Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In all honesty, he didn’t care all that much that the petulant snake had somehow managed to snag itself a little trophy off his tailcoat. Of course, he wanted to break the insolent little creature’s skull, but that was rather typical. No, the main reason that Alastor needed a visit to the tailor was that he had some unfinished business.

Alastor could admit that he was something of a creature of habit. Was it truly a crime to always drink at the same bars, torment the same towns, and trust the same people with a job he knew they could do well? If it was, it surely couldn’t compare to the atrocities he’d already racked up. What’s another added to the pile?

There was just something so pleasant about stopping by the same shop. Just seeing the familiar sign hanging out front and the gorgeous window decal proudly displaying the word ‘TAILOR’ just tickled something in the Radio Demon’s brain. It reminded him of the calm, comforting feeling that would wash over him whenever he visited his mother after he had moved out and made a name for himself. Briefly escaping reality to be bundled up in the blanket of nostalgia and familiarity that followed the smell of homemade jambalaya.

The bell above the glass door sang as he entered.

“Just take a seat, I’ll be right with you!” A voice called from the back room and the warmth in his chest reignited itself.

Humming cheerfully, Alastor took the opportunity to assess his surroundings. After a seven-year absence, you would think he would have returned to brand new wallpaper, uncomfortably new furniture, perhaps even a missing wall or two. Fortunately, the only thing that appeared out of the ordinary was just how much the plant collection along the back wall had grown. Alastor felt his smile turn fond – they must have been gifts from Rosie. Good to know his tailor was being taken care of.

“Sorry about the wait, what can I- “

Alastor spun on his heel to greet the familiar blue face that emerged from the back room, his smile growing when he spotted the astonished expression he’d predicted.

“Ah, yes, hello dear. It seems I am in dire need of a good tailor, and I heard through the grapevine that you were the one to see about such things,” Alastor mused, smoothly leaning toward you and supporting his upper body with his portable microphone. “Or shall I try next door?”

The slack jaw quickly corrected itself to a large, toothy grin as the fish demon practically jogged across the lobby to meet him.

“Alastor, as I neither live nor breathe!” you laughed, keeping one hand on your chest in amazement and one behind your back. One would usually greet a dear friend with a tight embrace, but the demon before him was fully aware of his aversion to other people initiating touch and kept your hands to yourself. Incredibly respectful as always. “I should knock that smug grin right off your face for scaring me more dead than I already am.”

“My darling, were you worried about me~?” Alastor cooed teasingly, leaning ever closer.

“How could I not worry when my favourite patron up and disappears for seven years?” his tailor huffed, your words carrying more than just a hint of passive-aggression.

“Your favourite, hmm?”

“Of course that’s the part you focus on,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully before looking him up and down – no doubt picking out irregularities in his outfit with practised accuracy. “I see what you mean about needing a tailor. Follow me.”

The demon spun on your heel, wasting no time crossing the lobby to return to the door you had entered from, Alastor – for once – happily following someone else’s lead. Alastor found himself amused at his sudden, uncharacteristic obedience as he stepped onto the podium where you directed him to stand and wait - as if he would ever forget this process. They had done this song and dance probably thousands of times before and Alastor wasn’t above hiding the fact that he had missed it dearly.

There was just something so fascinating about watching a master at work. Alastor couldn’t help but follow his tailor's every movement as you easily navigated the rows of fabric and gathered up your supplies of needles and thread. It was impressive how you could stick your hand in a drawer and conjure from its depths the exact thing you required without needing to spare a single glance at its contents. you knew this store, these aisles, better than your own body.

Catching his watchful eye, his tailor shot him a grin and a wink as you displayed the thread in your hand with a jazzy little wave. Alastor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I kept it safe just in case you decided to grace me with your presence once more,” you unwound the thread and pushed it through the eye of your needle with nimble webbed fingers. “I even put that label on it that you kept pestering me for.”

The demon showed off the hand-drawn label with an adorably proud expression. Once he laid his eyes on the words ‘Alastor’s Crimson’ delicately written on the aging paper, Alastor rewarded you with a pleased hum.

“How delightful! I’m honoured you kept me in your thoughts. Aren’t I lucky to be remembered so fondly by such a talented craftsman?” Alastor could hardly contain his snicker as his friend keened at the sudden praise, giving up on masking it entirely when you quickly knelt down to busy yourself with repairing his tailcoat.

“So, what havoc were you inciting during your absence?”

Alastor chuckled at the subject change, “I’m afraid that is for me to know, darling.”

“You and your secrets,” his tailor sighed affectionately. “I suppose I’ll just have to guess, will I?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

You smiled softly at that, humming in thought as you began your blanket stitch at the base of the new tear in Alastor’s coat. “I reckon you fell in love with a trapeze artist and ran away to join the circus with her. You were soon married, ready to settle down into your happy new life when shock! Horror! She was cheating on you the whole time with the lion-tamer!”

“He was a bear-tamer actually,” Alastor jokingly corrected you in a voice laced with faux sorrow. “Not a very impressive circus, I’m afraid.”

“And that’s why you burned it down and killed all the residents.”

“Naturally.”

“But then – from the ashes – another shocking discovery! Your late wife was pregnant!”

Alastor quirked an eyebrow in amusement, “Was she now?”

“Oh yes, and what a beautiful hell-born it was!” his tailor doubled down, nodding seriously but unable to hide your impish grin. “You were distraught – just devastated! You did the only thing you could do.”

“And that was?”

“You sold your soul to bring your unborn child back to life!” you concluded triumphantly. “And you swore to dedicate the rest of your dying days to care for the child as best as you could. As a matter of fact, he’s outside right now.”

Alastor laughed heartily at such a ridiculous suggestion, receiving a quick scolding from his equally bemused friend for moving and interrupting your delicate work.

“My my, I must say I missed your creative tales,” Alastor admitted fondly. “I think that is my favourite theory by far.”

“I’ve got a million of ‘em, I’m sure I’ll figure out what you were up to eventually,” you shot back with a grin.

“It sounds as though I consumed your thoughts quite a lot,” Alastor teased, watching you with a smirk.

“You never leave my head.”

Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of smug pride at those words, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. You’re quite the pest.”

“Shall I take my leave then?”

“Not without paying first.”

“Oh?” Alastor narrowed his eyes in amusement. “I wasn’t aware I had to pay for such a service. I didn’t even ask to rent the space!”

“You deciding to leave is what sparked it,” you hummed before biting through the end of the thread and standing up straight to meet him with a sly grin. “Consider it reimbursement for all the boredom I had to endure during your absence.”

“I suppose that sounds fair,” Alastor sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in a ‘what can you do’ gesture.

Grasping the top of his microphone cane, Alastor leaned over the shorter demon, delighting in the way you instinctively leaned backward as if participating in a game of limbo.

“Do I get a discount as your favourite patron?” Alastor cooed in a saccharine tone, lifting one hand to grasp at your cheek to prevent you from backing away any further. His darling tailor chuckled, lifting one webbed hand to rest comfortably on his chest, affectionately patting the bright red fabric.

“I’ll think about it.”

The two of them stood there for a moment, finally taking the time to just bask in the presence of one another. Both demons seemed to share a silent understanding that the quiet comfort of the little store was their haven - a carefully crafted slice of heaven within the chaos of Hell. After seven years of work, of pain, of frustrating choices, Alastor couldn't help but relish in the familiarity of standing before his dear tailor again. You always made time for him, always carefully considered his needs and requests - but not out of fear. Alastor knew fear. He knew the taste of a terrified heart, knew how to pick out every twinge of anxiety coating the words of those who gathered up enough courage to speak to him.

No, you weren't afraid of him. It was never fear that drove you to painstakingly create a new colour thread just for him because only a particular red would do. Fear wasn't why you bickered with him so fondly, why you always played jazz in the store just for him or why you were resting your hand on his chest, your fingers ever so slightly digging into the fabric.

"I really did miss you," you said finally, looking up at him through your eyelashes. your voice was soft, wounded. Like a doe slowly approaching a clearing, wary enough to watch for danger but too tired to escape if it appeared.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Alastor matched your voice with an equally soft tone, coaxing the timid doe out into the open. "Deer-ly."

You snorted at that, shaking your head at his smug smile and gently resting your forehead beside where your hand lay on his chest.

"That was awful," you chided before adding, "Don't ever leave me again."

Alastor's chest rumbled as he chuckled at your words, his long arms encircling your waist to hold you close to him, his face finding its way into your silky hair.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Chapter Text

As the angelic clock tower looming over Pentagram City ticked down to the inevitable doom of half of Hell, you prepared your weapons on what was probably going to be your last night alive.

You didn’t have anything of substance to defend yourself with – just a rusty old harpoon you kept beside your bed – but it was better than nothing. At least it was to you.

“Please tell me you have something other than that sad excuse for a blade to defend yourself, my dear,” Alastor all but growled as he materialised in his comfortable armchair in the back of your store, startling you almost to the point of dropping your weapon. Emphasis on his, he had practically claimed the piece of furniture as his spot years ago to the point where even you couldn’t bring yourself to sit on it in his stead.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were some nights you found yourself curled up on that chair with quiet jazz playing, attempting to bury yourself in the fast-fading smell of paprika and blood. But you’d die twice before you admitted that to his smug ass.

“Al, it’s been like 5 months where have you—”

You stop short upon seeing the little crown? Tiara? Roach-band? On top of his head, nestled between his ears.

“What’s with the new look?” You snickered, reaching your blade forward to gently lift it off his head to show him what you were referring to. Alastor’s eyes followed the blade to the crown of roaches Nifty had placed upon him. He meant to take it off before arriving, but it didn’t bother him that much. He quite liked it, honestly.

“What, you don’t like it?” He teased in mock offence, straightening his posture and lifting his chin proudly.

“I never said that,” You retorted, cocking a hip as your harpoon returned to your side. “But if you’re gonna scrutinise my tastes, you better expect some sass in return.”

“Tastes in clothing and tastes in weaponry are two very different topics, my dear.”

“Well, this ‘sad excuse for a blade’ has gotten me through many an extermination, thank you very much,” You tried to use your sharp claws to try and scratch out a particularly stubborn spot of rust. “I don’t think it would appreciate you talking about it in such a way.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes at you, unamused.

“Al, c’mon, I’m fine,” You huffed. “I’ve never had a problem before, stop worrying so much.”

“The hotel and its residents have been spending the last 24 hours of preparation time plating everything in angelic metal. I won’t have you leaving yourself vulnerable when the rest of Hell knows to keep themselves safe. It leaves you even more susceptible than usual.”

“Oh, Alastor, are you worried about me~?” You cooed at him, a smug smirk finding its way onto your face.

“Please just allow me to upgrade it for you,” Alastor insisted instead of answering the childish question, holding out a hand to you pointedly.

You held the harpoon close to yourself in stubborn refusal, receiving a scoff in return. You hummed in approval as Alastor returned his hand to his lap, turning back to your work much to his chagrin.

“I assume everyone in the hotel is planning on celebrating before the big fight?”

“You would assume correctly,” Alastor mused, summoning a radio with a click of his fingers, and tuning the dial. “After all, it is sure to be their last night.”

“And you’re not celebrating with them?” You couldn’t help but lean over him, his red eyes flitting to meet your own. “You came all the way here to spend time with little old me for your last night in Hell?”

“What makes you think it’s my last?” He chuckled, resting his chin on the back of a clawed hand. “Have you no faith, my darling tailor?”

“I just think it’s awfully sweet that of everyone in all of Hell, you chose to spend your last night before the biggest fight of your life-“ You leaned even closer, the grin on your face almost as wide as his own. “-with me.”

“Yes, well,” Alastor chuckled as he took up your hands in his own, pulling you with him as he swung up into a standing position. “I found myself feeling rather sentimental.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Besides,” Alastor dragged you forward with him as he turned back to the radio, searching for the perfect frequency as he stared down at you fondly. “I haven’t been able to spend much time with you amidst all the work at the hotel. I do believe I have been neglecting you my darling tailor, and we can’t have that, can we?”

“Not unless you want to return home from a fight with the angels to a fight with me,” You snickered, unable to help leaning into his chest. He chuckled at your enthusiasm, letting go of your hand in favour of wrapping an arm around your waist. What a precious creature, he thought. How lucky he was to have such a demon at his side.

“Return home, eh?” Alastor picked at your word choices with his usual smug tone. “Why yes, I suppose I could imagine considering this place somewhat of a home. If you’ll have me, of course.”

“I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. You’re a difficult man to deny.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Alastor let out a delighted hum as he finally settled on his desired frequency, the familiar notes of La Vie En Rose wafting through the air. You rolled your eyes at his cheesy song choice but found yourself smiling despite it, eagerly intertwining your fingers as his hand returned from the dial to your embrace.

“I still can’t tell if this is supposed to be ‘our song’ like you said or if you just can’t think of anything else,” You teased him as he swept you into a waltz in time with the music, his hand still resting on the small of your back as you rest your free hand on his shoulder.

“Me? Unable to think of other songs?” Alastor scoffed, punishing you with a surprise dip. “You wound me.”

You laughed at the sudden dip, instinctively catching yourself by wrapping an arm around his neck despite his arm securing your waist. You raised your head to look him in the eyes, his eyelids half-lidded.

“Why do you always choose this song for us to dance to then, hm? Or is that another one of your precious secrets?”

Alastor chuckled, pulling you back up straight so fast you stumbled, admittedly out of practice after all those years. He watched you, amused, as you quickly righted yourself and immediately returned to the waltz.

“If I say yes, will I be graced with another one of your fantastical theories?” Alastor said as he let go of your waist to fling you out, hand firmly grasping yours to keep you upright.

“Maybe,” You spun as you returned to him, your back now against his chest and his hand back on your waist. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to earn it this time~”

Alastor’s eyes sparkled at the challenge, leaning head down near your ear as you both swayed to the music.

“Oh? Am I losing your favour, sweetheart?

“Of course not deer, but I can’t just keep rewarding you. It sets a bad precedent don’t you think?”

“Oh, come now. Can’t you grant the wish of a deer friend on his last night alive?”

You raise an eyebrow, turning slightly to look at him over your shoulder.

“What makes you think it’s your last?” You challenge him with a grin as you throw his own confidence in his face.

Alastor’s deep chuckle sounded next to your ear, your back straightening against his chest before he grasped your hand and spun you back around to face him. He looked smug as ever.

“Very well then my darling, what would you have of me?” Alastor purred, his eyes glowing with red at the edges. “How can I prove myself to you?”

“Tell me why you were gone.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Dang.”

“Good effort, though,” Alastor chuckled, a quick tug on your hands silently telling you to both to step into one another before pulling away from each other again as the music swelled. “What else could I offer you?”

You found yourself humming along to the music as you tried to think of something to ask from the demon. As you mulled it over, you realised just how important that question was. He was asking you what he could do for you. He was offering you something in order to receive information but not requesting a deal. He had never once asked you for a deal or tried to strike a bargain for your soul – you respected him for that. Maybe that was why you felt so touched by this little show of trust. He trusted you to ask for something reasonable and trusted that you, in turn, would pay him what he was owed. That meant more to you than he would probably ever know.

“Well, you were right when you said you’ve been neglecting me,” You couldn’t help but chastise him a little, and for a split second his smile almost seemed guilty. “So how about this: you visit me at the end of every week, just for a little catch-up. And in return, you can listen to me waffle on about whatever your little, shrivelled-up heart desires. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful, my dear,” He pulled away the hand on your waist to spin you. “But if you are trying to stop rewarding me as you said, I’m afraid you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“Well,” You grinned evilly up at him, suddenly falling backward. Alastor barely batted an eye at the impromptu trust fall, catching you in a dip and raising an eyebrow at you, amused. You hummed pleasantly and placed a hand on his grey cheek, carefully watching for signs of discomfort with the touch, just in case.

“Maybe I don’t want to stop.”

“Even if it ‘sets a bad precedent’?”

“What can I say, I like taking care of you.”

Alastor rolled his eyes at that, pulling you upright and swinging you outward.

“You shouldn’t.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, frowning slightly.

“Why’s that?”

Alastor’s grin turned sharp as he spun you suddenly, and swung you one way, then another, before deciding to do a frankly insane move. He held both of your hands tight, stepping one foot far from the other. You shot him a warning glare as you realised what he was planning, gripping his hands back tightly as he sharply pulled you toward him and then down, making you let out an unintentional squeal as you’re swung through his legs and swiftly pulled back up.

You huffed in annoyance, the air pushing your frazzled hair out of your eyes as they narrowed up at his smug face.

“What was that for?” You hissed, playfully batting him on the arm. “La Vie En Rose isn’t a song that calls for that kind of move.”

“That was to remind you who calls the shots around here, darling,” Alastor purred, pulling you nose-to-nose with him once more. “I take care of you, my dear. Not the other way around.”

You scoffed lightly, “And just how do you intend to do that, huh? You rarely see me, Al.”

“Ah, but now I will be seeing you every week, now, won’t I?” He tutted.

“You’re not planning to dote on me, are you?” You snickered.

“I think you mean doe-te on you.”

You laughed as Alastor winked to punctuate his stupid pun, shaking your head.

The song was coming to an end now, the soft jazz seeming to crescendo by itself. You rolled your eyes with a fond smile, knowing what Alastor intended to do to complete the dance. He always was a creature of habit, wasn’t he?

“Iiiiiiil est entré dans mon cœur, une part de bonheuuuur~” Alastor began singing along to the increased volume of the song as he pulled you along with him in his waltz, radio static accompanying his sweet song. “Dont je connais la cauuuuuseeee~”

You hummed along, still not knowing how to pronounce the French lyrics after all this time, simply listening and enjoying Alastor’s (ironically) heavenly voice that hid below the static. He pulled you closer as he continued with his serenade, every step and breath in harmony with one another as though your souls were born to be together in this moment.

“Tu me l’as dit~”

“Oh, here it comes,” you muttered to yourself with a snicker.

“M’as juré pour la vieeeeeeeeeeee!~”

As usual, Alastor belted the line with the confidence of a man who knew he could nail the vibrato – as he always did – and he spun you around and around as he did so. This time, however, he spun you so much that you struggled to catch your footing, stumbling backward before being caught by Alastor’s waiting arm, who was no doubt expecting that outcome. You watched him, unimpressed by his trick, as he lifted his clawed hand to your face, sliding the tendrils of your hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear.

“Eeeeet, dès que je t’aperçois, Alors, je sense en moi, mon cœ qui baaaaaaaaaaat~”

As the last lines of the song rang out, he slowly pulled you back into a standing position, his hand still in your hair. You buried your face in his chest whilst he swayed you to the music that was now winding down. He hummed along to the instrumental, all but petting your hair as your waltz slowed to a very gradual stop.

“I’m ready to tell you now,” You announced to him. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to leave his embrace yet, so you turned your head to the side so that your cheek was resting on his chest rather than your forehead, making it easier for him to hear you. “My theory about the song, that is.”

“Please do enlighten me,” Alastor crowed, his hand still playing with your hair and his arm around your waist.

“I think you have absolutely no idea what the song translates to but singing in French makes you sound fancy, so you do it anyway.”

He barked out a laugh at that, shoulders bouncing as he brought his hand away from your hair to hold his face as he threw his head back. You grinned proudly.

“You never cease to entertain me, dear,” He sighed happily, looking down at you with the fond expression he rarely gifted to anyone else. “I’m certainly looking forward to seeing you more frequently.”

Your expression turned a little pained, “You have to make it out alive first.”

Alastor chuckled at your concern, tilting his head slightly.

“Do you really think I’ll die?”

“It’s possible.”

“I suppose so,” Alastor hummed, finally letting go of you and returning to his chair to retrieve his portable microphone from where it leaned against its arms. “But I certainly don’t intend on dying, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I always worry.”

“As do I.”

Alastor turned his head ever so slightly to catch your eyes over his shoulder, leaning on his staff once more.

“Stay safe, my darling tailor.”

And with that, he disappeared, his grinning shadow left as a stain on the wall before it too seceded into the floorboards, and you finally let yourself fall to the ground.

You held your hand over your mouth as you tried to hold back sobs, your yellowed, demonic eyes blown wide with terror and pre-emptive grief. With revolution came casualties. No one knew exactly what tomorrow was going to bring, but sure as Hell it was going to be a slaughter. The angels were angrier than ever – why else would the date be pushed forward so far? And if the hotel’s residents had angelic weapons to fight back against them there was no telling how riled up the fuckers would get. This had never happened before, the stage was set and Alastor seemed to have his heart set on taking up a main role in the spotlight.

You had just gotten him back.

You hung your head in defeat and your hand moved from your mouth to the floor to support your weight. Your pinkie brushed something cold and sharp. Looking up through your hair, you spotted your harpoon. You had abandoned it on the floor after Alastor pulled you into his impromptu waltz.

It shone bright, the new angelic blade casting light against everything in the room and you couldn’t help but snort.

“That mother fucker.”

You were three hours into the extermination, hiding behind the main kiosk in your shop before it happened.

A shadow loomed over your door. You stared it down intensely from behind the lobby’s front desk, gripping your angelic-plated harpoon so hard you were sure to get blisters on the inside of your knuckles. The figure gripped the door, pushing it open.

The bell above your door sang for the new arrival.

It could have been anyone. It could’ve been an angel, ready to tear you in two for the crime of existing. It could have been a demon seeking shelter, or a hell-born, or maybe even an overlord. Shit, you would’ve expected Lucifer, King of Hell himself to come prancing through your front door before the demon who actually did.

Your heart dropped in time with Alastor’s body, his bright red blood spilling through his clawed fingers onto your hardwood floors.

The screaming and chaos outside were all but silenced, the whole world seeming to plunge itself underwater as the only sounds you could manage to focus on were the two heartbeats in the room.

You swallowed as Alastor looked up at you, red eyes glitching with fear and desperation despite his ever-present grin. Your friend. Your favourite patron. One of the most feared overlords in Hell lying wounded on your floor. He laid himself down at your mercy.

Of any denizen in Hell, he chose you. He kept choosing you. He could have used his voodoo to have one of his shadows take care of him. He could have cashed in a favour from Rosie. He could have called upon one of the countless souls he owned to take care of him and forced them to keep quiet about it. And yet…he chose you.

Despite it all, you smiled.

“…looks like you’re in dire need of a tailor.”

Chapter Text

It was the only place he could think of to go. His radio tower was destroyed, along with the rest of the hotel, and God forbid he go crawling to Charlie or Lucifer to help him with his predicament. Even Rosie, one of his oldest friends in Hell, couldn’t be tasked with the job of patching him up. She was an overlord, just as he was, and power was power. When you have a chance to take it, you take it. He would do the same in her position.

No, there was no one in Hell better suited to the job than you, no one he trusted his safety with more than you.

Which was why he found himself at your feet, dripping blood on your nice floorboards. He would have to clean that up later.

You didn’t say a thing as you hoisted his body up off the ground, careful of his wounds, and carried him into his chair in the back room. You only needed to ask his permission with a glance up at him, to which he gave a small nod before you began cutting away his blood-soaked clothes with your tailor’s scissors. He winced and bared his sharp teeth at the feeling of you peeling away the fabric of his shirt but didn’t make any attempt to stop you.

Alastor had been wounded before. He certainly didn’t make a habit of it, but when one had been in Hell for as long as he had there were bound to be a few wretches who managed to land a hit or two. Most demons could regenerate their bodies after even the most severe of injuries, and as a powerful overlord, Alastor barely had to think about healing himself before the wound was already gone.

This, however, was a pain he had never experienced before in any of his existence, dead or alive. It was a red-hot searing pain that engulfed his whole body, like the blood that had first been touched by that idiotic angelic guitar had been set ablaze and spread that fire through the rest of his circulatory system until it charred every inch of him. Even if he could heal a wound inflicted by an angelic blade, he certainly didn’t have the power or concentration to do so in his current state.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered in shock as you laid eyes on the full extent of his injury, the massive slash wound heaving up and down in time with his grey chest as he breathed heavily. The edges of his flesh surrounding the injury seemed charred, cracked and blackened.

“Adam, actually.”

You look up at him in confusion and surprise.

“Huh?”

“It was Adam that caused the wound, not Jesus Christ,” Alastor would have laughed at his own dumb joke if the action didn’t cause severe shockwaves of pain to go shooting up his body. “But I’m sure I could take him on too.”

You shook your head, your body unable to choose whether you should be appalled or laughing at him making jokes at a time like this, so you decided to change the subject by grabbing out a familiar spool of thread.

“Alastor’s Crimson, I presume?”

Alastor took in a pained breath as he relaxed into the chair, but he looked at you pleased all the same.

“You know me too well, darling.”

You plucked a fishhook from your cup of sewing needles and held it out to him with a worried smile.

“Uh- little help, please? Don’t want you getting an infection.”

Alastor hummed, lifting his hand, and igniting one of his fingers with a green flame, engulfing the fishhook and searing it to ensure it was cleared of any bacteria. Once he was done, he laid his head back in the chair and let out a slow breath, the simple act of just setting a tiny fire already sapping what little energy he had.

You pulled the thread through the eye of the fishhook, tying it and pulling it taught. You struggled to find a good spot to settle yourself for the task, grumbling to yourself in annoyance when you couldn’t get quite close enough with where you were perched on your stool. Alastor opened one eye to peek down at you, wondering what the fuss was about, before suppressing a chuckle and reaching an arm out to you to tug you forward. Raising an eyebrow, you took the hint and hesitantly settled on his lap, watching his expressions wearily for any sign of discomfort or pain with this new position. Fortunately, he didn’t seem bothered, opting to close his eyes once more and mentally prepare himself for what you were about to do to him.

You set to work quickly, puncturing the top layers of his grey skin with your sterilised fishhook, tugging upward, and threading the hook back out on the other side of the bloody chasm. You always kept one eye on Alastor’s face, stopping whenever he hitched in a breath or winced particularly hard to let him settle himself before continuing your work. You hummed a tune under your breath as you stitched him up to soothe him, the radio demon seeming to relax with the song filling the tense silence.

It was painful and repetitive, having to sit through your puncturing his already sensitive skin over and over, wiping away the blood that oozed out between the stitches, but Alastor knew he could endure it. He wasn’t dead yet and he could trust that you were going to do everything in your power to make sure he stayed that way.

After what seemed to be another eternity of torture, you finally pulled Alastor’s new stitches fully taut, the charred skin hugging itself closed. You cut the end of the thread, tied the end securely, and gave the wound one final wipe with a damp cloth to clear away the last of the dried blood. Despite the lingering pain, Alastor released a sigh of relief at the final swipe of the cloth, grateful to be rid of the awful feeling of his dried blood. He usually enjoyed the feeling of blood splattered over him, but it was quite a different experience when it was his own.

“Thank you, my dear,” Alastor’s eyes fluttered open to gaze upon his tailor in approval. “Could I trouble you with repairing my—”

As Alastor reached for his tattered shirt, he tensed as your harpoon slammed down in front of his fingers to stop his movements. His red eyes shot to you, flaring in surprise and suspicion.

“Answers,” You growled, stabbing your harpoon into the wall behind him. You felt your claws growing and your hair floating, concern shifting to anger as you towered over him from your seat in his lap. “Now.”

Alastor couldn’t help but glower up at you, his smile turning dangerous. As much as he trusted and cared for you, he despised feeling vulnerable. While even on his worst days you’d be lucky to land a finger on him, he was badly wounded, and you were armed with a blade he had upgraded into the perfect weapon to kill him. How poetic.

“I told you. Adam.”

“Yeah, sure, but I wanna know what the ever-loving fuck you were thinking taking on Adam. You got a death wish or has your ego really gotten that far out of hand?”

Alastor snarled, “Watch your tone with me, my dear.”

You match his anger with your own, webbed hands shooting out to grasp at his shoulders and pull him forward. From your position in his lap, for once your eye-line is above his and it is admittedly boosting your confidence enough to speak to him with this much malice.

“You disappear for 7 years, then are too busy to talk to me for another 5 months and then you tell me some ominous bullshit about not dying before collapsing in the middle of my lobby with an almost fatal, unhealable wound. I have a right to be angry because I’m worried about you because I care about you, you prick.”

The two of you fell silent, Alastor’s sharp eyes narrowing as they regarded you carefully. As much as he hated it, you were right. He hadn’t been honest with you and his refusal to let you near the danger only fuelled your doubt in him.

Finally, Alastor closed his eyes, slowly brought his hands up to where yours lay on his shoulders and pried your claws off of him. You let him, albeit warily, and watched in confusion as he brought your hands to his mouth, gently kissing your knuckles.

He sang silent praises for each finger in his mind, grateful for your impressive expertise and unfathomable patience with him over the years. When he was done, he opened his eyes just a sliver to stare up at you.

“I made a deal.”

You paled, ripping your hands from his.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Alastor, why—”

“Because I care about you,” The Radio Demon all but growled. “I spent the last 7 years slaving away for Lilith, doing her bidding, watching over her insane daughter because I was stupid enough to let myself care about you.”

He raised his hand to the scar over your throat and all at once you realised what he meant. You had long since healed yourself, but such a deep wound had marred your scaled skin with the memory of the attack at the hands of Vox. The pale line across your neck was a painful reminder of the night the overlord had waltzed into your establishment, destroying what he pleased and leaving you to bleed out on the floor for the crime of knowing his rival. Alastor’s crimson claws danced over the raw flesh, a pained look in his eyes as he was reminded of his failure to take care of his darling tailor.

“Because of me, you have become a target. The more I try to protect you, the more threats you receive. I know you think me a megalomaniac – and I suppose you’re not entirely wrong – but I want the power to protect you. To make sure no one ever dares lay a finger on you again.”

Alastor felt you tense under his touch, his words dripping with static and as his eyes no doubt flashed to pitch black. A grumble from you made him tear his eyes away from your scar to gaze up at your scowl, your eyes rolling before you took his face in both your hands.

“You’re a moron,” You muttered, a soft smile just barely peeking through your scolding expression. “Yeah, I got hurt. But I’m still here, aren’t I? I can take care of myself. I like taking care of myself. I’m not some wounded deer for you to shelter, let alone sell your soul for. I’m not the one who almost died to an angelic blade, am I?”

Alastor chuckled softly, his eye twitching at the pain it caused, “Fair enough.”

“Look,” you sighed, rubbing his cheek with your thumb, wiping away the little spots of blood that still remained. “I’m touched you’re worried about me, I am. But did you ever consider I might worry about you just as much?”

“Oh no, darling, did you make a deal too?” Alastor joked.

“I fuckin’ might if you keep acting like you’re indestructible,” you snickered, squeezing his cheek like a grandmother to a child, amused by the displeased growl he let out. “Believe it or not, I enjoy your company. There’s no point in you going so far out of your way to protect me if you don’t get to enjoy your spoils. So, no more dumb deals, you nutjob.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow as his grin widened, amused by your wording.

“And what are my spoils?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “My company, of course.”

“Of course.”

You removed your hands from his face, patting his chest very carefully before finally sliding off of his lap. You saw Alastor relax into the chair once more from the corner of your eye as you plucked his tattered clothing off the ground, clicking your tongue at the state of them.

“Yeah, this is completely wrecked. It’s easier if I start from scratch. You don’t mind waiting while I work on it, do you?”

You rooted through your rolls of fabric, looking for the perfect red, keeping an ear out for his response. Hearing none, you poked your head out around the aisle to look over at your friend, concern filling you once more.

You were immediately put at ease when your eyes settled on his face. His eyes were gently closed, and his grin had been diminished to a small smile as he slept sprawled out on his chair, his chest slowly rising and falling with each deep breath. One of his ears flicked when you chuckled quietly, grabbing a nearby blanket to lay over the top of him.

It was nice to see him like this. You imagined it had been a very long time since he felt safe enough to sleep in front of someone, especially while injured. You brushed a stray hair from his face, his nose twitching as you did.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you,” you whispered to him, well aware that he couldn’t hear you. You’d tell him when he woke up. If you remember to, that is.

You flicked the radio on, quiet jazz filling the comfortable silence and you hummed along as you worked, sitting on the ground beside him. You found yourself wondering about the deal he made as you traced out your pattern and cut out your pieces. Had he made that deal solely for you, as he claimed, or was he using you as an excuse for his own selfish desires? That felt like such a terrible way to think of him, he was your friend after all, but friend or not he was still a demon. He earned his place in Hell and he proved that time and time again. You knew he was a sweet-talker; his charisma and persuasion were some of the reasons he had as much power as he did. You don't collect as many souls as Alastor has without telling a few well-placed lies in that honey-sweet voice.

And yet, a part of you still believed him.

Chapter Text

Sleep usually meant one of two things for Alastor: either blissful, rejuvenating silence or a play-by-play of old memories he’d tried to bury. As Alastor found himself humming a familiar tune, practically skipping down the street to meet with his good friend, it seemed tonight was going to bring the latter.  

Swinging open the front door of his darling tailor’s establishment, Alastor hummed along to the screaming and chaos outside and welcomed the fresh sound of jazz in the air. He considered for a moment announcing his presence to his tailor with a shout but decided against it, opting instead to stroll into the backroom where you were slaving away at your sewing machine.

You would have jumped at Alastor suddenly placing his hands on your shoulders and popping his grinning face into your peripheral view were it not the usual by now. You greeted him with a grin of your own, taking off your glasses and placing them down on the table before standing.

  “You look awfully chipper this morning, Al,” You chuckled, your laughter growing ten-fold as he wrapped his arms around your waist and swung you around, your legs briefly suspended in the air and your tailfin wrapping around him to secure yourself.

“It’s a wonderful morning for it, my darling tailor! I’ve had quite a productive day already and I just couldn’t wait to visit you and tell you the good news!” Alastor sang, finally placing you down and showing your spinning head some mercy.

“Good news, huh? Is that what’s got you so clingy?” You teased him, playfully bumping him with your hip as you walked past him back to your seat at your desk. Alastor chuckled and all but leapt into his armchair, summoning two warm beverages for the both of you.

“I wouldn’t say clingy so much as overly enthusiastic,” Alastor mused, sipping his bitter black coffee in delight. “You see, yesterday I received word from Rosie that the goons patrolling a particular territory in lower Pentagram City were being stretched too thin, leaving a perfect opening for me to snatch up some more land.”

“Oh yeah?” You hummed over your shoulder as you returned to your work, a concentrated expression creasing your brow. “And who was the unlucky overlord at the receiving end of your takeover?”

“Oh, just some loathsome little pests, no one important,” Alastor waved off.

You stopped your sewing machine for a second, looking over your shoulder to narrow your eyes at Alastor.

“Pests? Plural?”

“That’s right.”

“Alastor, you didn’t.”

Alastor’s grin widened, “I did.”

“Al, whyyyy??” You groaned, unable to keep yourself from bashing your head on your desk in frustration as Alastor’s grin quirked in response to your little tantrum. “One of these days the Vees are gonna get sick of you meddling in their affairs and you’re going to get yourself into a fight you can’t win.”

“Oh please, since when has there ever been a fight I can’t win?” Alastor scoffed, waving his hand at you dismissively. “They won’t miss it really, it’s just to show them their place.”

“You know Vox is gonna throw a hissy fit.”  

“Oh no! What will the papers say??” Alastor gasped in mock horror, his smug smile still on his face. “There is no reason to worry, dear, they don’t stand a chance against me. But I certainly am tickled by your concern.”

“I wouldn’t call it concern for you, more concern for the inevitable fallout of your actions,” You said ominously, probably not realising how true your words were at the time. “The Vees may be irritating but they aren’t stupid enough to actually go after you. They’ll probably try and target something you care about.”

"What do I care about enough for it to bother me?” Alastor scoffed, clawed fingers trailing over his portable microphone in disinterest.

You shrugged, “I dunno, your territory, your deals?”

“Those are easily replaced,” Alastor waved you off.

You hesitated, stopping your work at the sewing machine to turn to him with a slight frown.

“Ok. What about me, then?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, looking up from his microphone. Its singular eye followed his gaze to you.

“They don’t know about you.”

“Vox has eyes everywhere,” You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t underestimate him. He probably knows a lot more than he lets on.”

“Even if he does, even that desperate, disingenuous, sad excuse for an overlord wouldn’t dare lay a finger on my property.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be flattered or offended.

“Your property?”

“Well, you are my tailor, are you not?” Alastor smirked, pushing himself from his armchair to stalk over to where you were seated, his scarlet form towering over you and casting your face in his shadow. “I may not own your soul, but you dedicate your time and effort to me.”

“So, our relationship is purely contractual? Tailor and patron?”

“Did you assume it was anything more?”

“Well, my other clients actually adhere to my office hours and only show up if they actually need me to do my job, unlike you who waltzes in when he pleases to simply enjoy my company,” You shot back smugly, not allowing him to belittle you. It was a classic tactic of his and you weren’t falling for it. He could try and demean you all he liked – distancing himself with his words meant jack shit when he proved just how much he cared for you time and time again with his actions. His putting on this little show of disinterest to desperately try and avoid admitting his obvious weakness for you was honestly just amusing.

“Ah yes, but I’m not just any client, am I, ma chérie?” Alastor purred, grasping your blue chin with a clawed hand to tilt your head up to him. Another one of his tactics. He was trying to get you to admit that you enjoyed him and needed him so that he could feel like he was simply doing you a favour by gracing you with his presence. You, as always, weren’t falling for it.

“Oh no, Al, you’re not just any client,” You hummed in agreement, lifting your hand to trail a claw along his jawline to even the playing field in the way you knew he always found deliciously irritating. “You’ve more than proven your devotion to me.”

Your grin turned smug when Alastor felt his static screech in his ears, torn between wanting to reassert his power over you as one of the most feared overlords of Hell and embracing you as an equal as one of the only demons who could keep up with his dangerous tango. His smile strained when he realised he had the time to do neither, spying the clock behind you as his eye undoubtedly twitched in irritation.

“We’ll have to continue this discussion later, my darling tailor,” Alastor purred as he straightened, his impatience clear as his gentle grasp on your chin remained. “I have a meeting to attend with some of the other overlords.”

“Have fun~” You cooed up at him.

“I’ll find a way to stay entertained,” Alastor chuckled, flicking your chin up slightly before he melted away with his shadows.

Rather than appearing in the alley that contained the elevators to Carmila Carmine’s conference rooms, Alastor found himself reappearing a few feet from you, stuck in place like a fly on the wall as he watched you hum while you worked. He would have deeply enjoyed seeing you in your element like this had he not had this dream many times before, knowing what was to come.

This dream was particularly awful. While Alastor was not present for Vox’s assault, his mind seemed more than happy to fill in the blanks with what you had told him after you had healed enough to speak again. He felt his body freeze as he became a spectator, doomed to watch his mistakes over and over.  

He watched as the bell sang, not for him, but for Vox. The flat-headed prick straightened out his eyesore of a suit as he approached the front desk, a devilish smile on his face when he heard you call out to him from the back room.

You turned the corner, a large smile on your face that Alastor could only assume was for him before it was abruptly dropped at the sight of the overlord that had shown up at your doorstep.  

“Sorry, I’m not accepting walk-ins right now,” You stated carefully, slowly walking over to the kiosk like a zookeeper attempting to placate a snarling tiger. Alastor noticed the glint of your harpoon behind your desk, and he bared his sharp, yellowed teeth at Vox as he stood there, frozen.  

“Didn’t Alastor tell you I would be stopping by?” Vox hummed as he stepped toward you, his words laced with a poisonous cocktail of irritation, smugness, and pure sadism. “I thought he would’ve mentioned it. You guys are friends, aren’t you?”

Alastor stiffened in his position watching the two as he recalled the cold horror that overtook his body when he heard his tailor explain that little detail to him after the attack. He remembered the anguish in your eyes when you begged him not to leave.

“He…is a client of mine,” You chose your words carefully, dancing around the truth. Alastor was torn between cheering you on and somehow finding a way to smash that degenerate’s worthless screen - not that he was able to do either. “And he hasn’t been in today.”

“That right? What a shame,” Vox’s screen lit up with his widening grin as he shot a clawed hand forward, grabbing you by the throat and picking you up like you weighed nothing. “I was hoping he would come to watch you die.”

Your eyes widened and you gasped for air, harpoon just out of reach meaning you were forced to only use your claws to try and tear his hand off of you. Vox laughed loudly at your attempts, probably feeling the same way one does when they’re about to squash a bug under their heel. But despite the way it made Alastor’s blood boil and a screeching static permeate in his ears, he still. Couldn’t. Move.

Vox’s laughter echoed throughout the small storefront as he threw you into the brick wall behind you like a ragdoll. You gasped for air after being winded by the impact, quickly trying to scramble to grab your harpoon and defend yourself.

Vox laughed hysterically as you poised it toward him, his hands on his stomach as he doubled over, shaking his rectangular head.

“Fucking Hell, you’d think Alastor would leave you with something better than that piece of shit if you mean so fucking much to him,” Vox sneered, easily ripping the harpoon from your hand, and swinging it around so that the blade faced you. In a single, powerful shove of his arm, he lodged the blade deep into your sternum to keep you in place, his screen glitching in delight at the scream of agony you released.

“I get why he’s taken such a liking to you~” Alastor growled to himself from the sidelines as he watched Vox grip your chin much like he would – but with far more malice, lacking all of the affection Alastor couldn’t help but pour into his every touch when it came to you. “You’re a pretty little thing. I’m sure Val would love to have you. Wonder how your geriatric deer bitchboy would react seeing you get fucked into oblivion.”

Alastor’s expression no doubt looked twice as disgusted as yours did.  

“Go fuck yourself,” You hissed as you tried and failed to pull your harpoon out of yourself, spitting fresh blood onto his bright blue screen.

Vox glitched in disgust, the face inside his screen going death-screen blue for a moment, like he couldn’t believe that just happened.

“YOU DISGUSTING FUCKING BITCH!”

Vox’s arm shot forward, his claws formed into a flat line as he drove them into the apex of your throat, the desperate gurgling as you gasped for the air to scream making Alastor’s ears flatten and his screeching static grow even louder, almost as if trying to drown out the awful crunching of Vox’s claws reaching your spinal cord.

You didn’t die. That’s probably the worst part, you couldn’t die. No matter how unbearable the pain, no matter how fatal the wound, no matter how much blood was spilled, you were conscious for all of it.

Vox snickered as he ripped his claws out of you, wiping your blood off on your already ruined clothes as though leaving remnants of you on him was repulsive. Alastor’s sharp teeth ground as he watched, knowing the part he had to play in what was about to come.

“I’d better get out of here before your little boyfriend comes back,” Vox hummed, dusting off his shoulders and straightening his tie as you lay there gasping and spluttering at his feet. “But don’t worry – I’ll still be watching. I wouldn’t miss the look on that fucker’s face when he sees what I did to his precious little pet for all the ass in Hell.”

Like the coward he was, the television demon zipped away into the screens of the television store across the street. Infuriatingly, as soon as he disappeared Alastor felt was finally able to gain control of himself again, remembering how he had reappeared in the store after noticing Vox’s absence during the meeting.

Being back in the same position he was in that day; Alastor vividly remembered his thought process as he stared down at your crumpled, bloody body covered in the debris of your own destroyed wall.

He felt weak. Vulnerable.

You made him weak.  

He loathed it. Despite the unimaginable power he had gained since falling into Hell, he couldn’t do anything but watch you slowly, agonisingly pull yourself back together. If he hadn’t let himself care for you this wouldn’t have happened, you wouldn’t have been hurt and he wouldn’t have to deal with this sickening weakness. The Vees saw you as nothing but a liability to exploit, and in that moment, Alastor realised that he had to, too.

He had decided then, as he sat there with you for the rest of the day and into the confusing time that is night in Hell, that this would be the last time he allowed himself to find comfort in you. He realised he had grown dependent on you in the worst way imaginable – you were a partial source of his happiness. He enjoyed conversing with you, watching you work, dancing with you, and reading in comfortable silence with you, but those enjoyable experiences came with a heavy price. For every spark of joy you sent rocketing through his cold dead heart, the risk of being hurt by you grew ten-fold.

Mercifully, he awoke before he had to watch himself leave.

He couldn’t help but hate himself for it – a feeling he was highly unaccustomed to. He wasn’t used to regretting his decisions or feeling guilty about – well, anything really. That was another curse your company had caused him.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” Your lilting voice chimed in his ears as he opened his eyes to greet your bright smile. You held aloft the fine work you had accomplished during his rest – a new shirt, vest and tailcoat masterfully crafted just for him. “I hope you’re feeling better. You were out long enough for me to make all of this.”

Uncharacteristically quiet, Alastor reached forward to grasp at the intricately woven articles of clothing, his claws ever so slightly dragging over the designs you had painstakingly added to the inside of the tailcoat, knowing full well they wouldn’t be visible to anyone but him. You had a nasty habit of doing that; showing him just how much you cared about him without needing to utter a word.

He looked up from the fabric to meet your eyes, your bright red pupils shining in anticipation to hear his thoughts on your hard work. It made him want to scream.

He had left for 7 years, endured nightmare after nightmare for 7 fucking years just to get away from this feeling. And now here you were, standing there with your pretty eyes and your pretty smile, waiting with bated breath for the praise of a job well done.

And once again, he felt weak.

Chapter Text

“Fabulous work as always, dearie,” The lady in grey hummed in approval at her repaired hem, admiring the tailor’s fine work as she made her way through the lobby toward the front door.

“It was my pleasure, I very much enjoyed catching up with you, my lady,” you couldn’t help the way your voice seemed to default back to your old way of speaking when you were alive whenever you spoke to clients; polite and restrained.

The bell sang on her way out and you flipped over the closed sign, leaving the door unlocked for the visitor you were still awaiting. Making your way over to the counter, you worked through some of the day’s receipts and organised your workstation a little, waiting for the inevitable singing of the bell once more.

And sing it did.

You swung around to face the door opening with a bright, toothy grin, resting your forearms on the front counter of your store and bending over.

“Afternoon, Al, perfectly punctual as usual,” You purred as he stepped inside, straightening out his coat.

He greeted you with a similarly large grin before irritation erupted over his features as a bright red shape scrambled past him through the entrance and dashed to your front desk, practically vibrating with pure excitement.

“Oh. My. GOODNESS! Hi!! I’m Charlie, oh my gosh it’s so nice to meet you!!” The blonde demon gushed, grabbing your webbed hand in both of hers and shaking it like her life depended on it. “Alastor has told us all so much about you I can’t believe I actually get to meet you!!”

You relaxed slightly as you recovered from jumping in surprise at the demon’s sudden appearance and subsequent violent hand-shaking. You managed to take in her words, looking over her shoulder to shoot Alastor a sly grin.

“Is that right?” You purred, resting your chin on your hand once Charlie graciously released you from her hold. “And what has my darling deer said about me, hm? Nothing bad I hope?”

“Heavens no, I would never,” Alastor waved away the idea as though it personally offended him. “I’ve simply been encouraging the other residents of the hotel to take advantage of having such a fine tailor in their city.”

“Thank you for the free advertisement,” you chuckled.

“It’s a pleasure darling, quite a pleasure,” Alastor waved off, making a beeline for the door that opened to the stairs leading up to your apartment above the store. He swung it open in a sweeping motion, gesturing you and Charlie toward the staircase. “Now, I do believe I owe you a meal, my dear!”

“Ever the gentleman,” You rolled your eyes at him affectionately, turning to Charlie. “I assume you’ll be joining us, your highness?”

“Oh, you can just call me Charlie!” the princess waved you off bashfully, holding her hands behind her back. “And I’d love to! If I’m invited, that is?”

“Of course you are, Charlie,” You reassured her warmly.

You led the two of them up to your modest apartment, Alastor immediately making himself at home by stripping off his coat and hanging it on the hanger beside the door. Charlie, ever the awkward houseguest, nervously copied him with her own red blazer. Knowing his way around, Alastor made for the kitchen while you beckoned Charlie over to sit with you on the stools perched under the wooden breakfast bar.

You watched, fascinated as Alastor quickly busied himself with the task of preparing a meal for you. Much like he always watched your sewing and embroidering with apt curiosity, you couldn’t help but find yourself entranced by Alastor when he was in this state. Tailcoat discarded, crisp white sleeve pushed up above his dark grey elbows, the ‘DONT kiss the cook’ apron you made him for his birthday tied around his slim waist. He summoned his radio as usual, carefully placing it on a shelf above the kitchen counter to avoid getting any mess on it and tuning it to his favourite jazz station. You couldn’t help but giggle as he hummed along and swayed his hips to the music, sashaying his way back and forth between the counter and the fridge.

There was just something so fascinating about watching a master at work. You yourself were never much of a cook – something you were mercilessly chastised for in life – but Alastor was your saving grace. Once he found out the frankly horrible eating habits you had of fast and frozen food, he sought to rectify it immediately – proposing that he pay you for your tailoring in home-cooked meals. It was a very sweet gesture and it touched you to think he was still upholding it to this day despite not being indebted to you by any kind of deal.

He simply just…wanted to.

“Soooooo…”

You’re swiftly pulled out of your thoughts when Charlie pipes up beside you and it takes every ounce of self-discipline you have to not steal another glance at Alastor for fear of embarrassing yourself further. You can’t believe the princess of Hell just saw you ogling her co-worker.

“I was just wondering,” Charlie began, tapping her fingers together. “How did you and Alastor meet? It’s kinda rare to meet his friends. Even though he somehow has so many.”

You opened your mouth to reply when Charlie suddenly paled (somehow) and began sweating, trying to backtrack.

“I mean – no offence to him or anything! He’s very charming, so of course he has lots of friends! It’s just that he’s kinda intimidating ya know so sometimes I don’t know if the people he’s friends with are actually his friends or if they’re just in a deal with him. Because, like, we have two people at the hotel who I think have deals with Alastor – Husk definitely does but honestly with Nifty I’m not entirely sure? I mean it would make sense but she also just seems to genuinely like working at the hotel. Wait, is it rude to ask if you’re in a deal?? Oh god, of course it is, I’m so so sorry, let me start again—”

“Charlie, honey,” you interrupted her nervous rambling with a kind smile and a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Breathe. No one is mad at you.”

Charlie blinked owlishly at those words, her jaw going slack - her eyes even tearing up slightly - and for a second you were worried you said the wrong thing. That was until she placed her hand over yours, squeezing it and sending you a smile so bright it could blind someone.

“That…that really means a lot, I didn’t realise I needed to hear that,” Charlie said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “No wonder Alastor adores you. You’re such a good soul. How on Earth did you end up in Hell?”

You laughed, patting her shoulder before returning your hand to your lap, your other hand holding up your chin as you rested against your breakfast bar.

“Well, I’m an envy demon so I assume it has something to do with all the jealousy I harboured when I was alive,” you answered simply, shrugging it off like talking about why you had been damned to torture for the rest of eternity was normal afternoon conversation. “When I was a child, I was constantly being compared to everyone else in my town and held to an impossibly high standard. I was too talented for who I was, but not talented enough to be of importance. In my time, your options were to get married off to a rich man and become a perfect, docile housewife, or be a disappointment to your family and starve to death. It turns out that’s pretty good motivation to commit some…immoral acts to try and keep yourself from falling to the bottom of the pecking order. I was an excellent tailor, as you probably already know, but I didn’t have a taste for cooking or cleaning or anything else expected of a person in my predicament.

“When your worth is based on what you can do for other people, it can be impossible to focus on anything else. I sabotaged my competition, I stole what I needed, and I ruined things on purpose just to prove how well I could fix them to prevent someone from realising I had nothing else to offer. I loathed talented people, people who could cook and clean and bite their tongues, because it meant I had to work even harder to keep from being left behind.”

You finally allowed your eyes to claw their way back over to Alastor, still humming and cooking away in the kitchen. You couldn’t help but smile at the way he tapped his foot to the beat of the music and the grace with which he added each spice to his delicious-smelling dish.

“Meeting Alastor helped me grow out of that mindset,” you explained as a pathetic excuse as to why you were staring at him once again. “He may be intimidating and cruel, but by God does the man know how to appreciate a person’s dedication to their craft. In all the many decades I’ve known him, never once has he made me feel like I am worth less than others. He has always sung my praises and treated me with the respect I deserve.”

When you finally managed to once again tear your eyes away from the man in your kitchen and turn your gaze back to Charlie, you almost jumped from how close she’d gotten to you whilst you were talking, her eyes impossibly wide and shiny.

You were even more taken aback when she lurched forward, grabbing both your hands in hers and staring up at you with more hope than you knew a person could contain.

“Please come to the hotel!!” She pleaded, squeezing your hands. “You are the perfect example of a soul learning and growing from their time on Earth and becoming a better person in the afterlife, you could convince all of heaven to believe us!!”

You stared at her, dumbfounded. Was the princess of Hell asking you to appear before the angels as some kind of – what – bargaining chip? Evidence in a court case?

“Who wants some jambalaya?”

In what was no doubt a calculated move on his part, Alastor gave you the perfect excuse to escape the conversation with the princess by presenting the two of you with steaming bowls of his signature dish. The strong smell of Cajun and chilli hit your nose and you sighed happily, offering Alastor a grateful smile.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you stole the bowl from him without hesitation, diving your fork into the dish and groaning happily as the explosion of spiced meats and rice hit your tongue. “Mmf. Fucking incredible.”

“Why thank you, darling,” Alastor chuckled, handing the other bowl to Charlie before placing his own in front of him and getting comfortable at the breakfast bar. “Now, I do believe I overheard you asking my dear tailor how we met, didn’t you Charlie?”

You shook your head dismissively, “It’s not an interesting story.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor scoffed, turning to Charlie while you continued to scarf down your food. “As you know, when we fall into Hell, we land with the clothes we were wearing when we died. I was unfortunate enough to fall whilst still in my hunting gear, which I knew was no way to go about asserting my dominance over hell.”

“Only you would show up in Hell and be shocked about your outfit, Al,” You snort, pointing your fork at him.

“Is it a crime to want to make a good impression?” Alastor retorted, taking a bite from his bowl before continuing. “In any case, I was in desperate need of a tailor and I scoured the streets of Hell I daresay for hours before I finally stumbled upon their quaint little storefront. Back then, it was merely a door with a sign engraved with a needle and thread, it was really a miracle that I noticed it at all.”

“Wait, hold on,” Charlie held up her hands, looking between the two of you in confusion. “They were already here when you landed in Hell?”

“They’d been there for quite a while, my dear,” Alastor hummed, amused by her confusion.

That just sent Charlie spiralling even more, looking at you with a rather baffled expression.

“But you’re so…” Charlie made vague gestures toward you that would have made no sense to a bystander, but you chuckled, getting the hint.

“I know, I seem a lot more contemporary than I am, don’t I?” You placed your fork down to free up your hands to gesture at your clothing – a spaghetti strap tank top and some flowy, thin cotton pants. “If I’d worn this when I was alive, I’d probably be driven out of town but hey, these pants are comfortable! And comfortable clothes are especially important to consider when you’re standing all day, circling people and trying to crouch down to repair hems and whatnot. It’s real hard to do that in the puffy sleeves and long skirts of my time. Not all of us are as stubborn to change as our dear Alastor.”

Alastor laughed heartily, a hand over his chest, “Yes, you can imagine my surprise when they greeted me in such an outfit whilst proclaiming themselves to be a terrific tailor. I had half a mind to walk right out.”

You give him a toothy grin, “But you’re glad you didn’t.”

He returns it, “Yes. I am.”

The rest of the evening went by without incident and luckily Charlie didn’t bring up the hotel too many times. Every time she did Alastor would smoothly change the subject and you would always reward him with a grateful smile in return. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see more of Alastor and Charlie in this hotel. You weren’t afraid of becoming a better person, you were afraid of it actually working. You had spent almost a century and a half in Hell trying to make a name for yourself by doing what you loved. You were afraid that heaven would be as uptight as the world you left – full of rules and judgement ready to stifle your creativity.

When it was finally time to say farewell, both Charlie and Alastor seemed surprised when you asked Alastor to stay behind.

“You run along now, Charlie dear, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Alastor dismissed the princess, who looked like she was just about to faint with how excited she was getting. She bid the two of you goodnight and left you alone with the Radio Demon.

“Is everything alright, my darling tailor?” Alastor asked as you closed the door.

“I should be asking you that. How are your stiches holding up? Have you been feeling alright?” You fretted, quickly encroaching on his space to try and see if any blood had seeped out and stained his white shirt. “I have a feeling you’ve been straining yourself, let me see if I need to re-do the stitching—”

“Darling, please, I’m quite alright,” Alastor placed a hand on your cheek, which you instinctively leaned into much to your dismay and his delight. “Although it is awfully sweet of you to worry.”

“I always worry,” you sighed, pulling his hand off of your cheek and walking toward your bedroom. “And I think you should be worried too! You’ve never been hurt by angelic steel before, we don’t know the long-term effects that this wound may bring. We don’t even know if it will ever heal.”

Alastor followed you as you spoke, hesitating at the doorway to your bedroom, as though being held back by an invisible force. You flopped down on your bed, raising an eyebrow at him. You sat up, grinning at him.

“You know what you need?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“A cuddle session.”

Alastor scoffed, shaking his head and indignantly straightening the cuffs of his collared shirt.

“Did you hit your head, dear?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You moved forward to the edge of your bed, beckoning him over to you. He hesitated, but eventually stepped closer until he was standing over you. You reached for one of his hands, looking for permission to touch him and receiving a small nod in return. You took it in yours.

“Look, Al, you’ve been through a lot,” you began, your touch on his hand as soft as your words. “And not just in the past few weeks. I don’t know exactly what you went through during your absence but I know it wasn’t particularly pleasant. And I know you’ve been avoiding me the past few months because you’re worried about me getting hurt and all that jazz. But I’m worried about you. Where is all this stress going? How are you handling all of this?”

Alastor remained silent, staring down at your hands on his. You sighed, reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Let me help you,” you whispered. “Please.”

Alastor’s eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he sighed.

“I will accept your help, but I don’t need to be cuddled,” Alastor grumbled, his eyes grimacing at merely saying the word. “I’m not a child.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Alastor, get over yourself already and cuddle me.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, and he told himself it was because of the tone you were taking with him. He didn’t want to admit that he was seriously considering the idea.

“C’mon, Al, don’t make me beg,” you groaned in annoyance, regrettably not thinking your words through before they left your mouth.

Alastor’s smile morphed into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Don’t make that fuckin’ face,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at him.

Alastor didn’t move, keeping that stupid smirk on his face.

“Alastor. No. Stop. No. I’m not gonna- It was a joke—” 

“Darling, you know better than to make empty promises,” Alastor purred, leaning over your pissed-off face. “Go on. Beg.”

You looked at him with an expression of pure disbelief, tempted to wipe the perpetual smirk off his face. You gained a smirk of your own as you realised just how you could win this fight.

“Oh, but Alastor~” you purred back, feigning innocence as you curled up into a ball and stared up at him all doe-eyed. “I don’t think I know how! Can you teach me? Give me an example, maybe?”

Alastor chuckled, rolling his eyes, and reaching down to pinch your cheek as punishment for your brattiness.

“You stubborn thing, you.”

“You know you love it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

You chuckled at that, grabbing the wrist of the hand still on your cheek and tugging as you laid down, enjoying Alastor’s eyes widening as he plummeted on top of you from the sudden lurch forward. He looked up from your chest in irritation and confusion, presumably still wondering just how the Hell you managed to catch him off guard enough to do that.

“Go to sleep ya big baby,” you purred, placing a hand on his head to hesitantly bury your fingers in his hair and massage his scalp. He tensed for a moment, unfamiliar with this kind of touch. “I’ll make sure the bogeyman doesn’t get you.”

Alastor scoffed at your words, trying to play it cool but you could tell by the way his fingers dug into the covers on either side of you he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about this situation. That’s ok. He hadn’t murdered you yet, so he probably wasn’t that upset.

He observed your face in silence as you closed your eyes, humming the jazz tune that he himself had been singing whilst he was cooking for you, tangling his hair between your fingers patiently. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your face as you heard him sigh in irritation, feeling the full weight of his head on your chest as he relaxed into your touch. His fingers twitched, unsure of what to do with his arms. You chuckled slightly under your breath, arching your back and raising your hips to create the perfect nook for his arms underneath you. Alastor took the hint, arms slithering around your waist and allowing you to relax into the mattress once more.

You smirked to yourself as you untangled your hand from his hair to pat his head gently.

“Good boy.”

Alastor’s claws suddenly dug into your sides – not deep enough to pierce the skin, but deep enough to send you a warning.

“Don’t.”

“Alright, alright, my bad, I’m sorry.”

Alastor raised his head slightly from your chest, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. You raised an eyebrow in return, your arms coming down to rest on his back.

“I meant don’t stop what you were doing with your hand.”

“What? Massaging you?” you snickered.

“Yes, that.”

“As you wish,” you mused, one hand returning to his crimson hair, twirling it between your fingers and lightly digging your claws into his scalp in soothing circular motions.

He sighed again as he relaxed into you once more, but this time it sounded almost relieved in a way like he had finally let himself relax for the first time in a long time. He shifted a little in your arms, stretching up so that his face was buried in the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your throat.

“So does that mean you didn’t mind being called a good boy?” You cooed with an impish grin, laughing as his only reply was a growl that tickled the sensitive skin on your neck. “That wasn’t a noooooo~”

Alastor huffed, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

Chapter Text

It was 2:32AM when you decided to climb the stairs and sit on your rooftop.

A glass tumbler full of whiskey in your hand, you swirled around the orange liquid as if it held some kind of deep truth about the universe and if you just swallowed enough maybe it would give you a hint.

You had been feeling so strange recently – strange enough to come sit up on your roof and drink yourself into a stupor. You needed to be away from the jazz in your store, from the smell of paprika and blood all over your bed, all over you. You needed to get rid of all the remnants of him before they seeped into your skin and set your veins on fire once again. They somehow still lingered even after days of his absence – like he had purposefully left them there just to torment you.

It was working.

You downed the whiskey in the tumbler, hoping to God the burning in your throat would distract from the burning in your arms. In your hands. In the small of your back. Everywhere he touched. Everywhere you touched him.

Yup. This wasn’t working. Good thing you brought the whole bottle.

It was 2:44AM when you ran out of whiskey.

Your head felt like honey; heavy and slowly rolling down the rest of your body. It took an immense amount of effort to keep yourself upright, but it was effort redirected from your thoughts before. The thoughts of his breath on your neck, his static laugh in your ears, his claws digging into your skin.

You brought the bottle up to your lips again, trying to catch the very last drops.

It was empty.

You threw it as far as you could.

It shattered.

You slumped.

It was 2:56AM when you heard footsteps approaching you.

The sound of heels on concrete was muted somewhat by the cool breeze and the lovely ambiance of Hell, but you could pick that sound out from anywhere. It’s one of your favourites.

“When I noticed the shop was empty I thought I might find you here,” Alastor mused, stopping to stand beside where you were seated on the edge of the building. He leaned over, bringing his newly repaired cane up to tilt your chin and pull your eyeline toward him. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blinked owlishly, “I only have nickels.”

Alastor quirked a brow, his sharp eyes instantly noticing how unfocused your pupils were.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘drinking’.”

“Liquor, darling.”

“Oh, then yes, quite a lot.”

“Lovely.”

“Sit, sit!” You beckoned, patting beside you on the concrete half-wall. “I ran out of whiskey, but I think I have a cigarette or two in my pocket.”

"I didn't know you smoked, dear," there was an edge to his words, but you couldn't tell what it was. Disgust, maybe? Perhaps simple curiosity?

You pulled the cigarette out of the pocket of your loose-fitting pants, holding it up to Alastor expectantly. He chuckled lowly, bringing a sharp finger up to the butt end and igniting it with green flame. The cigarette was lit with ash and you pulled it to your lips, taking a deep breath in and letting the smoke corrupt your lungs like Hell had managed to corrupt the rest of you.

"I don't think you know nearly as much about me as you think you do."

Alastor nodded, a simple acknowledgement of your words. He held out his hand expectantly, and you handed him your cigarette without a second thought. As his lips pursed around the orange end, you realised it was probably the closest you had ever seen him come to a genuine frown.

He closed his eyes as he breathed in before pulling the cigarette away and blowing out a long, hard breath.

"Neither do you."

“That right?” You chuckled, holding out your hand for the cigarette again. He handed it to you, and you drew in another deep, corrosive breath. You handed it back to him. He didn’t need to ask.

“Alright then. Who are you, Alastor?”

Alastor took a long drag of the cigarette, tapping off the ashes on the butt end.

“Most call me the Radio Demon.”

“No, no I mean who are you?”

He raised a brow, handing the cigarette back to you, silently urging you to elaborate.

“The Radio Demon is…a moniker. A persona you put on to avoid being hurt, being seen as anything less than a powerful overlord,” you explained, watching the smoke rise from your cigarette as you waved it around while you spoke. “I want to know who you are. I’m tired of the lies, Alastor. I’m tired of being ignored every time you realise you like me more than you think you should. I’m tired of you running away.”

Alastor was silent at your side, staring down at the city below. He didn’t speak as you held the cigarette out to him once more, only giving off a slight static buzz as he plucked it from your hand. He took another drag, tapped off the ashes, and kept it in his hand.

“I grew up in New Orleans,” his voice was quiet, reserved, nostalgic. “My father was a drunk, my mother was a singer. Oh, lord, she had the most wonderful voice – I thought she was an angel. Perhaps she was. Only an angel could see the good in someone as foul as my father. Perhaps that’s why I turned out how I did – a physical representation of her fall from grace over someone who did not deserve forgiveness.

“We weren’t very well off and what little money my father did bring in was used to drown the sorrows of having a wonderful wife and a brilliant son, so it was mostly just my mother and me. She would bundle me up in all the blankets we had on cold days and make me the most wonderful jambalaya. God, I wish you could have tasted it, sweetheart, you would never want me to cook for you again, I swear.”

You shared a small laugh at that, Alastor’s hand somehow landing on your knee and your head somehow nestling into the crook of his neck. You made grabbing motions for the cigarette, and he held it up above you, making you giggle and bury your face in his neck. Man, maybe you were drunker than you thought.

“She would have loved you, darling,” Alastor sighed, putting out the cigarette with one hand and gently placing his other hand atop your head, claws finding their way through your soft hair. “She was a seamstress in her free time, to make extra money. Best in town, I’d say. I have no doubts she would find your work as utterly breathtaking as I.”

“I wish I could have met her,” You whispered into his neck, his hand in your hair ever so slightly tightening its grip.

“I think about that a lot,” He murmured, half to himself. “I think about how if you had gone to heaven like you deserved to, you could have met her. Perhaps you would have stumbled into her day and complimented her jacket or her dress. She would tell you she made it and that would spark an hours-long conversation about embroidery and fabrics and your favourite stitches to use for vests, perhaps even a quarrel over whether knitting or crochet is better.”

“Well neither is better than the other per se, it really just depends on what you’re trying to make,” you mumbled into him, still half-drunk. “I suppose, if you’re choosing which is better based on versatility then crochet is because you can make a wide variety of garments and blankets and stuffed animals due to how many stitches one can make with a crochet needle versus knitting needles.”

Alastor let out a breathy chuckle, resting his head atop yours.

“You’re going to be the death of me, darling.”

“Bit late for that, love.”

Alastor chuckled, “Yes, you’re quite right.”

A silence fell over the two of you. Your face was still in his neck, his hand was still in your hair, and his chin was still on top of your crown. The cigarette lay a pile of ash and paper.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Al?” you didn’t really know why you asked.

“It’s an attractive thought, having someone you’re destined to be with,” Alastor admitted, his fingers trailing down to your neck, making you shudder. “But it’s all too simple, I think. People are complex. They grow. Expecting someone to be perfect for you for all of time is expecting to never change.”

“You’ve changed,” you whispered. “I’ve changed. We’re still friends.”

“…Yes,” Alastor’s claws traced shapes into your neck. “That we are.”

You chuckled a little, “We’re an odd pair.”

Alastor laughed, nestling his head a little further into your hair.

“Mm, yes, the angel stuck in Hell and the demon trying to redeem them.”

“Someone should write a show about us.”

“It would be the only show I could stand to watch.”

The silence crept in again and this time it hit you harder. His scent on your nose, his fingers on your neck, something about it all brought tears to your eyes and had you gripping his tailcoat like it was the only thing keeping you from sinking further down. It was almost laughable how easily you gave in to him once again. Every time he leaves you beg yourself to give him the cold shoulder as he does you.

But all he has to do is say a few sweet words and you melt.

He made you weak.

“It was suicide,” you didn’t know why your throat suddenly felt like it was closing up on you. “That was my sin. That’s why I’m in Hell.”

“Why?”

“Why did I do it?”

Alastor hummed. You sighed, leaning into him.

“I could never…I never had…I felt… so alone,” your fingers found their way to the inside of his now unbuttoned coat, tracing the deer imagery you had embroidered into the scarlet fabric. “All of my life, I felt alone. Left behind. I was never good enough for anyone. I felt like there was a hole in my heart and I just…never knew how to fill it. No matter what I did, no matter how happy I was, I never felt right. I felt like a part of me was always longing for something and I would never be happy until I found it.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking up into his bright red eyes and for once you couldn’t care less about trying to figure out what they were thinking. You eased forward, your nose touching his, close enough to smell the cigarette on his breath.

“…I think I found it,” you breathed.

Alastor’s breath hitched and his shoulders tensed and for some reason, you found that a sign to keep talking, oh god, why couldn’t you just stop talking?

“I think a part of me knew that I had to come to Hell. And I think that if soulmates do exist then it’s possible that there are people who fit together so perfectly but something happens, and they miss each other. Like you run one minute late and never meet the girl on the train who ended up becoming your best friend or don’t order a certain thing at a restaurant and miss out on an excellent conversation with the waiter who later becomes your fiancé. Life just always finds a way to fuck everyone over.”

He's still not saying anything.

“You can do everything in your power to find someone who matches your sense of humour, who listens to you, admires you, understands you, but ultimately it’s luck that rolls the dice.”

Please say something.

“And I think I was very lucky to end up in Hell.”

Fuck, Alastor, say anything.

“And I’ll condemn myself to damnation a thousand times over if it means I get to meet you again in another thousand lifetimes.”

Why are you just staring at me.

“I’d sacrifice everything for you. I have sacrificed everything for you for shit, a century now.”

Stop looking at me like that.

“Because I love you.”

He stares down at you and his smile is strained and you realise how heavily you’re breathing because your chest is rising up and down rapidly and every time you breathe in your chest touches his and holy hell, when did you get this close to him?? Your hand has migrated across his lap to the other side of his legs and now you’ve basically trapped him oh Jesus Christ what are you doing?

“…Fuck.”

You barely have time to process the fact that he swore before his hands are on your face and his lips are on yours.

Chapter Text

The first thing he thought when his lips met yours was, regrettably, that he hoped he was doing this kissing thing right.

It had been a long time since he’d had such an intimate interaction with another person, only recalling a brief and heated ‘relationship’ he had experienced in Hell in passing a few decades prior. He had no interest in the demon whatsoever, simply enjoying the power he had over them. He would invite them to his office and relish in the way they squirmed as they stewed in their unrequited feelings. Truly pitiful.

He remembered mentioning that relationship to you during one of your usual dinners, delighting in sharing the details of his spoils over a meal. You’d seemed surprised and perhaps a little disgusted by the topic – he did go into quite a lot of detail – but he honestly didn’t see the issue. To him, the relationship was a simple transaction. The demon was infatuated with him, and he was more than happy to fulfil their nasty little fantasies if it meant humiliating them over and over. It was quite a power trip to have someone wrapped around his finger, so weakened by a single touch when he experienced no similar reaction to them. It was the sort of control he craved.

But you. Oh, you were special. You were something else entirely.

You were just bratty enough to keep him interested; always knowing what to say and exactly how to get under his skin in the most delectable ways.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he had imagined this moment more than once. In the dark hours of the night when his radio was in between songs and the hotel was all too quiet, he would imagine you in the armchair across from him. He would imagine you stretching as you pushed yourself out of the chair, your joints popping like static and a pleasing hum escaping your throat. In his mind, you would walk over to him, your fingertips tracing forest fires over his skin as you walked past him to the radio. He’d grab you by the wrist, pull you into his lap, bury his face in your neck and tell you to not worry about it.

He’d make sure you wouldn’t have to worry about anything else ever again.

Alastor was brought back to reality when you broke away from him, gasping for air, and he was appalled at his uncharacteristic lack of self-control when he chased after your lips like a fish hooked on a line. Poetic.

“Slow your roll there, lover boy, I haven’t had to hold my breath that long in a while, give me a second,” you huffed in amusement, placing a hand on Alastor’s chest to keep him from reaching your lips again, much to his chagrin.

Alastor quickly fought to regain his composure, snapping back to his perfect posture and fixing up his coat and hair to give his hands something else to do other than seek out your body again.

“Yes, of course, my apologies darling,” Alastor cleared his throat, looking away and running his hand through his hair again. “I…suppose I should’ve given you prior warning.”

You snickered, leaning into his side again and chuckling when he tensed.

“On the contrary, I quite like it when you surprise me. Keeps me on my toes.”

Alastor’s grin turned devilish, “Oh, don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

“You know I can’t resist poking the bear.”

“One of these days it’ll finally bite back.”

“If only I was so lucky.”

Alastor couldn’t stop his eyes from locking onto you once more at your words, his red pupils raking down your body. As his gaze mapped the blue skin, he couldn’t resist imagining his teeth tearing through you – keeping little pieces of you safe with him, wanting your blood staining his lips and your skin stuck in his teeth.

He watched as you grinned like you knew what he was thinking. You probably did, you were always far too good at reading him. You leaned forward to touch noses with him again. Your hand was still on his chest, tugging his vest slightly to bring him closer to you.

“I think I’ve caught my breath now if you wanna try doing that again.”

Alastor chuckled, covering your mouth with a hand and feeling your pout against his skin. Now that he was back in control of himself – as he should be – he could see how your pupils were still unfocused, your body swaying ever so slightly. If you were anyone else, he would take advantage of you letting your guard down and strike a deal to add to his collection of souls. Your soul for his companionship, perhaps. But really, had he not already been providing you with his companionship all these decades, expecting nothing in return?

A part of him thought he knew better than to give in to you so easily. When he would return to his room in the hotel after spending time with you, he couldn’t help the way his skin crawled in distaste at his inability to control himself around you. But at the same time, the prospect of finally finding someone who could actually pose a challenge thrilled him. He was torn between wanting to make you squirm and whimper, too dizzy with his presence to do anything more than beg for him and sitting you down on your kitchen counter, chatting to you while he cooked your favourite food and doted on you as you did him.

But right now, in your state, he was hesitant to do either.

“As much as I’d love to continue this sweetheart, I’d prefer you be fully right of mind when I finally break you,” Alastor purred lowly, removing his hand from your mouth in favour of taking your hands in his own, pulling you to your feet. You wobbled slightly, stumbling as you tried to catch your footing and bumping into him.

You laughed sheepishly, “Yeah, alright, you have a point. But I hope you know I’ll be holding you to that!”

“Darling, you say that like I’d ever forget to claim what I’m owed,” Alastor couldn’t help the dark edge to his voice and the sinister sharpness in his smile – not that you minded either.

Like the gentleman he was, Alastor released you to bow slightly, offering you his arm. You curtsied, much like you would have back when you were alive, and looped your arm around his, resting your other hand on top.

“You know, I had lots of suitors back when I was alive,” you reminisced as he walked you back towards the rooftop door that led down to your flat. “They were all terribly boring. Just a bunch of rich pricks with zero personality beyond the basic egocentrism you’d see in anyone with too much money. And for the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“Because you weren’t interested in them?” Alastor hummed as he opened the door for you.

“Well, yes, but I did occasionally find one or two that I was attracted to,” you leant against Alastor as you walked down the stairs, grateful for him supporting you. “I didn’t mind imagining a life with them, fantasising about living in domestic bliss, but the second those feelings were returned I found myself…disgusted by them. I could only tolerate them as ideas in my head, where they were in situations I could completely control. You can stop a fantasy whenever you like but a man is much different. They rarely listen.

“I hated that. I hated feeling vulnerable and not in control of the situation. I hated the unpredictability of loving another person.”

Alastor listened to your inebriated rant with quiet understanding, almost taken aback by how much he found himself relating to your words. He never thought a creature as docile and charming as you could thirst for control like a creature as disturbed and sadistic as himself.

“Do you experience that with me?” he asked quietly, watching you carefully.

Your lips pursed as you thought about the question, unsure of the answer yourself. It was something you had asked yourself in the dark recesses of the night, questioning why you let Alastor get as close to you as he’d managed, why you kept letting him come back.

“Sometimes,” you admit. “But it’s not…the same. In the past, I would imagine whole scenarios, every word a person would say when I eventually sparked a conversation with them, and I’d panic when they didn’t follow my script. But I do think I enjoy it when you surprise me. Conversations with you feel like a game I get to play, rather than a test I have to take. It’s less daunting because I know there is no right way to play – as long as I keep my wits about me, a win is always within reach.”

The two of you finally reached your room and you wasted no time peeling off your pants, grossed out with how they stuck to the back of your legs with sweat. Alastor stiffened and turned abruptly on his heel, much to your amusement.

“What about you, Al?” You asked him as you peeled your top off, chucking it in a pile with your pants as well, looking for your pyjamas. “What made you avoid relationships for so long?”

“Quite the same issue, actually,” he mused, deciding to take the opportunity to rid himself of some of his clothes as well, starting with his coat before moving to his vest. “I do enjoy being in control, you know that. Besides, relationships never seemed worth the hassle in my mind. As you know, it takes me a rather long time to become comfortable with someone touching me without any warning – you’ve always been wonderfully respectful of that.”

You hummed, listening patiently to him as you tugged on your oversized pyjama shirt and walked around to face him, helping him untie his bowtie despite knowing he didn’t need the help. Really, you just wanted to be near him.

“I think it’s awfully funny we both struggle with control so much in relationships to the point where we avoid them and yet here we are,” you chuckled, expertly navigating the thin fabric of his bowtie even while not entirely sober. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Alastor countered, watching you affectionately. “We understand each other better than most. I trust you to be patient with me whilst we navigate this…new endeavour, and I’m sure you do as well. It’s easier to tell where you’re going when you know where you’ve come from.”

You smiled, finally unhooking the fabric from his neck and placing it on your vanity, “I guess that’s why they say to love is to be changed. I think it took someone truly important to me like you to make me feel comfortable giving up a little bit of control.”

“Well, your love certainly changed me, at the very least.”

You quirked a brow, still slightly mortified you had confessed such a thing to him, “How so?”

Alastor softened, placing a hand on your cheek. You relaxed into the warmth of his palm, your eyes fluttering closed as he stepped closer, tilting your chin up just enough.

“It made me realise that I could finally love you back.”

Your lips connected for the second time that night, his hand still on your face. It wasn’t like the movies – there were no fireworks or flames or life-changing background music. It didn’t feel like the entire world was falling. It felt comfortable. Safe. It felt like coming home at the end of a long day and relaxing on the couch. It felt like warm soup when you’re sick. It felt like peeling off wet clothes after dancing around in the rain and bundling up in warm, dry blankets.

It felt right.

You couldn’t help but squeak in surprise into the kiss and then break away when you suddenly felt yourself become weightless as you were dipped and pulled up into Alastor’s arms. He tucked an arm under your legs and another behind your back to support you, but that certainly didn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck in a vice grip. Alastor laughed at your surprised expression, planting an apologetic peck on the crown of your head before gently laying you down in your bed like the gentleman he was.

“Goodnight, my darling tailor,” he purred as he brushed your hair out of your face and pulled the blankets up to your chin. You grabbed his hand before he could finish tucking you in, raising an eyebrow at him in suspicion.

“Nuh uh, you’re not going anywhere,” you grinned as you tugged him toward the bed. This time you didn’t manage to catch him off guard enough to make him fall on top of you, but he relented, nonetheless. "I'm not letting you run off again."

"Darling, I wouldn't dream of it."

Climbing under the covers, Alastor wrapped an arm around your waist and cradled you close to him. You were more than happy to bury yourself into his side, nuzzling into him like a cat rubbing its scent over its owner.

Note to self: never tell Alastor you just likened your behaviour to a cat with its owner. You’d never live it down.

Tangling his claws in your hair, Alastor began softly singing La Vie En Rose, the song he swore he would only ever reserve for you. But this time, he sang it in English.

Hold me close and hold me fast,

This magic spell you cast,

This is la vie en rose.

When you kiss me Heaven sighs,

And though I close my eyes,

I see la vie en rose.

When you press me to your heart,

I’m in a world apart,

A world where roses bloom.

And then when you speak I hear angels above…

Everyday words seem to turn into

Love songs.

Your breathing steadied as you relaxed into the comfort of the moment. You felt the softness of the blanket, the warmth of his body, the gentle massaging of his fingers on your scalp and finally, truly, felt at peace. Your soul sang a duet with his, like two halves of a long-dead star finally reuniting, recognising each other and becoming whole once more.

Give your heart and soul to me,

And life will always be,

La Vie En Rose.