.

“Get out.” You didn’t have enough strength for anything more than a whisper.

His eyes bore into yours as a single tear slipped down your face. He hadn’t noticed the deep scratches that decorated your cheeks or the dark purple bruises that formed under your contour until that moment. They had been hastily covered in concealer and he hadn’t been close enough to notice the jagged indentations until then. The ears perched atop his head began to twitch as his mind sparked with an entirely different form of rage...As soon as he figured out what twisted soul had dared to lay a hand on you, all of hell would hear their screams.

His grasp on your chin softens as he traced the edge of each scratch with his free hand.

“Who did this to you”

“Get out.” You tear your face from his hold.

“No I’m not leaving you here” he stated, the desperation of his tone rimmed the edges his lanky frame. He took a step towards you and you took a step away.

“Get the fuck out Alastor. Now.” Your eyes began to glow a familiar pink.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean t-“

“Just go” you cut him off before he has the chance to put a word in edgewise. You had been through enough. You didn’t need his excuses to confuse you more. Your eyes squeeze shut as the objects in the room began to float. All you wanted was for him to go away.

“I won’t leave you again” He stood his ground.

“Leave me alone” You were practically screaming at this point. If he couldn’t listen to your request, you would just have to be louder to make him listen. Your voice reverberates throughout the room, effectively shattering both the light bulbs surrounding your mirror and the mirror itself. The residual glass scattered through the space and into your hair.

To your surprise, he doesn't respond. The remaining floating objects fall to the ground in a piercing clatter. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise.

Other than the abundant mess, there was no trace he had ever been there to begin with. Even the roses he had brought for you had dissipated. You stood alone in the glass covered room, thankful he had taken his leave. The swirling overload of emotion made you feel ill. You replayed the conversation a few times in your head, each replay inspired a deeper feeling of regret and a plethora of questions you no longer had the opportunity to ask.

A/N:

Hey yall thank you sm for the support I adore each and every one of you!!

Also a note about the content revolving around abusive relationships: This is going to be a bit long winded but I feel it's important to be said. The content in this chapter as well as chapter 2 features some pretty awful depictions of abuse. I want to check in and make sure that this isn't coming off as an overly done cliche or a cheap plot device to further the story. In no way is that my intention. I know that I am a very small writing page but it's important to me that I dont accidentally wind down the same path a lot of larger entertainment companies follow. I've drawn from the experiences of my friends who have gone through similar things as well as my own to try and prevent that. However I am also aware my writing style is a bit..dramatic? If you find that it is coming across negatively, and if you feel comfortable, don't hesitate to message me normally or anonymously. I will gladly listen to anything you have to say!!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #valentino being a nasty fucker #Alastor really just can't communicate well and you are lowkey stupid #like ok ms girl jump to conclusions #tbh if i was her id give him a lap dance and forget everything #why am i like this #valentino #...can die #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter #omg theyre back!#i was high off my ass writingn this so no guarantee its good.

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serasfanfiction · 6 months

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CW for Alastor being Alastor, but that's to be expected. This chapter is all from his POV.

Alastor was having what he might call an exceptionally good day, if he did say so himself.

His mobility was almost back to normal, that pesky little parting gift Adam had left him having practically healed itself overnight. Why, he'd even been able to remove the stitches!

He had seen some improvement over the last month, agonizingly slow as it had been. Consuming the flesh and souls of other sinners had certainly sped things up a bit, but only finitely. He had resigned himself to the fact that healing would be a slow process, especially after the first time he pushed too hard and undid all the work he'd done up until that point. It had grated on him, but he could be patient.

If there was anything he was good at, it was being patient and bidding his time.

Getting a taste of angel's blood, though? Not just a taste, but a real go at it? Oh, now that had changed everything.

He hadn't had a chance at the holy feast following the last Extermination. He'd been too busy licking his wounds and trying not to bleed out. By the time he'd been able to pull himself together, figuratively and literally, the bodies were long gone. There had been claims about the rejuvenating effects some had experienced following eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood, but as it hadn't been a process they could readily replicate, it had done him little good.

Then none other than Lucifer Morningstar had offered himself up, willingly placing himself on the menu.

When the little king had done that little trick, the thought had crossed Alastor's mind. He was only human (deceased though he may be) and this was the father of temptation himself. Granted, it was likely Lucifer was used to being sexually desired, but hunger of a carnal nature had never been one of Alastor's sins. His hunger for the flesh had stopped at the actual eating of the flesh.

And Alastor craved nothing more than he craved the flesh of others like him.

The Wendigo that lay beneath the surface, a very real manifestation of his hunger was now a permanent part of his being. In life, he had hungered for the flesh of humans. In death, while he could still enjoy the odd sinner here and there, it was akin to 'empty calories,' he believed they were called. They curbed his hunger, for a little while, but it never quite seemed to hit the spot.

No, nothing quite filled him up the way venison did.

Before the creation of his bayou, he'd had to rely on the odd deer demon that appeared on the rare occasion. He was hardly the only one, but there never seemed to be enough of them. Butcher shops occasionally helped, but it never seemed enough. He'd been near ravenous towards the end there.

All the while she had been laughing at him. She had known this would happen and she hadn't warned him. One of her little games, letting him think she was giving him what he wanted only to chain him further to her. He had never cursed his deal as much as he had then when she had taken pity on him and taught him how to bend reality on a small scale. To create the bayou - a reflection of the very place where he had died - and filled it with the creatures that were not only necessary to keep him alive, but to allow him to thrive.

So he couldn't help but wonder, while Lucifer flashed those ears at him and called the very features that had nearly undone him 'cute,' how deep did the transformation go? Could a mimic sate his hunger as good as the real thing? The possibility that the seraphim blood might have rejuvenate powers didn't hurt, either.

It would have been everything he needed, served to him in a little red and white package.

It had been pipe dream, he'd thought at the time. Nothing to seriously entertain. Despite appearances to the contrary, he did know he had limits. Adam had just been an oversight. His growth in power had never truly been tested and well.

Lesson learned. He wasn't keen to try his luck just yet, especially not injured and his microphone broken, limiting his power.

But then Lucifer had done something so left field, Alastor still wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined it: a trade of his blood for some good behavior. In deer form, no less! The opportunity had been so good he'd had to hold onto his eagerness by the skin of his teeth.

Everything about the experience had not been a disappointment. Not only had he'd gotten quite a bit of entertainment out of the exchange, but it turned out the stories had been true. Within a few short hours of consuming Lucifer's blood, the wound indeed showed marked improvement.

The real treat, however, was that the hunger had indeed fallen silent. Oh, it had returned in due time, but how long it had stayed away! His appetite had only just been seriously returning when the first attack on the hotel happened, providing him with quite the meal and even a handful of angel's blood. He'd felt positively spoiled.

Getting to see the little seraphim in his full demonic glory had been interesting, as well. He'd known Lucifer had wiped the floor with Adam, despite Niffty being the one to kill him, but it was always different seeing it.

This was Hell's King. This was the entity the stories had talked about. All that power, right there on display, and all Alastor had wanted in that moment was to have this being underneath him again. Wanted to see how far he could push. To see how much Lucifer would let him take.

(Alastor wasn't certain what had possessed him to reach for Lucifer in that moment. Wasn't certain what he would have done had the little king decided to take him up on his offer. Had he simply wanted to hold that power in his hands? To burn himself on it?)

And oh, how his patience had paid off.

Such a huge gain and all it had cost Alastor was a night of his company and some information. Information Lucifer really should have already known, at that.

Now, Alastor was full and so very near hale and hearty again. Why, he was close to being able to tackling fixing his microphone soon!

Perhaps if he could have another feeding in the future...

Ah, but it wouldn't do to get used to this. Three times was already far more than he could have ever imagined, plus it never paid to put his wellbeing in the hands of others. They were so often unreliable. There were only two people in Heaven or Hell that he trusted, and neither of them resided in the hotel.

So, Alastor put the idea aside and went about his day as normal. If he had an extra skip to his walk, and his smile a touch more sanguine that normal, to the point he was receiving some nervous side glances, well, all the more entertainment for him.

He was feeling so well, in fact, he felt up to taking a little jaunt to visit one of his favorite people.

Cannibal Town was as lively as ever, despite their numbers had seen some reduction during Heaven's assault on the hotel. Rosie's Emporium, always the main attraction, was not lacking for people lined up to see their Overlord. The line was already starting to snake out the door.

Alastor strolled in, not minding the line in the slightest. Rosie always made time for him.

Sure enough, the woman in question looked up at the sound of the door opening, her ever-present smile widening in delight on seeing him. She never paused in whatever affair she was discussing with her current client, but she did make an effort to finish it up a touch bit faster.

He stood off to the side politely, waiting to see if now was a bad time or not. He wasn't bringing her anything other than his company and this was an impromptu visit.

"Alastor!" She greeted, loud and affectionate. "A visit twice in one month! You certainly know how to spoil a girl."

Alastor felt that little black thing that served as his heart warm with the genuine sincerity being shown his way. He matched her smile with an honest one himself. "Only those who deserve it, my dear, and you always do."

Rosie placed a hand to her cheek, bemused. "Oh, you." She waved over to one of the tables. "Now tell little ol' me what brings you here. You haven't gotten yourself into any more trouble, have you?"

He could hear a hint of concern in her voice and resolved to bring her a gift the next time he came over. "Oh, you know me. I'm always up for something exciting." He let her maneuver him into a chair set up at a table for two. "In this case, I was up for a walk and thought I'd indulge in your company, if you'll have me."

The Victorian Overlord's body language eased ever so slightly, adding to the suspicion she might have been worried. "Always, dear." She pressed a seemingly delicate finger to her lips. "Give me 30 minutes to clear this lot out and I'm all yours!"

He nodded, and she gave him a light pat on the shoulder as she went back to her work, pausing only briefly to have one of her workers send over a pot of tea. He spent the next half hour sipping on the latest delightful blend she was offering, watching the cannibals coming and going. Most were asking for the same thing they always did: someone wanting someone else to disappear, usually in a body bag they would of course hand over to Rosie.

After what he was sure was thirty minutes and no more (not that he would have honestly timed her, why, that would have been discourteous), his fellow Overlord was escorting the last of her clients out the door. Business completed, she turned on her guest. "Now that all of that work stuff is out of the way," Rosie said as she came to sit in the chair across from the redhead, "Come now, tell me all the gossip! Surely something juicy happened with how lively you're looking today."

Alastor supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she had seen through his mask the last time he'd been here. He'd needed to get away from hotel, just for a bit, as the strain of hiding his wound was wearing on him. None of his usual acquaintances had suspected a thing, and he had wanted to keep it that way.

But Rosie was hardly an 'acquaintance.'

He supposed since she knew already, it wouldn't hurt to assure her the worst was past. He also supposed he had a gift for her after all. Lowering the cup to the saucer on the table, he assured, "You could say I recently benefited from a rather unexpected deal recently."

Rosie raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Well, don't keep a girl waiting! Details!"

Because he was a little bit of a drama queen, he waiting until she had raised her own cup to her lips before he stated, "It turns out that all the rumors about angel blood is true, even more so for seraphim blood."

It was only because she had perfect control that she did not, if fact, choke on her drink. Rosie started at him for a long moment, trying to see if he was serious. When it became clear he was, she stated, "Well, shit, you certainly don't go small, do you?" She leaned forward, placing her free hand over one of his. "This deal didn't put you in a tough spot, now did it?"

Alastor's smile softened. "None of that, my dear." He didn't like to touch people, anymore than he liked being touched in return, but Rosie had always been kind to him, so he placed his other hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "All that was asked for was a who's who on Pentagram City's current political landscape."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, the feather in her hat swaying with the motion. When she withdrew her hand, Alastor released it. "Our King is showing interest in his kingdom?" She blinked, more than a little surprised. He didn't blame her. "My, what could have brought this little development about?"

Alastor pulled both hands from the table, a subtle cue he had had enough tactile contact for the day, although he wasn't completely closing himself off from it. "Someone has been sending mercenaries to attack the hotel. Drivel, mostly. Little more than snacks on the whole." He hummed in memory of all the free morsels that had been sent his way, lately. "The attacks haven't done anything, really, other than rile his Majesty up." He gave her a look of amusement. "He's begun an investigation into who might be behind the attacks and asked after us Overlords. I gave you a good word, of course."

It was a testament to how quick-witted she was that Rosie barely blinked over the idea that their sovereign had apparently not only crawled out of the wood work, but was also finally taking an interest in his kingdom again. "Oh, of course you did." She flapped a hand at Alastor. "Do tell him if he ever want to visit, he's more than welcome!"

Alastor made a noise of acknowledgement. "He's quite the character, our king. I'm sure you'd find him... amusing." Amongst other things, he thought to himself as he sipped on the last of his tea.

Ever the host, Rosie noticed. "Oh, dear me, let me refill that." She raised the pot of tea to do so, offering, "You know, I just remembered: we got in a fresh body just this morning. Would you like an arm?"

The redhead considered the request, but found himself much too full. Whatever room he'd had available had already been taken up by his drink. "I thank you kindly for the offer, but sadly must pass this time." He placed his now empty cup on its saucer. "Why, I dare say I might have to wait on another cup of this delicious tea."

Rosie didn't have pupils that Alastor had ever been able to track, yet he had the distinct impression he was being looked up and down. "That blood must have been quite the thing to curb an appetite like yours." She shrugged before pulling over a box of ring fingers. Some even still had the rings on them. "Hm, knowing you, a certain someone might have to worry about her seat - if she ever intends to come back."

Alastor paused. Rosie did that sometimes: said things that threw him for a loop. "What now?"

She waved a finger in a circle to indicate the entirety of her guest, her smile all teeth and knowing. "Come now, Alastor, I don't think I've ever seen you in such a state before. I almost think you have intentions towards the king!"

The redhead tilted his head to the side, considering. Did he have intentions towards Lucifer? He certainly wouldn't mind having another go at his blood. Riling him up had yet to get old.

The urge to hunt, sated though it was at the moment, thrummed through his veins. Here was the ultimate prey, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tides.

The memory of the smell of apples and something he'd come to associate with Lucifer rose to mind. Of warm, pale alabaster skin beneath his lips. The feel of hands that could so easily crush him carding gently, absentmindedly, through his hair.

For the first time since their little games had started, though, Alastor realized that sitting beside the urge to devour was the urge to keep.

He examined the thought. He meant it when he said he delt primarily in favors. There were so few souls that interested him enough to keep long term. They were usually individuals who ranked as powerhouses themselves. Investments first, entertainment second.

This urge resembled that desire, but not quite. He certainly wanted access to the power contained within that tiny little package that called himself the King, but beyond that, he was beginning to think he might want to own Lucifer in every sense of the word.

Well. That was certainly quite the turn.

He turned his attention back to the world outside his own head, finding his fellow Overlord watching him and patiently waiting for him to sort out his thoughts. "I'm afraid, my dear, I don't have an answer to that, but you have given me quite the food for thought."

Rosie, bless her, didn't press. Knowing how perceptive she was on matters of the song and dance that was interpersonal relationships, it was likely she knew more than he did.

He really was thankful he made an ally of her rather than an enemy.

The rest of their chat was turned to less deep conversation. Soon enough, she sent him on his way, but not before warning, "Now be careful, Alastor. Kitten our King may be, I saw how fierce he can be when pressed."

If it didn't mean acquiring one of those silly picture boxes, Alastor might have been inclined break down and watch whatever that voyeur Vox had filmed of the fight on Extermination Day. Incidentally, his pride point blank period refused to allow him to let such a thing anywhere near his person if he didn't have to. "Don't worry, dear. It's all merely a thought. I won't do anything lest I know there's a chance at success."

That seemed to mull her over. They said their goodbyes, and he was off back to the hotel.

The conundrum that was his entanglement with Lucifer followed him all the way back to the hotel, dogging his steps as he went through the rest of his day. He didn't see the blonde at any point before he retired for bed, which was likely for the best, as Alastor was distracted and unlikely to be at the top of his game.

He didn't see him throughout any point of the following day either, not that he was looking for him. He didn't give it a second thought, not until he came upon Hell's princess halfway into a tizzy in the main gathering room.

"But Vaggie! He hasn't come down in almost two days!" Charlie wrang her hands together, glancing at the ceiling in the general direction of her father's room. "What if something's wrong?"

Vaggie had a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, as much a comfort as it was a restraint. "What did he say when you knocked on the door?"

The hotel's owner bit her lip. "Just that he wanted to stay in for a bit. But that was yesterday. He didn't even respond at all when I knocked this morning."

"And you're sure he's still here? That he didn't leave?"

Charlie nodded. "His door is locked. He doesn't bother to lock it if he's not in."

Well, that's a silly thing to do, Alastor thought to himself. He filed it away for later. Deciding he was curious enough to join the conversation, especially since it seemed he might have been the last to see Lucifer. It would be bothersome if anyone thought he'd done anything to him when he really hadn't yet.

Alastor allowed his corporeal form to dissipate, only to reform right behind Vaggie. "What's this I hear about our esteemed leader disappearing?"

"Shit!" The fallen angel jumped, just as he hoped. Predictably, she spun around, bringing the point of her spear right up to his nose. "Cut it out, asshole. We don't have time for your games right now."

Alastor smiled down at her, as calm as a undisturbed pond, taking hold of the end of the spear and redirecting it away from his face. "And who's playing around? I heard our dear Charlie in distress and just had to see if I could help in anyway."

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. One day, he was going to drive her to actually attempt to stab him. It would be such an entertaining day when it happened.

Charlie sniffed. She didn't necessarily look relieved to see him becoming involved, which, fair, but he could see something easing in her stance.

It was such a delight to see how much she'd grown to rely on him.

Stepping around the most hostile entity in the room like she wasn't holding a certified deadly weapon, Alastor came up to stand beside Charlie. "Tell me, do you have any reason to believe something might be wrong?"

She searched his face for any hint of falsehood. Any hint that he might use this against them.

She wasn't going to find any. She was learning to be more cautious of him, but she still had a long way to go before she'd see through his carefully constructed persona.

"Well... maybe?" She offered at last. He could see it in her eyes, her drooped shoulders: a certain helplessness. It was different from the kind that had driven her to make a deal with him. This kind was old, the sort that came from a time before the autonomy of adulthood. Likely this issue had roots in her childhood. "Mom used to say that Dad just kind of shut down sometimes. Worse than normal." She glanced at her girlfriend, likely for moral support, and then back at him. "Mom said it wasn't good to leave him alone during those times."

Alastor pushed down the eager swell that might have given up the game. Was it really going to be this easy? "And you think this might be one of those times?"

She mulled over this. Nodded, and then shrugged. "It's possible, but without getting past the lock..."

"I tried to pick the lock," Angel put out from where he was lounging on the couch, feet across Husk's lap. Husk, curiously, didn't appear to mind.

Charlie winced. "Yes, which is really not good! We shouldn't pick people's doors."

Angel shrugged, unbothered by the reprimand. "Didn't matter, either way. Turns out the door's magically locked." He made a handsy gesture with his top set of hands to emphasis his point.

Alastor looked between the two. "Is it warded?"

Everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Charlie blinked. "Warded?"

Oh, how quaint this lot was. "Magically locking the door means no one can unlock the door without breaking the spell. Unless the door is warded, there's nothing to stop someone from going, say, under the door."

Vaggie crossed her arms, posture irritated. "We can't go under the door, Alastor."

If he had his mic, he might have bopped her on the head just to mess with her. As it was, Alastor settled for smiling ever so sweetly at her as he pointed out, "Ah, maybe you can't, but it just so happens, I can."

Charlie shifted, uncertain. "You promise you won't make things worse...?"

She was so close that he could practically taste it.

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, softening his expression. "Now now, dear, we both know your father is hardly helpless. If he doesn't want me in there, he's more than capable of kicking me out."

Vaggie snorted, glaring viciously at him. "Yeah, not that that's ever stopped you."

Charlie glanced at her, warningly, before looking back at Alastor. She sighed and placed her hand over his. Feeling generous, he let her. "Alastor, please check on him, just... don't push, okay?"

Nothing but a formal deal was going to guarantee that, but he didn't have to advertise it. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

Her smile really was like sunlight breaking on the horizon when it wasn't being forced. She jerked forward as if she'd wanted to go for a hug but had aborted it at the last minute. Instead, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Alastor."

He disappeared into his shadow, partially to avoid her changing her mind and going for that hug, but also to avoid any further stipulations on his task. Between the quality of his last meal and the leaps and bounds in the healing of his wound, traveling by shadow was almost as easy as it had been before his injury. Seraphim blood was a marvel. It was such a pity that there was so little of it in Hell.

Alastor had studied the entirety of the hallway that made up his and Lucifer's floor along with the rest of the hotel the first opportunity he got upon his return. His inspection had stopped at white doors, whose handles were adorned with the same apple accents that littered the rest of the hotel. As he slipped under them, he could smell the magic on the handles. True to his suspicion, the spell was only on the lock itself, with nothing to guard again something like a shadow slipping right under the door.

It seemed Alastor's self-restraint in light of his injury had paid off, because nothing hindered him in anyway as he made his way into the room of the most powerful being Hell.

Alastor stuck to the outskirts of the room, where the darkest shadows gathered. It wasn't difficult, as most of the room was in shadow, the curtains drawn with very little natural light peaking in underneath them. The room was silent in a way that, at first, suggested that no one was in.

Perhaps Lucifer had gone out and failed to tell anyone, after all?

Tentatively, Alastor returned to his corporeal form, keeping to the darkest shadow the room he could find. When nothing and no one came flying at him, he turned his attention to the room at large.

Overall, the room appeared sparsely furnished. There was a rug laid out in front of the door. Chairs surrounding a table big enough for two over on one side of the room. The fireplace didn't appear to have ever been used, but it was there. A couple of bookshelves and a desk were the most lived in, but that was only because they were covered in small, yellow shapes he couldn't quite make out in the dark. A bed took up most of the final wall. It was perhaps the grandest thing about the room, looking every bit fit for the king who slept in it. Two side tables sat on either side of it, both with a lamp of their own.

As for the king himself, now that he was looking for it, Alastor could see the faintest outline of a shape near the left side of the bed. Creeping closer, he could see a pair of familiar boots and coat laying on the floor. A little closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, he could see a pair of mimicked deer ears poking out the top of the nest of blankets.

For a long moment, Alastor simply stood there, looking down at the lump. His ears were strained for the first sign that his presence had been noticed, but so far there had been none. He could feel his grin widening with each beat of his heart that passed. There were so many things he could do in that moment and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

There was a part of him, the part that was still human and remembered what it was like to be human, that wanted to finish the job he'd started two days ago. When he'd been alive, allowing a victim to live would have been tantamount to a death sentence. A living victim could become a witness who could identify him to the authorities and then the game would be up.

Lucifer wasn't just a potential victim. He was the authorities. He was the highest authority.

After his death, Alastor hadn't had to hide who he was or what he was like. It was simply a kill or be killed world, where one's continued existence depended on brains and reputation.

And oh what a reputation the Radio Demon would gain, if he took out the King of Hell himself?

The chain - noose - around his neck sat heavy and loud, ever grating against his sanity. The memory of Husk's deal held so easily in a dark grey hand brought him back down to himself. Reminded him why he wanted to keep the little king around.

There was no other reason. There could be no other reason.

He admitted to himself that it might be interesting to just stand there, looming as he waited for Lucifer to awaken. The subconscious was a funny thing and people on the whole didn't appreciate being stared at when they slept. The general consensus was that it was creepy. It was half the reason he enjoyed doing it and it always left the victim feeling off balance. When his majesty continued to not respond, Alastor also admitted to himself that while he did normally enjoy such a plan, he wasn't that patient.

Ready to spring away, if necessary, Alastor reached out until those tantalizing ears were just under his hand. Unrepentantly, he flicked one of them.

The ear twitched violently, the lump beneath the blanket shuddered, ear going flat. Grey hands appeared along the edge of the blanket, pulling it down for Lucifer peer up at him.

The sinner waved his fingers by way of greeting at his king, who stared back at him with a pair of tired, dead eyes.

Lucifer blinked at him, once, twice... and then pulled the covers back over his head??

Alastor felt the glitch to his system, spitting static. Did Lucifer think he could just ignore Alastor and he'd go away?

Oh, no. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

Time to throw away the preverbal Nice Guy gloves. He clapped his hands once, sharply, one shadow going for the lamp on the side desk while another went for the end of the covers. With vindictive amusement, the covers were ripped clean off the bed, while the flick of a switch bathed the room in light. A third shadow went for the curtains, yanking them aside to let the afternoon light in. Over the low groans of the bed's occupant, Alastor proclaimed at just high enough a volume to be annoying, "Rise and shine, your Majesty! You've nearly slept the day away, but there's still some time left to enjoy it."

The blonde still didn't look like he gave any sort of fuck that someone was standing over his bed harassing him. Alastor took in the rumpled state of his king's clothing - he was still dressed in his suit, sans the pieces on the floor - as Lucifer threw an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the light. Without a word, he merely rolled over, presenting his back to Alastor, as if he wasn't a concern in the slightest. His tail didn't even so much a flick once.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. It ground his gears more than a bit to be so blatantly treated as so little a threat, but the more he took in the situation, the more it drove home what Charlie had meant by 'just kind of shut down.' With the absence of the quilt and sheets, the reek of melancholy wafted off Lucifer in waves, nearly overpowering his usual scent. Little things observed over time - the most damning being what was glimpsed during their last encounter - and Alastor recognized what he was looking at.

Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil and King of Hell was depressed. Deeply, truly, very depressed.

This was the potential opportunity he was looking for. Alastor would have to be blind not to see it. Getting close to Charlie had given him influence over Hell's future ruler as well as a possible solution to his ...other problem. It was a long game he'd been more than willing to play for the potential future rewards.

This here was the king, himself, though. As he'd just thought to himself: the highest authority in Hell. Lucifer didn't have much by way of political influence beyond the people's fear of his power. He clearly wasn't willing to use his authority to rule over his kingdom, first advocating it to his much more interested wife, before abandoning it altogether when she left.

On the other hand, who didn't know who he was? The other side of the coin to God himself, Lucifer was one of the most well known beings in all of creation, the originator and father of sin himself. The being who'd given humanity their free will and so neatly interrupted his holy father's plans.

Lucifer's interest in politics may have been nonexistent, but his reputation more than made up for it.

Could he do it, Alastor wondered to himself. Could he force himself into something companion shaped enough to meet the needs another just for power? He'd already debased himself so much already - it was how he landed in his current situation, in every sense of the word - could he do it a little more?

Static emitted from his throat, his desire - his desperation - to be free at war with his pride, tattered though it's remains were. Companionship usually came with other expectations. Expectations that included touching, amongst other things. The mere thought made him want to claw his own skin off and nothing had even happened yet.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until he heard a squeak from the direction of the floor. Attention diverted, Alastor craned his head around, hearing his own neck cracking in the process, as he tried to get a better look at whatever it was he had stepped on. He blinked when he saw the object, unable to resist reaching down to pick up the item to better exam it.

It was... a rubber duckie?

Lips parting in his bafflement, he twisted around to look towards the desk and shelves he remembered seeing earlier. The light of the lamp and the outside world illuminated the yellow objects, revealing them to be a mass pile of what were indeed rubber duckies. Every single one of them was some degree of different from the others, but they were all unmistakably the same thing. There had to be over a hundred of them. Some of them were new, but some of them were old, likely brought over from the palace.

Disgust curled up in his chest like a living thing. Disgust at himself. Disgust at Lucifer for being living proof that power doesn't mean a damn thing in the end. His anger made him reckless, blind to the potential consequences, as Alastor asked, "Is this why they left?"

For the first time since entering the room, he finally gained Lucifer's attention. "What?"

The single word sounded like a warning, but Alastor had already picked up too much momentum. He knew he liked to poke where he shouldn't, that it could be the death of him one day. Perhaps today was going be that day. In that moment, weighted down by everything, he almost didn't care. "While your people were getting slaughtered and your wife's kingdom was being burned to the ground, were you making children's toys?"

Lazily, damningly, like the final nail in his own coffin, he spun around back to the lump that would be his king. He sneered.

"How pathetic."

The only warning he had was the flicking of that silly, ridiculous tail.

Suddenly, the room was spinning. No, he was falling - being pulled? - onto the bed. His back made contact with the mattress and he got a brief glimpse of the ceiling before it was replaced by Lucifer.

Who was livid. Hands like stone pinned Alastor down at the wrists. The rest of Lucifer's body weight rested on the sinner's hips, one leg resting on either side of his body. Every single one of his fangs were visible as he bared his teeth in a snarl mere inches from Alastor's nose. "Who are you to judge me? You dare to speak of things you know nothing about?!"

Eyes void of pupils glared down at him, staring down into his very soul. Feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable, Alastor's flight or fight response kicked in, sending his heart rate through the roof. He tried to dissolve into his shadow, only to find himself unable to do so.

In response to his distress, he shadows rose up, diving in to take out his attacker. Lucifer didn't even acknowledge them. His wings appeared behind him, flooding the room with a bright light that drove away any and all shadows.

Sensing he was caught, the part of Alastor's brain that was every bit the prey animal he worked so hard not to let himself be forced him to go still under a dangerous predator.

"You are nothing more than a rapid dog nipping at my heels." Lucifer growled, the smell of smoke heavy on his breathe. "I should put you out of your misery, once and for all."

Alastor swallowed, forced himself to think through the molasses of his fear. He may be pinned and powerless, but he wasn't completely without weapons. He was never more glad that his smile was fixed in place as he stated, "Ah, there you are, your Majesty. You had Charlie worried about you."

He was almost able to keep the grimace out of his voice. Almost.

Alastor wondered if that had been perhaps the wrong thing to say, as Lucifer tightened his grip until bones began to grind together. Red tipped fingers curled inwards, the only sign of his pain.

Golden pupils appeared between one blink to the next, tracking the movement. As if he actually cared about the pain he could be causing, Lucifer's grip loosened, just enough that they were simply pinning instead of inflicting harm. His voice, on the other hand, held no mercy, as he asked, "What does my daughter have to do with this?"

Growing more confident the longer the king didn't kill him, Alastor explained, "Well, when she didn't hear from you today, Charlie asked me to come check on you, of course!" It wasn't entirely the truth, but it was close enough to hold up under any immediate scrutiny.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, all to happy to bring on the scrutiny. "Why would she send you?"

Alastor shrugged like he wasn't pinned under someone who was just trying to kill him mere moments ago. "Because I was the only one that could get into the room. Perks of being the Hotel Manager!" As his panic began to settle with each passing moment Lucifer was slowly returning to his normal form, the feeling of his skin crawling from every point of contact between them was beginning to rise. He needed to get Lucifer off him and soon. "In fact, she's waiting for word back right at this moment!"

Lucifer's eyes, pupils red and sclera yellow again, searched him, likely to see if he was telling the truth. Upon seeing that he was, he proceeded to finally make a mistake.

He took his eyes off of his captive to glance at the door, hands loosing just that tiny, crucial bit more.

Alastor caught his heels on the edge of the bed, using the leverage to raise his hips up into a bridge. The new position forced Lucifer to either release his wrists to catch himself or face plant as he was thrown forward. Luckily for the redhead, Lucifer went for catching himself, releasing Alastor, who immediately sprung up, catching the blond around the waist. Twisting, the two toppled over.

Within mere seconds, their positions were reversed: Alastor on top and Lucifer pinned to the mattress on his back.

The little king blinked up at him. He almost looked impressed with the move. He glanced at the hands pinning his wrists, flexing them as he tested the strength of the grip. Squirmed a little as the new position was likely putting an uncomfortable weight on his wings.

Good, Alastor thought. At any other time and situation, Alastor might have been fascinated by them. At the moment, his grip on those deceptively dainty wrists and any signs of discomfort were the only thing allowing him to hold onto his sanity.

For a long moment, they simply remained still, both parties regaining control over their frayed nerves. As his heart rate settled, his breathing normalizing, Alastor became aware of something he hadn't noticed over the stench of melancholy: his own scent.

It was becoming stale, but he could still was still there, separate from what he was currently leaving behind. It clung to Lucifer's person like a neon sign to tell anyone with the nose for it that he had let the Radio Demon close enough to him to make a claim.

He hadn't gotten rid of it.

The knowledge awoke a beast of a different kind, possessive and wanting, the scales tipping from Alastor wanting to devour this prize to wanting to keep him, if only he could figure out how. It left him nearly dizzy with whiplash.

Movement pulled him out of the thought. The redhead focused back on the outside world in time to see Lucifer directing his attention down the length of his own body. Alastor, without thinking, did the same.

Something hot and mortified clawed at his throat as he realized that while the blonde had been sitting on his hips in the original hold, the change in position had Alastor pinning Lucifer to a bed while sitting between his legs.

Alastor threw himself off of Lucifer and the bed, feeling like every point of contact had burned him. Lucifer raised himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. The redhead didn't know what he saw in his expression before it was all locked away behind his mask, but it resulted in the blonde's own expression growing tired.

Lucifer let himself fall back onto the bed, seemingly heedless of his wings, running a hand down his face. "Message received." He waved a hand at the door. The spell on the door fell away with a light shower of sparks. Task down, the limb fell limp down onto the mattress. "Please tell Charlie I'll be down shortly."

It was a clear dismissal. Usually Alastor would have bristled at such a thing, but considering he did not want to be in that room anymore, he let it go. Forcing everything back into place, despite the ways his edges were feeling frayed, he said faux pleasantly, "As you wish, sire."

He paid little attention to the half assed wave of goodbye he received in response. When he disappeared into his shadow, he refused to look too deeply into how much it felt like he was running.

Again.

tbc

Part 8

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #alastor took over this chapter #and of course its the longest one yet #yay for development of their relationship #but is it good development #i'd hoped certain scenes would go differently #but alastor does what he wants #and here we are #we're back to lucy's pov next chapter #and some more time with the plot #i need to actually think about where it's going #so i have no idea when the next part will be out #but it has been started #yay #this fic now has a title #the inherent intimacy of courting death

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