Five Moments Of Insight & One Blind Spot

by sasuwux

Summary:

Lucifer discerned five distinct qualities in Alastor—traits that most overlooked or struggled to perceive. He recognized his strength, his relentless hard work, his unique power, his unexpected sentimentality, and his carefully crafted pretenses.

Yet despite these insights, one truth eluded him—the very thing hidden in plain sight.

Lucifer failed to see Alastor’s true feelings for him.

***
PART ONE: COMPLETED.
PART TWO: COMPLETED.
PART THREE: COMPLETED.
PART FOUR: COMING SOON.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Hello everyone! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!!

I’m excited to share my second fanfic on this site! After eight years away from writing fanfics, I’m finally back, this time transitioning from my Wattpad days to a new space here. A huge thanks to Radioapple for reigniting my inspiration, they are my hyper-fixation, and I couldn’t resist diving into another story centered around them.

I have another Radioapple fanfic as well, though its themes differ from this one. If you’re curious, feel free to check it out, I’d absolutely love that! (And if you’re new here, welcome! If you come from my other fic... hello again!)

Now, onto this fic! It’s a short story spanning six chapters, totaling nearly 34K words. I’ve always loved the 5+1 theme, so I decided to apply it to this ship, it was a blast writing it. This time, the story unfolds from Lucifer’s perspective and I have to admit, I love writing him as a hopeless simp for Alastor while Alastor remains his overpowered, BAMF self. If you enjoy a lovesick fool Lucifer obsessing over an unstoppable Alastor, this is definitely for you!

As for the current events? Alastor is already in love with Lucifer. He’s just patiently waiting for the King to catch up.

Join me in discord! A server made for my works!
https://discord.gg/9UHKdxRSA5

DO LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS! COMMENTS ARE EVERYTHING!

HAPPY READING!

FIVE MOMENTS OF INSIGHT & ONE BLIND SPOT

CHAPTER ONE | STRONGER THAN HE THOUGHT

Alastor was stronger than he thought.

That had to be the only explanation. Nothing else made sense—not when Lucifer watched him, perfectly poised, spinning that ridiculous cane as he spoke effortlessly with Charlie. That damned deer walked through the hotel doors like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just been struck by an attack that should have sent his rotting corpse straight to the depths where all sinners eventually belonged. Lucifer had sensed it the moment Alastor returned—the holy energy embedded deep in his chest, twisting like poison within his body, meant to degrade him from the inside out. He hadn't needed to see the wound; he could feel it, could smell the decay clinging to him like death itself. And yet, there Alastor stood, smiling, laughing, breathing. He hadn't even flinched, hadn't given so much as a single indication that he was suffering.

Lucifer said nothing, because Charlie was happy. He hated that she cared so much about that insufferable bellhop. He hated even more that Alastor seemed to care for her—not in the way demons usually did, with honeyed words masking some deeper, selfish intent, but in a way that was—genuine. That was the worst part. His daughter sought Alastor's approval, turned to him for advice, leaned into his guidance with effortless trust. And the bastard gave it to her, without hesitation, without expectation, without a trace of deception. That infuriated him more than anything, because Alastor was succeeding where Lucifer had failed. He had been absent for so much of his daughter’s life, and now, standing at the bar beside her, Alastor had slotted himself into a space Lucifer should have filled long ago. Worse still, it was effortless for him. The sinner taught her with ease, spoke to her like she was important, answered her questions like they mattered. Lucifer could barely tolerate the sight of it.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Alastor should be dead.

Lucifer could hardly fathom it. No sinner survived an attack of that magnitude. Adam did not miss, and while he was a joke to him… He was not a joke to the rest of hell. Lucifer knew the kind of divine destruction the First Man was capable of, knew the raw power that pulsed through his very being. Even the Seven Sins would struggle against him, and yet—Alastor remained standing. That ruined everything. Lucifer had planned to let him suffer, let him waste away, let him beg for relief until he had no choice but to crawl forward, pleading for salvation. Only then would Lucifer have granted him healing, at the cost of the sinner's secrets. But now… now, there was nothing. No wound, no holy energy, no decay—nothing at all. Alastor hadn’t just survived; he had healed. Completely. As if Heaven’s power had simply unraveled and vanished, as if the attack had never happened.

No one else knew. No one else had noticed, because no one else could sense what Lucifer had. The only proof of Adam’s wrath had been stitched into Alastor’s body, and now it was gone. Lucifer had watched him carefully, waiting for the cracks to show—for the pain to flicker across his face, for the exhaustion to seep into his posture, for the slightest indication that the attack had left any mark at all. But there was nothing.

And then, as if aware of the scrutiny, Alastor turned his head just slightly. That sickeningly wide grin stretched just a fraction, the sharp tilt of his head exaggerated, those crimson eyes glinting with amusement as he closed them—mocking him, taunting him, knowing. And then, just like that, he turned away, cane twirling, leaving as easily as he had arrived.

Lucifer's fingers curled into fists.

What the fuck was that?

Alastor smiled constantly—that much was normal—but this smile was different. There was nothing sinister behind it, no malice, no falsified charm. He enjoyed Lucifer’s reaction. He liked that the king had been watching him, found amusement in the attention, and worse—he seemed genuinely pleased by it.

This was a game.

It had to be.

The way Alastor acted with Charlie, the way he behaved around him—none of it added up. He was nicer now. Lucifer had noticed the shift, the subtle difference in the way Alastor spoke to him, the way he approached him. He was still insufferable, still teased him endlessly, still had the audacity to pinch his cheeks like Lucifer was some childish fool. And every damn time he retaliated, Charlie stepped in, reprimanding him like he was the problem. It was maddening.

But he wouldn’t be fooled.

Not again.

Lucifer had seen the real Alastor before, had witnessed the monster lurking beneath the veneer of charm, had experienced the deception firsthand. No matter how polite, how helpful he seemed, it was all an act. It had to be.

This time, Lucifer wouldn't play along. He would demand answers.

First—how had Alastor survived? Because that was impossible. That was beyond anything even Lucifer himself could rationalize.

Second—was he truly helping Charlie? Or was this just another performance, another careful manipulation designed to sink deeper into her life, into her trust?

And third—what was this version of Alastor? Was the kindness real? Or was it a mask? Had Lucifer simply been granted a new role to play—one where he was the unwitting fool dancing to whatever silent tune the sinner had composed?

Or worse—what if both were lies?

What if Alastor was nothing but deception, nothing but the perfect predator hiding behind a facade so carefully crafted that even Lucifer—Lucifer, the Morningstar, the King of Hell—was being led blindly into something far worse than he had anticipated?

He refused to let that happen.

Not now.

Not ever.

And Alastor—Alastor was just waiting.

Waiting for Lucifer to slip.

Waiting to bury an angelic dagger into his back the moment he let his guard down.

Not that it would kill him.

But then again…

A holy attack from Adam should have killed an average sinner instantly.

So, what the hell did he know anymore?

***

This was a mistake.

A colossal mistake.

Lucifer stood leaning against the wall, arms folded, fingers tapping against his forearm as he stared at the stairs, waiting. The damn bellhop had left earlier, and now it was almost midnight. He hated waiting. He hated the anticipation. But mostly, he hated the realization that Alastor’s room was next to his.

How the fuck had that happened?

This was his magic—his design—his damn hotel. He had rebuilt it, shaped it, restored its walls with his own power, and in his unconscious decisions, he had placed his room right beside his most infuriating headache.

He could have placed Alastor anywhere. Could have thrown his room into the furthest, most desolate corner of the building, placed him in the basement for all he cared, set him up with a pathetic excuse for accommodations just to make him suffer the inconvenience. And yet, without thinking, without realizing, Lucifer himself had arranged the layout of the hotel so that his space—his private sanctuary—was just a few feet away from the sinner’s.

The thought made his teeth grind.

And as if summoned by the sheer force of Lucifer’s irritation, Alastor returned.

Lucifer heard him before he saw him—the light hum of a tune, effortless, carefree, carried through the quiet halls as he ascended the stairs, his cane tapping against the polished floor with every step. That was the worst part. Alastor had the audacity to act like nothing was wrong, like nothing had happened, like his very existence wasn't a walking impossibility.

The humming continued as Alastor reached the top of the stairs, and then—just as smoothly as always—the sinner turned his head toward Lucifer, his grin as wide and sharp as ever, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Evening, Your Majesty."

Lucifer hated the calmness in his tone. Hated the ease in his posture, the sheer lack of concern, the way he carried himself with the arrogance of a man untouched by suffering.

No.

No more patience.

No more pretending.

"How the fuck are you still alive?"

The words snapped through the air, sharp, direct, laced with the pure frustration of a king who had finally lost his restraint.

And Alastor—damn him, damn him—grinned even wider.

"Oh dear, whatever do you mean?"

He’s doing it again. The bastard pretended not to understand.

And Lucifer wanted to tear that grin from his face.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, watching as Alastor continued to grin, lips curled with pleasure, eyes gleaming with that ever-present, infuriating spark of mischief. The sheer gall of this sinner, standing there like nothing was wrong—like Lucifer himself hadn't just demanded answers, like his very survival wasn’t an impossible riddle begging to be solved.

Alastor tilted his head ever so slightly, like he was genuinely intrigued by Lucifer’s outburst, but Lucifer knew better. That expression—those wide, gleeful eyes—that was mockery.

Lucifer curled his fingers into fists, his patience already stretched thin "Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about."

Alastor gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense "Why, Your Majesty! You wound me! To think the grand King of Hell would accuse me—me!—of feigning ignorance" his grin never faltered, if anything, it stretched wider, sharper, more delighted by Lucifer’s irritation.

"You should be dead" Lucifer snapped, refusing to entertain the theatrics "I felt the wound the moment you walked back through these doors. I sensed Adam's power buried in your chest—I could smell the rot, feel the decay in your body. You were dying, Alastor. Slowly, painfully, as you should have been. So how the fuck are you still alive?"

Alastor’s humming had stopped entirely, his cane tapping idly against the floor as he swayed ever so slightly on his heels, a picture of perfect leisure. He blinked, seemingly thoughtful, before his grin returned—almost pleased by Lucifer’s outrage "My dear Lucifer—do you truly think so little of me?"

Lucifer scowled "You are nothing but a lowly sinner."

Alastor laughed. Not a chuckle, not a simple scoff, but a full-bodied laugh, head tilting back, voice rich with delight "My, my, I think you’ve mistaken me for some common wretch, Your Majesty! I assure you, I am quite exceptional."

Lucifer was two seconds away from grabbing him by the collar and shaking the truth out of him "You should have suffered" Lucifer continued, voice low, edged with frustration "Not even able to walk. You should have turned to ash. You should have died, like that snake did when Adam struck him down. But instead—instead, you stand here, grinning like a fool, humming your pathetic little tunes. You are not special, Alastor. You are not above Heaven’s wrath. So, what did you do?"

For the first time since the conversation started, Alastor’s expression shifted.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t concern. It was something else—unreadable, purposeful.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced once more by that insufferable grin.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" Alastor hummed, stepping ever so slightly closer, a playful glint in his eyes "Perhaps I made a little deal. Perhaps I cheated death. Or perhaps, dear Lucifer, I am simply built different" he chuckled, tilting his head, watching Lucifer as though he were savoring this interaction more than he should "But does it really matter? I’m here. I’m alive. And most importantly—" his grin stretched impossibly wide "You can’t do a damn thing about it and we both know why."

Lucifer’s jaw tensed, the weight of Alastor’s words pressing into him with an aggravating accuracy he refused to acknowledge. He can’t do a damn thing. That was what the sinner had implied, and he was right.

Charlie trusted him—adored him—and if Lucifer acted against Alastor now, if he tried to push him out or destroy whatever connection had been built, then Charlie would resent him for it. The progress he had fought to make, the fragile repair of their bond—it would be gone. Alastor knew that. He knew exactly how much Charlie mattered to Lucifer, knew exactly how deeply Lucifer hated seeing the sinner stand where he should have been all along. And now Alastor was throwing it directly in his face, smiling, taunting, watching him struggle with a truth he couldn’t argue against.

Lucifer growled low in his throat "I am her father. You think I’ll just sit back and watch while you—you—sink your claws into her?"

Alastor tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mirth "Sink my claws into her? My, Lucifer, you make me sound so sinister" his grin widened "I assure you, I’ve done nothing of the sort!"

Lucifer’s patience snapped "You expect me to believe that? After everything you've done, after every stunt you’ve pulled? You think I’ll just stand here and accept that you have no ulterior motives?"

Alastor chuckled, his cane tapping idly against the floor "Oh, Your Majesty. Always so suspicious" he hummed, theatrically twirling the cane before making it disappear "I have done nothing but treat your daughter as she should be treated. Kindly. Honestly. As someone who deserves to be listened to."

Lucifer sneered "And what? That makes you better than me?"

Alastor’s smile didn’t fade, but there was something beneath it now—knowing and patient "It makes me present."

Lucifer’s breath hitched. His glare sharpened "Watch your words, bitch."

"But I don’t need to" Alastor mused, that ever-infuriating playfulness never leaving his expression "Because we both know it’s true, don’t we?"

Lucifer’s claws twitched at his sides "You think you’ve replaced me. That’s what this is. You think you’ve taken my place, as if you could ever—"

Alastor let out another laugh—lighter, softer, with none of the malice Lucifer expected "Replace you? Oh no, no, Lucifer. You’ve got it all wrong."

Lucifer stiffened, watching him carefully "Then what exactly do you think you’re doing?"

Alastor sighed dramatically, as if explaining something painfully simple "Your absence created consequences. That’s all there is to it! You weren’t there, and now you're seeing the result of that. And really, that’s not my fault, now is it?"

Lucifer clenched his fists, every word digging deeper than he wanted them to "You had no right to involve yourself."

Alastor lifted a brow, still grinning "Had no right? Why, I don’t recall asking permission! Should I have submitted a formal request?" he chuckled, shaking his head "Your Majesty, you’ve been so caught up blaming me for this, blaming me for your daughter’s trust, blaming me for the space you abandoned. But why does it have to be just you?"

Lucifer’s glare darkened "She is my daughter. It should be me guiding her, it should be me teaching her—"

"Then do it."

Lucifer faltered.

Alastor tilted his head, eyes sharp now—piercing, unwavering, as if daring Lucifer to argue "Talk to her. Listen to her. Be there. That’s all there is to it. But you seem to think this is some war, some competition, as if my presence is the reason for your failures. But it's not. It's just the outcome of your choices."

Lucifer hated this. Not just the conversation, not just the irritating way Alastor stood there, endlessly amused by his outrage, but the way this sinner—this insufferable nobody—kept proving him wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was Lucifer Morningstar. He was the King of Hell, the ruler of damnation, the very entity that had created the world Alastor walked in. He shouldn’t have to stand here, listening to a lowly sinner lecture him on how to mend his relationship with his own daughter.

And yet, Alastor had.

He had spoken with ease, with confidence, with a certainty that Lucifer couldn’t ignore. For a single second—a brief, fleeting moment—Lucifer had doubted himself. The thought had crept in uninvited, whispering that maybe, just maybe, Alastor had done nothing wrong. That maybe the bastard had simply been… nice.

He crushed the thought the moment it surfaced. He wasn’t that foolish. No, this was just another one of Alastor’s carefully crafted performances—another manipulation designed to tilt things in his favor, another damn game. Lucifer refused to entertain the idea any longer, refused to let the deception linger in his mind, refused to allow the sinner to carve out space in his thoughts.

Yet, as Alastor turned, giving him that sickeningly polite farewell with nothing but smug satisfaction dripping from his tone, Lucifer couldn’t stop himself. He spoke before he could reconsider, before he could tell himself to let it go.

"How did you survive?"

The words came out quieter than his previous demands, lacking the sharp bite of his earlier accusations. It wasn’t submission—he would never stoop to such weakness—but there was something else in his tone. Exhaustion, maybe. Frustration, certainly. A lingering need to understand, because no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the truth remained unchanged: Alastor should be dead.

Alastor had been reaching for his door, his fingers hovering just over the handle. His posture didn’t stiffen, didn’t falter, but Lucifer saw the momentary pause—the brief hesitation. He was thinking.

For a rare moment, he wasn’t smiling like usual.

Lucifer watched him carefully, observed the flicker of consideration in those crimson eyes, the way his expression shifted just slightly before settling back into that ever-infuriating grin.

Alastor turned slowly, facing Lucifer once more with that same unwavering enjoyment "Our dear King doesn’t know everything after all, does he?"

Lucifer’s glare darkened "Don’t play games with me, Alastor."

"But that’s half the fun!" Alastor mused, though his expression remained unreadable. He twirled his fingers idly before pressing them together in mock thought "You see, Lucifer, if you truly knew every secret Hell harbored, then surely you would be aware that—" his grin stretched wider, eyes glinting with something older, deeper and knowing "—There are places, creatures, forces beyond your knowledge."

Lucifer felt coldness settle in his chest. Not fear, certainly not hesitation, but something else. Unfamiliar. He had ruled Hell for longer than any creature still standing, had shaped it with his own will, had created the systems, the order, the very foundation of this realm. And yet—Alastor spoke with a certainty that was not born of arrogance, nor baseless taunting.

He truly believed Lucifer didn’t know everything.

Lucifer’s fingers twitched, frustration now boiling into something more complicated "Enough riddles. How did you survive Adam’s attack?"

Alastor chuckled softly, the sound far too pleased "Perhaps I am more… durable than I appear."

Lucifer’s scowl deepened, his patience thinning "Durable?"

Alastor took a single, slow step forward, his posture still relaxed, his movements unhurried "Surely you must know by now—" his voice dropped lower, a playful hum beneath the words "—I’m not being arrogant when I say… I am not simply an average sinner."

Lucifer clenched his teeth. He hated that answer. Hated that it explained nothing. Hated that Alastor was dangling the truth just out of reach, offering him nothing but half-answers, cryptic nonsense, and deliberate avoidance.

Lucifer stared at the sinner, irritation bubbling beneath his skin like molten fire. Fine. If Alastor wanted to play coy, if he wanted to toy with vague responses and cryptic nonsense, then so be it. Lucifer could play games too.

Alastor was a dealmaker. It was practically what defined him—the very essence of his being. He had built his reputation on it, right? Had slithered his way through Hell with that unnerving grin, striking bargains that benefited him and left the other party scrambling to understand where, exactly, they had been tricked. It was what made him dangerous. It was what made him unpredictable. But it was also what made him fallible.

Because who in their right mind wouldn’t want to make a deal with the King of Hell?

Everyone would jump at the chance. The opportunity to negotiate with Lucifer himself, to gain some favor, some power, some advantage—it was something sinners would beg for, they would sell their own souls for. And Alastor? Alastor was no different. He could act amused all he wanted, could play the part of the untouchable trickster, but he was still a sinner. He was still someone who sought power, who sought leverage, who would grasp at any opportunity to carve out something for himself.

Lucifer smirked slightly, the irritation easing just enough to let smug calculation settle in its place "Since you’re so keen on avoiding the question, let’s make it interesting" he offered, folding his arms, watching Alastor with careful, expectant eyes "A deal. You like those, don’t you?"

Alastor raised a brow, though his grin remained unwavering "Oh?"

Lucifer continued, unbothered by the skeptic amusement in the sinner’s tone "You want something? We negotiate. You get whatever pathetic favor you think you can squeeze out of me, and in return—" his glare sharpened "I get answers. Honest ones."

It was a flawless setup. Alastor would be forced to give something in exchange for whatever he wanted out of Lucifer, and Lucifer would be smart about it—he would ensure the deal was structured in a way where Alastor couldn’t twist the conditions in his favor. He wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived.

But before Lucifer could entertain the idea further—before he could anticipate what Alastor might ask for, before he could begin considering what was reasonable to offer—the deer sinner simply let out a soft hum.

"Your Majesty… I’m afraid you’re mistaken."

Lucifer blinked.

Alastor’s grin widened, tilting his head ever so slightly, eyes glinting with something maddeningly amused "I’m not interested."

The words sent a jolt of shock through Lucifer’s system.

Not interested.

Not interested?

That was not the response he had anticipated. That was not the way this was supposed to go.

Lucifer was the King of Hell. He was offering a deal. Sinners begged for deals. They fought for them, killed for them. They would tear themselves apart for the chance to gain favor from someone as powerful as him. And yet Alastor stood there—calm, unbothered, genuinely indifferent.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, stepping forward slightly, disbelief flickering in his expression despite himself "What kind of fool turns down a deal with me?"

Alastor chuckled, clearly delighted by Lucifer’s reaction "A fool? Oh no, Lucifer, quite the opposite! I’m simply a man who already has everything he needs."

Lucifer’s irritation clawed back to the surface "Don’t be ridiculous. You stand in Hell like everyone else, scraping for power, scraping for control. You want something—I know you do."

Alastor’s gaze remained locked onto him, steady, amused, but not mocking "Perhaps I do" he admitted, his grin never fading "But not from a deal with you."

Lucifer felt coldness settle in his chest once again.

For the second time tonight, he was left staring, caught in an unexpected answer that disrupted everything he thought he knew.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice lower now, not with anger, but with sheer disbelief "What could you possibly have that I couldn’t offer you?"

Alastor hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin before shrugging slightly "Unfortunately for you, dear King, there’s nothing you can give me that I cannot get myself."

Lucifer stood there, glaring, his mind whirling with agitation. This was absurd. This entire conversation had spiraled into something far more frustrating than he had anticipated, and yet it was ending with nothing but that same smug grin, that damn amusement plastered on Alastor’s face. Lucifer could still barely process the sheer audacity of the sinner’s words—claiming that he, the King of Hell, had nothing to offer him. That wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t how any of this worked. Everyone wanted something. Everyone had a price. Everyone sought power, leverage, control. And yet Alastor had stood there, unbothered, as if Lucifer’s offer was worth nothing. It shouldn’t have been possible.

He was still lost in thought when the sudden pinch on his cheek snapped him out of his frustration. The sharp sting made him yelp, a rare, unguarded sound of genuine surprise. It took him a full second to realize what had happened. His hand shot up instinctively to swat away the source of the irritation, but Alastor had already withdrawn, retreating just out of reach, his laughter light and thoroughly entertained.

"Goodness, Your Majesty, I do believe you’re slipping!" Alastor teased, his grin stretching even wider, as if completely delighted by Lucifer’s dumbfounded reaction "Lost in thought again, are we? How like you! Perhaps it’s past bedtime?"

Lucifer’s glare sharpened, his teeth grinding together as he straightened, pushing aside the lingering shock "Do not touch me, Alastor" he snapped, his voice edged with irritation.

Alastor let out a hum, entirely unfazed by the warning "Ah, but if I recall correctly, this is the third time now, isn’t it? I do believe you’ve failed to stop me each and every time. Perhaps I should make a game out of it."

Lucifer’s fingers twitched, his patience hanging by a thread "Try it again, and I will rip that smug look off your face."

Alastor chuckled, clearly unconvinced "My dear Lucifer, always so dramatic. Tell me, are you truly so rattled by our little talk? Have I truly unsettled the great Morningstar?" he tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with delight "My, my… what an achievement!"

Lucifer inhaled sharply, forcing his composure back into place, refusing to let Alastor pull him into another pointless back-and-forth. The night had dragged on far too long, and despite his desire to wring answers out of the sinner, there was no point in continuing this.

Alastor seemed to pick up on Lucifer’s frustration, and his expression shifted just slightly, though the amusement never quite left his face "But really, Lucifer, midnight has come and gone, and I do recall Charlie mentioning something about an activity tomorrow" he mused, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin "And if I had to guess, I’d wager that the dear princess will insist we both partake."

Lucifer exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face, letting the weight of the conversation settle into his chest. He knew Alastor was right—Charlie would inevitably drag them both into whatever ridiculous plan she had for the day, and if Lucifer resisted too much, if he pushed her away again, then it would only undo the fragile threads of progress he had made with her.

For now, he had to let it go.

Without another word, he turned toward his room, his patience worn thin, his thoughts far too tangled to entertain any more of Alastor’s antics tonight.

But he knew—deep in his core—this conversation was far from over.

And it told him that whatever truth Alastor had buried beneath his cryptic words, Lucifer wouldn’t like it when he finally uncovered it.

Lucifer stepped into his room, shutting the door behind him with a measured calm that did nothing to quell the frustration burning beneath his skin. The space was silent, undisturbed, save for the slow hum of his own thoughts circling like a storm in his mind. He barely acknowledged the lavish furnishings, the grand architecture, the bed that remained untouched more nights than not. None of it mattered right now. What mattered—what clawed at his focus—was Alastor. That smug, insufferable grin. That effortless deflection. That complete, unnerving dismissal of the very concept of making a deal with him. The implications still gnawed at him, but more than that, more than the irritation at the sinner’s confidence, was the certainty in his words.

Lucifer had shaped Hell. He had built its foundations, carved its rules into existence, structured its chaos with the precision only he could command. There was nothing in this realm that had not passed through his hands, nothing that had not existed under his gaze. He knew this place—every corner, every depth, every entity that walked its grounds. And yet… Alastor had spoken as if that wasn’t true. As if there were secrets still lurking beyond Lucifer’s awareness.

It didn’t make sense. The deer couldn’t be that old. Not truly. He wasn’t some ancient force, wasn’t something that had existed long before Lucifer’s dominion took root. By all accounts, Alastor was barely over a century. His personality, his mannerisms, his speech—it was all locked in the mentality of the roaring twenties, frozen in time as if he had never moved past it. He was young. By demonic standards, by Lucifer’s standards, he was nothing more than a speck in the vast timeline of Hell’s existence. So how the hell could someone so young claim to know more about Hell’s inner workings than the very being who had crafted it?

But the problem, the thing that Lucifer couldn’t shake, was the simple, undeniable fact that Alastor was alive.

That alone challenged everything.

Because by every rule, by every force that dictated Hell’s existence, by every law that governed the fate of sinners struck by holy power—Alastor should have died. He should have suffered, burned, rotted beneath the weight of Adam’s attack. But he didn’t. He stood. He thrived. He grinned as if death had never even touched him.

Lucifer dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of logic that refused to align. Maybe—just maybe—he had been wrong. Maybe he hadn't explored every inch of Hell like he once thought. It had been a long time since he had walked its depths with purpose. Perhaps something had changed, something had shifted beneath the surface while he had focused elsewhere.

There was always the possibility that Hell’s structure had altered in the last millennia, that forces beyond his immediate control had twisted the very fabric of its existence without his knowledge. It wasn’t impossible—unnerving, perhaps, but not impossible. But even then, even if something fundamental had changed, Lucifer should still be able to sense it. The energy, the essence, the shifts in power—nothing in this realm should be beyond his perception.

And yet Alastor didn’t feel different.

That was the most maddening part of it all. He was still just a sinner—at least, in every way Lucifer could perceive. He wasn’t radiating some unnatural force, wasn’t warping the space around him, wasn’t walking with the weight of something beyond the average demon’s existence. By all accounts, he was normal. But he wasn’t, because normal sinners didn’t survive divine wrath.

So maybe it was something external.

Maybe something beyond Hell itself had interfered—outside the realm’s grasp, that didn’t belong within the natural order. Or… there was the most troubling option. The one Lucifer least wanted to consider.

Alastor had said he was more durable.

If that was true, then maybe—just maybe—that meant whatever he was, whatever allowed him to survive… was something Lucifer himself couldn’t sense.

The thought sent a slow, creeping unease through his spine.

He had never considered that possibility before.

That something could exist, could thrive in Hell… without him knowing. Without him understanding.

And that, above everything else, was the most unsettling thought of all.

Notes:

I hope this first chapter hooks you into the story! Since I’ll be posting a chapter every Monday, I plan to stretch this out for maximum enjoyment... mine, of course:p

Now, for some extra context, especially regarding Alastor’s survival.

In my vision of this Alastor backstory, the reason Alastor endured Adam’s attack is tied to his seven-year absence. During that time, he fell through a crack in the universe, landing in a place that altered him, shaping him, granting him an extra power that made him even more formidable. If you’re familiar with Supernatural, you might recall the Leviathans, ancient creatures older than angels, known for their ability to devour celestial beings. Inspired by that concept, I imagined Alastor gaining a similar ability... a terrifying evolution that perfectly aligns with his eldritch nature and, of course, his cannibalistic tendencies.

So now, he doesn’t just wield immense power, he can consume holy energy itself. That’s how he survived. He devoured the holy power from his wound, neutralizing it into a normal injury, one he could easily heal.

So... yeah... Alastor could technically eat Lucifer without dying. BAMF ALASTOR! WOO!

Thank you for reading!
TikTok: sasuwux

Chapter 2

Notes:

Hello everyone! I bring you chapter number two! Thank you so much for the support, I love the comments cause it shows there is interaction (~˘▾˘)~

Hope you are ready for more frustrated Lucifer and amused Alastor!

Happy reading!

CHAPTER TWO | IF HARD WORK IS A TALENT, THEN ALASTOR IS A GENIUS

If hard work was a talent, then Alastor was a genius.

How fucking annoying it was to be in his presence every single day. It had been a month now—four agonizing weeks since Lucifer had begun staying at the hotel, and honestly, fuck everything. He had intended to lay low, observe from a distance, watch Alastor operate within the space Charlie so readily gave him. His goal was simple: let the deer sinner do his thing, pretend indifference, and wait for a slip-up. Because demanding answers outright had already proven futile—that much was clear. Alastor was too practiced in avoidance, too skilled in twisting a conversation away from anything real. So, Lucifer had decided to watch. Quietly. Strategically.

Perhaps he had watched too closely.

Because when had Alastor become so damn good at everything? When had he established himself as this kind of presence—effortlessly competent, aggravatingly proficient at every task he touched? Lucifer had expected the usual nonsense, the grating demeanor, the theatrical displays of charm. That was expected. That was tolerable. But the reality he was seeing now? The casual skill Alastor wielded? It made no fucking sense.

It wasn’t enough that he was insufferable, no—that much Lucifer could handle, that much he was used to. But everyone else seemed to like him. Or, at the very least, they tolerated him far more than they should. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way Alastor interacted with the others, his pleasantries smooth, his demeanor inviting—even in the depths of Hell, where pleasantries meant nothing. And yet, when it came to Lucifer? Oh, Alastor made sure to be as maddening as possible. The teasing never ceased—the constant barrage of irritating nicknames, the poking, the smug little comments slipped effortlessly into conversations. Lucifer had grown used to it by now, and frankly, he didn’t care about appearances anymore. He fought back, irritated in equal measure, arguing for the sake of it because fuck it.

But that wasn’t all.

That wasn’t nearly all.

The bastard was also—annoyingly—good-looking. Lucifer hated the realization the moment it clawed its way into his mind, but denying it seemed even more ridiculous. He wasn’t blind. He knew Alastor was infuriatingly pretty. The sharp elegance of his features, the dramatic contrast of his dark lashes against crimson eyes, the damned eyeliner that only made them sharper—all of it. His hands, his fingers, long and slender, honestly… those hands were frustratingly delicate despite the power they wielded. And his waist—his fucking waist—small enough that Lucifer knew he could easily wrap his hands around it.

Stop it.

Get it together.

He inhaled sharply, forcing the thought away, snapping his focus back to the actual issue at hand. Because besides being frustrating, besides being aggravatingly charming and unfortunately attractive, Alastor was talented. At everything.

Charming people? Effortless.

Cooking? Unmatched.

Silver tongue? Dangerous.

Drawing? Writing? Singing? Playing an instrument? Was he fucking born perfect?

Lucifer had spent weeks watching him, weeks studying his habits, waiting for the cracks to show—for the facade to slip, for some imperfection to surface. But instead, what he had found was… competence. Genuine, infuriating competence. And that pissed him off.

He still remembered Charlie’s most recent attempt at bonding. Pair activities. Of course, Lucifer had been stuck with Alastor—because naturally that would be the arrangement. It wasn’t enough that he had to deal with the sinner’s presence, now he had to participate in nonsensical activities with him. Drawing portraits, of all things. Fine. Fine. Lucifer wasn’t opposed to the concept. In fact, the moment the task had been assigned, he had been more than ready to lift his pencil and smugly prove that he was better—because of course he was better.

But then Charlie, in all her bright-eyed optimism, had casually declared that magic was forbidden.

Lucifer had huffed at that, but fine. He could still beat Alastor at this. The sinner had no real talent in drawing—Lucifer had seen the childish, disgusting little doodles Alastor had sketched for Charlie before. Some ridiculous commercial artwork? Whatever. It had been crude, unimpressive, far beneath Lucifer’s standards. This was his opportunity—his chance to outdo him, to wipe that insufferable smile off his face, to finally prove superiority in something.

And for the first time in weeks, Lucifer had felt confident in an outcome.

He was going to humiliate Alastor with this.

Lucifer smirked as he held up his drawing, satisfaction settling deep in his chest. He had expected it to be good—of course it would be good—but even he had to admit that it was exceptional. He hadn’t taken the easy route, hadn’t settled for some exaggerated, mocking caricature of Alastor the way one might expect from him. No, he had drawn properly, with precision and detail, capturing the sharpness of Alastor’s features, the knowing glint in his eyes, the effortless smirk that remained ever-present. Every stroke was intentional, every shadow carefully placed, every line structured in a way that made the portrait undeniably accurate. If he was going to win at this, he was going to do it with talent.

Charlie was the first to notice, practically bouncing over with wide, excited eyes, clasping her hands together as she beamed at the portrait “Wow! Dad, that’s amazing! You’re really good at this!”

Lucifer gave a pleased nod, accepting the compliment with practiced ease “Of course, sweetie. Did you expect anything less?”

Vaggie approached next, tilting her head as she studied the image, giving a short approving nod “Not bad. It actually looks… well, like him.”

Angel Dust whistled, leaning in with amused interest “Damn, boss-man! This is actually kinda gorgeous…”

Husk, as usual, seemed uninterested in anything remotely fun, though he did grunt something vaguely approving before stepping back. Niffty, however, had practically sparkled with excitement, her hands clasped tightly as she gushed over the details, the accuracy, the sheer effort Lucifer had clearly put into it.

Lucifer basked in the praise, offering a smooth ‘thank you’ before shifting his focus toward Alastor. The deer sinner had been silent through the exchange, staring at the drawing with an unreadable expression, his usual ever-present grin notably less dramatic than usual. His eyes lingered on the image for longer than Lucifer expected.

And then—finally—Alastor glanced up, his grin curling back into place as he offered his response “My, my, Your Majesty! What precision! It seems even the great King of Hell can wield a pencil with regal expertise.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes slightly, recognizing the compliment for what it was—just flattering enough to be genuine, yet carrying the faintest edge of mockery, as if to avoid letting it land too seriously. He huffed in response, crossing his arms “Of course I can. Now stop wasting time and show me yours.”

Alastor’s smile twitched as he reached for his own paper, but there was something in his movements that was just a fraction off—Lucifer couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

Something about this reaction was different.

And Lucifer wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Alastor flipped his paper with a sharp, dramatic motion, revealing the image beneath. Lucifer barely had a moment to prepare himself before his eyes landed on the drawing, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt the breath leave his lungs.

It wasn’t just good. It wasn’t even just exceptional. It was somewhat else entirely.

Lucifer wasn’t looking at a simple portrait, wasn’t staring at some technical display of well-crafted lines and carefully placed shadows—he was looking at emotion. At a moment captured in delicateness, at a memory so intimately woven into the fabric of the image that it felt alive.

Him. It was him—not as the ruler of Hell, not as the feared Morningstar, but as something else, and warm. The drawing showed him standing before a fireplace, violin in hand, his posture relaxed, his expression gentle. And not just neutral, not just calm, but happy. A kind of happiness that was genuine, quiet, absent of any facade or forced restraint. It was the kind of happiness Lucifer had only ever known in fleeting moments.

Because he remembered this.

The night the drawing depicted—it was real. He had played the violin before, two weeks ago when he couldn’t sleep, standing in front of that very fireplace, allowing the melody to strip away his burdens, to drown out the chaos that rested in his mind. It had been one of the rare nights where he wasn’t Lucifer Morningstar, wasn’t the King of Hell, wasn’t an omnipotent force weighed down by expectations and duty. He had just been himself.

And somehow—somehow—Alastor had captured that.

He could almost hear the music.

Lucifer didn’t realize he had stopped breathing until the sharp, gleeful squeal from Charlie snapped him out of his trance. She practically bounced in place, hands clapping together, eyes wide with pure admiration.

“That’s amazing! Alastor, that’s beautiful!”

Everyone else followed quickly behind her.

Vaggie raised a brow, her expression softening just slightly as she studied the drawing “Wow. Okay… I hate to admit it, but this is actually really impressive.”

Angel Dust leaned in, whistling as he examined the details with clear approval “Holy hell, deer-boy! Didn’t know you had actual skills. Thought you were just good at running that mouth of yours.”

Husk, arms crossed, let out a short grunt, eyeing the image with mild interest “Hmph. Too damn sentimental for my taste… but yeah. It’s good.”

Niffty practically vibrated with excitement, hands clutched together as she admired every little detail “Oh my gosh! It’s so elegant! The shading, the expression—it’s so pretty!”

Lucifer finally tore his gaze away from the drawing, inhaling slowly as he forced himself to maintain composure despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to break past his usual restraint. He turned his sharp gaze toward Alastor, who was effortlessly smug, his grin in place, his amusement tangible but hard to read.

Lucifer straightened, voice steady despite everything racing through his mind “You’ve been holding back, haven’t you?”

Alastor chuckled, tilting his head slightly, eyes glinting with an indecipherable expression “Oh, Lucifer, what fun would it have been if I revealed all my talents at once?”

Lucifer exhaled, his gaze flicking back to the drawing one last time before settling back on Alastor “You didn’t just draw me. You drew this.”

Alastor’s grin curled ever so slightly, his tone remaining light, playful, yet carrying the faintest weight beneath his words “Well, my dear King, I simply drew what felt right.”

Lucifer clenched his jaw, forcing his thoughts into order.

He had expected many things from Alastor.

But not this.

Never this.

And for once, Lucifer wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Lucifer barely had time to process the drawing, the sheer weight of emotion woven into its details, when Alastor did something completely unexpected.

With an effortless flick of his wrist, the deer sinner held the portrait out to Lucifer, his grin relaxed, his tone as lighthearted as ever "You can keep it if you’d like" he said, voice carrying an innocent ease, as if offering something entirely ordinary, simple, that shouldn't matter.

Lucifer stared.

For a brief, fleeting second, he was stunned, caught between the lingering effect of the drawing and the sheer audacity of this moment. Alastor—Alastor—was just giving it to him. Just handing it over like it was nothing, like it was some casual gesture, like it wasn’t one of the most perfect depictions Lucifer had ever seen of himself.

He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, forcing himself to slip into indifference, to pretend he wasn’t affected, that it wasn’t clawing at his chest with an emotion he refused to name "Hmph. Fine. I suppose I can find a place for it" he grabbed the paper, careful not to fold or crease it, even as he feigned carelessness "Not sure where… maybe I’ll toss it somewhere in my room. Let it collect dust, throw it around. It’s hardly important."

Lie.

It was so important.

The moment he was alone, that drawing was getting a preservation spell placed on it immediately.

He exhaled, shifting his gaze back to his own drawing, fingers brushing over the paper as he grabbed it. His grip tightened slightly before he turned, eyes purposefully elsewhere as he held the portrait toward Alastor "It’s only fair" he said, voice steady, his tone not betraying anything lingering in his chest "You can keep mine too."

Alastor blinked for a fraction of a second, as if momentarily surprised by the gesture, though he recovered with that same infuriating smoothness, that constant charm resting effortlessly in his movements "Oh, Your Majesty! How generous of you" his voice carried that usual playful lilt, but something—just for a second—felt softer.

He reached out with delicate precision, fingers grazing the edges of the paper as he took the drawing from Lucifer’s grasp. His eyes moved over the lines again, inspecting the careful details, the intention Lucifer had poured into it. For the briefest of moments, the pleasure in his gaze flickered, giving way to quietness, almost gentle.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Alastor’s grin returned, bright and unwavering, as if the moment of vulnerability had never existed "I do believe I’ll cherish this forever" he mused, voice light, dripping with playfulness "A masterpiece drawn by the King of Hell himself! What an honor."

Lucifer huffed, crossing his arms, ignoring the strange, nagging feeling in his chest "Just don’t lose it."

Alastor laughed, twirling the paper between his fingers "Oh, Lucifer" he said, eyes glinting with a knowing look "I wouldn’t dare."

And just like that, the moment passed.

The drawing remained exactly where Lucifer had placed it—on his desk, untouched, perfectly intact beneath a preservation spell. He hadn’t questioned himself when he cast the spell, hadn’t hesitated in ensuring that no time, no damage, no interference would ever dull its perfection. It wasn’t an attachment. Certainly not. Just practicality. That was all.

Days had passed since then, and he found himself in the hotel’s kitchen, seated at the counter, silently eating the breakfast that that damn bellhop had made. And it was—annoyingly—good. Frustratingly, undeniably flawless. Every bite was rich, balanced, cooked with far too much precision for someone who had no reason to be this skilled. Lucifer hated admitting it. But he still kept eating.

The atmosphere around him remained lively—Charlie, ever bright-eyed and curious, had latched onto Alastor, practically bombarding him with questions about his cooking. How did he get everything so perfect? What was his favorite dish to make? Was there a secret to his seasoning? Did he learn it when he was alive, or did he pick it up here?

Lucifer barely paid attention at first, content to simply listen in silence, but the moment Charlie’s questions shifted—the moment she brought up his life before Hell—Lucifer stiffened slightly.

He felt like he was intruding. This wasn’t his conversation. He wasn’t supposed to be here, lingering, listening as Charlie prodded deeper into something Lucifer hadn’t ever bothered to ask.

But despite the feeling, despite knowing he should just continue his meal and ignore the exchange entirely—he was curious.

More than curious.

Alastor had never spoken about his life before Hell in any real depth—not to Lucifer, at least. The sinner had always been vague, always shrouded in mystery, always dancing around direct answers with that frustrating, smug enjoyment.

Charlie was different, though. She had a way of asking things without hesitation, without restraint. And Alastor had a habit of answering her.

Lucifer didn’t realize how closely he was listening until the moment Alastor’s eyes flicked toward him—just for a second. A brief, in distinctly glance.

And then, without missing a beat, he turned back to Charlie and answered her question.

Lucifer inhaled slowly as he watched while continued eating.

Maybe—just maybe—he was going to learn something new today.

“I was taught to cook by my mother” Alastor admitted, stirring the pot in front of him with practiced ease, the soft clatter of utensils filling the kitchen “Started when I was just three years old.”

Lucifer paused mid-bite, processing the words with mild surprise. So early? He hadn’t expected that. Not that he had spent much time pondering Alastor’s past, but something about the answer felt—unexpected.

Charlie gasped, her enthusiasm apparent as she leaned closer, her wide eyes filled with genuine fascination “Three years old?! That’s adorable! Oh! You must’ve been a little prodigy even back then, right? I bet you made the perfect dish on your first try.”

Alastor let out a sharp, amused laugh, shaking his head. His shoulders relaxed slightly, his grin stretching wide, but there was a warmth to it “Oh-ho, quite the contrary, my dear! I burned it terribly, and it tasted horrendous” he chuckled again, eyes glinting with something far-off, distant, but not unpleasant “I believe my poor mother had to pretend it was edible just to spare my delicate little ego.”

Charlie giggled, her hands clasped together as she listened, clearly delighted by the revelation “I refuse to believe that you’ve ever made bad food! You’re too good at this!”

Alastor hummed, his grin unwavering “Ah, but talent is not an instant gift! It took me years to become proficient—hours upon hours of trial and error, countless attempts to replicate the very essence of my mother’s cooking” he tapped his fingers idly against the counter, voice lowering slightly as if lost in thought “I remember watching her, studying every movement, every technique, trying so desperately to match the perfection I saw in her hands” his grin softened just a fraction, his tone holding an echo of unspoken “And one day… I did” he hummed “And even here in hell, I kept practicing.”

Lucifer stared, his expression faint as he processed what he had just heard.

The conversation was simple. Casual, even. And yet—it carried weight.

Lucifer leaned back slightly, arms crossed as he continued listening, his meal nearly forgotten on the plate before him. What had started as idle conversation had turned into something else entirely—an impromptu lesson, a quiet revelation embedded in Alastor’s words as he spoke to Charlie, voice carrying that usual theatrical delight, yet beneath it… it was real.

Charlie, ever eager, had latched onto the conversation with unyielding enthusiasm, her curiosity boundless as she pressed further “So, even after you—you know—died, you kept practicing? You already knew how to cook, though. Why didn’t you just… I don’t know, stop?”

Alastor chuckled, the warmth in his laughter evident, not mocking, not patronizing—genuine. He thought for a second before replying, his voice holding the weight of experience rather than simple arrogance “Oh, my dear, stopping would have been dreadfully dull! Besides, perfection is never truly reached, is it? There is always something to improve, always some finer detail to refine” his grin stretched, eyes glinting as he gestured slightly with the spoon in his hand “Even in death, I found the joy of progress—the satisfaction of mastering what I once struggled with.”

Charlie tilted her head, watching him with inquisitive eyes “So you just… kept going? Even when you didn’t need to?”

Alastor hummed, nodding smoothly “Indeed! Cooking, drawing, writing, even playing instruments! Why, my dear, I was nowhere near as skilled back then as I am today. Do you think I simply woke up one day capable of flawless execution in all things?” he laughed, shaking his head “No, no, no! It took decades—right here in Hell—of constant practice! Over and over and over again. I failed, I improved, I learned” his grin softened, just a fraction, almost fondness slipping beneath his usual theatrics “It is the work, dear Charlie, that makes one skilled—not just the talent.”

Lucifer stiffened slightly at the words, his thoughts shifting, piecing something together that he hadn’t considered before.

Alastor wasn’t born talented.

He wasn’t some prodigy, wasn’t some creature blessed with natural perfection. No, he worked—over and over again, tirelessly repeating his efforts, pushing himself toward what he believed was mastery. And even when he reached mastery, he still refined it, still ensured he wouldn’t falter, still kept himself sharp. He hadn’t simply been gifted with competence—he had built it, constructed it with relentless effort, shaping himself into the version of perfection he chased.

That was why he was good at everything. Not because he had been born that way. But because he made himself become that way.

It was—Lucifer hated admitting it—annoyingly inspiring.

From a fucking serial killer, of all things.

Charlie beamed at Alastor’s explanation, clearly absorbing every word “That’s really incredible, Al! I mean, seriously! That kind of dedication is amazing!”

Alastor chuckled, waving a hand dismissively “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, but truly—it is simply the way of those who seek more than mediocrity!”

Lucifer scoffed under his breath, picking up his fork again, though his thoughts still lingered.

He had underestimated Alastor.

Shocker.

Lucifer continued to listen, his mind already burdened with far too many observations about Alastor that he hadn't anticipated making. But Charlie, ever eager, ever hopeful, had begun speaking again, this time with a different tone in her voice—hesitation, uncertainty, a flicker of nerves that made her pause before she spoke.

“Al, do you remember when you first came to the hotel?” her fingers fidgeted against the countertop, her determined gaze now shaded with quietness and thoughtfulness “I asked you if you believed sinners could be redeemed, and you said no.”

Lucifer could see the way she glanced toward Alastor, her expression searching, trying to gauge how he would react to the topic resurfacing. It was something Charlie believed in, something she fought for, yet standing here now, she seemed—uncertain. Not in her conviction, but in her place in this conversation, in how Alastor might respond this time.

“But even if we think differently about it” Charlie continued, her tone careful, thoughtful “You wouldn’t have a problem if I still followed your ideology in working hard, right? If I kept pushing, kept trying—if I kept working as hard as I could until redemption was possible?” her voice softened, almost hesitant “Even though you don’t believe it?”

Lucifer felt something shift in the atmosphere.

Alastor had been stirring the pot absentmindedly, his expression faded, but at Charlie’s words, he paused. His gaze flicked toward her, holding steady, observing. He hummed lightly, the sound soft—not dismissive, not mocking, but more considered.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“My dear Charlie, I do believe sinners deserve Hell” Alastor admitted smoothly, his voice carrying no hesitation “These are the consequences of our actions—the price we pay for the lives we led” he smiled, but there was a weight beneath it, calculated “And I have accepted mine entirely. I do not seek redemption, nor do I desire it. I do not feel guilt for the choices I have made, and Hell suits me just fine.”

Lucifer watched him closely now, waiting, because Alastor could have left it there. Could have dismissed the thought entirely, could have laughed off Charlie’s words and let the conversation die. But instead, Alastor tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting ever so subtly.

“But that does not mean I wouldn’t like to see you prove me wrong” Alastor continued, his voice carrying something Lucifer couldn’t immediately place “You see, I know what it feels like to have the world tell you no. To have everyone sneer at your dreams, scoff at your efforts, dismiss your ambitions as impossible” his grin twitched, sharp but holding some quieter beneath it, not often seen in his carefully curated demeanor “And there is no greater joy than proving them wrong.”

Charlie’s expression brightened slightly, her eyes widening with quiet hope as she absorbed his words.

“If anyone could do it” Alastor mused, his voice lilting with its usual hilarity yet carrying an undertone of pride in the sentiment “It would be you.”

Lucifer remained silent, watching, observing, absorbing.

Alastor hadn’t changed his stance, hadn’t backed down from his belief, yet somehow—somehow—he had still given Charlie something real. And Lucifer didn’t know what to think about that.

Lucifer sat watching as Alastor methodically boxed up the meal with the same irritating precision he applied to everything else. Charlie had left moments ago, off to work on her pamphlets with Vaggie, leaving the room quieter—less animated but no less charged. The conversation lingered in Lucifer’s mind, the words Alastor had so easily spoken resting heavily in the silence. He had avoided commenting while Charlie was present, had kept his thoughts to himself as she engaged in her optimistic musings, but now, with no one else around, he had no reason to hold back.

And yet, as he sat there, something stirred in his memory—from weeks ago, an overheard conversation, a fleeting remark that had embedded itself deep in his thoughts. He remembered Vaggie, standing stiffly, arms crossed, her expression sharp with skepticism as she had spoken to Alastor directly. He hadn’t paid full attention at the time, hadn’t cared to involve himself in their exchange, but one phrase had stuck with him nonetheless.

"You only came here because you wanted to see us fail."

That was what she had said to him. Flatly. Accusingly.

And Alastor—smug as ever, brimming with that grating delight—had merely chuckled, unbothered, untouched by the weight of her words. He hadn’t denied it. Hadn’t refuted the claim. If anything, he had leaned into it, entertained by the idea of watching sinners try—watching them struggle, watching them break beneath the weight of the impossible.

So, of course he would say something like this.

Of course he would frame Charlie’s efforts as entertaining.

"You were serious about that, weren’t you?" his voice was low, sharp but lacking its usual venom, a genuine inquiry laced with skepticism. He wasn’t looking at Alastor directly, choosing instead to casually lean back on the chair, eyes focused elsewhere, feigning mild disinterest despite the weight behind the question.

Alastor didn’t stop his movements, still carefully packing away food, but his grin twitched just slightly "Why wouldn’t I be?" his tone was smooth, almost amused, but there was no mockery this time, only simple certainty.

Lucifer scoffed, shaking his head, forcing himself out of his thoughts "Right. Because it would be entertaining, wouldn’t it?"

Alastor paused only briefly before he responded, his grin widening, eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Why wouldn’t it be?" Alastor answered smoothly, his voice carrying that infuriatingly light cheerfulness, the same tone he always used when speaking as if nothing in the world could possibly bother him.

Lucifer scoffed, crossing his arms "Do you take nothing seriously?"

Alastor let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly, tapping his fingers idly against the counter as if the conversation was nothing more than idle chatter between old friends "Ah, but my dear King" he mused, tone slipping effortlessly back into that aggravating smoothness "If you find offense in my amusement, that sounds like a you problem" he turned slightly then, crimson eyes gleaming as he flashed Lucifer a sharper grin "Besides, how could it not be entertaining? If dear Charlie succeeds, if she proves me wrong, then she proves Heaven wrong too. And tell me, Lucifer, what kind of fool wouldn’t enjoy watching that?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes "So that’s it? This is a game to you?"

Alastor let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly "Oh, no, no, no, my dear Lucifer. Not a game—an idea. And ideas are dangerous, aren’t they?" his grin stretched wider, more knowing, his voice dipping just slightly "Because while I may not be delicate about the matter, I do find merit in the thought—just for the simple fact that you exist."

Lucifer stiffened, his jaw tightening for just a fraction of a second, his composure barely faltering—just enough that Alastor noticed. His expression didn’t change, but his fingers curled slightly against his arm, his body responding to the words before his mind had a chance to shove them aside.

Alastor’s voice lowered, the enjoyment never leaving but now edged with sharpness, and intentional "If you could fall, then simple logic dictates that something could rise" he tilted his head, eyes gleaming with quiet calculation "An idea so simple, so obvious… and yet? It has the power to break mindsets. Reshape perspectives. Challenge everything" he chuckled softly "And tell me, dear King—how is that not entertaining?"

Lucifer exhaled slowly, keeping his expression carefully neutral despite the irritation creeping up his spine. His fingers curled tighter against his arm, his mind circling around the weight of what had just been said, dissecting it, pulling it apart, considering the implications despite himself.

Fall and rise.

His gaze flickered toward Alastor once more, observing him carefully, watching the way he held himself, the easy confidence, the unshakable merriment.

"If redemption turns out to be possible" he started, slow and measured "Why wouldn’t you take the opportunity to go to Heaven?" he narrowed his eyes, watching him closely "You say you’re happy here, but wouldn’t anyone want the chance to escape to paradise?"

"Your Majesty, everything I could ever want is already here in Hell" he gestured vaguely, as though the mere idea of seeking anything beyond this realm was absurd "The thought of restraining myself, of dulling my personality, of becoming something small enough to fit within Heaven’s rigid little framework—why, that would be Hell itself!"

Lucifer scoffed, looking away from the sinner, yet Alastor’s words lingered.

Alastor continued, eyes glinting with satisfaction, as though this was a truth he had long since settled for himself "Free Will, Lucifer. It is everything. The ability to shape oneself, to act without permission, to create rather than conform" he chuckled, shaking his head slightly "How could I ever give that up?"

Lucifer opened his mouth, ready to counter, but the next words that came out of Alastor’s mouth nearly sent him into a spiral.

"Tell me, dear King" Alastor mused, tilting his head slightly, the sharp joy still present but now wrapped around a deliberated tone "Has anyone ever thanked you for giving humans Free Will?"

The words struck like a dagger to the chest.

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his mind darkening instantly, sinking into something old and buried, something raw. For millennia, for eons, his name had been spat like venom from the lips of angels, of humanity, of Heaven itself. His fall had been branded with condemnation, his actions twisted into villainy, his rebellion against control written in history as nothing more than an act of sin. Evil. Betrayal. The destruction of purity. The corruption of mankind.

His fingers curled slightly, his jaw tightening, his composure nearly slipping "No" the word came out quieter than intended, edged with something dangerously close to trembling.

Alastor observed him for a moment, his expression not entirely unreadable, yet difficult to place. He kept his tone neutral, perfectly balanced, not overly sympathetic, not mockingly amused—just steady. And then, he spoke.

"Then allow me to be the first" he said, voice smooth but carrying realness that stopped Lucifer entirely.

"Thank you."

Lucifer froze.

Because Alastor sounded genuine.

No mockery. No playful twist. No underlying snare waiting to catch him in another game.

Just… genuine.

The sinner flashed a grin, ever unclear, and gave a swift, casual, knowing farewell "A pleasure as always, Lucifer."

And then, just like that, he was gone.

Lucifer remained seated, unmoving, staring blankly at the kitchen counter as his mind reeled, spinning in directions he didn’t want it to go. Lucifer was alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with those words.

Thank you.

He almost scoffed out loud at the absurdity of it. How ridiculous—how laughable—that he, Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, was sitting here, thrown into a spiral because of something Alastor had said. Not just anything—those words, those simple, insignificant words that should have meant nothing. And yet—somehow—they did.

No one had ever thanked him before. Not once. Not in eons, not in the entirety of human existence, not in the endless cycles of history and myth that had painted him as a villain, a corrupter, a figure of sin and defiance. His actions had never been seen as righteous, never acknowledged as a gift, never regarded as anything other than evil. He had given humanity choice, had given them the power to carve their own paths, to create their own futures, to act beyond the constraints of predestination—and for that, he had been condemned. Cast down. Despised.

And now, here he was, being thanked—for the first time ever.

And it had come from the most infuriating sinner he had ever met.

He clenched his jaw, willing the ridiculous sensation in his chest to go away. He shouldn’t be affected. Shouldn’t feel anything from this. Shouldn’t sit here, locked in a battle against the sudden, inexplicable urge to—to what? Cry? Laugh? Throw something? He wasn’t even sure.

Alastor really was annoying.

Annoyingly charming. Annoyingly pretty. Annoyingly—

Lucifer exhaled sharply, forcing himself to shift in his seat, as if movement might shake the thoughts free. Because if he stopped to think about it, if he let go of the persistent paranoia that had kept him analyzing Alastor’s every move, then…

Then what?

Then he would have to admit that Alastor had been nice.

Not just tolerable, not just entertaining, not just infuriatingly competent—nice.

And that thought was somehow more unsettling than everything else.

He scowled at nothing and stood abruptly, shaking off the lingering weight in his chest. This was stupid. He refused to dwell on it. And yet—despite himself—he knew this moment would linger far longer than he wanted.

And he hated that.

He hated that more than anything else.

Notes:

Ahhh yes, finally, Lucifer has accepted the fact that Alastor is too pretty but he is not yet in the stage of admitting himself there is attraction there. Lying to yourself is not the best choice, Luci:p and yes, my Alastor has eyeliner, he is such a pretty deer!

For the record. Lucifer was not the only one that placed a preservation spell on the drawing, Alastor also did the same, and is being kept safe in a special place filled with Lucifer’s stuff that he has been collecting (if you think fallen feathers are there, you would be correct). I would love to know what things you think Alastor has in his little shrine of Lucifer hahaha

Thank you for reading!
TikTok: sasuwux

Chapter 3

Notes:

Hello everyone! Welcome to chapter number three!

I just want to take a moment to say how much I appreciate all your lovely comments! It truly means a lot that you’re interested in the deeper context and background of this story. While it’s only six chapters, I have so many ideas and notes saved on my computer that expand on the world, the characters, and the events/things I haven’t posted but hope to share in future works set in this universe.
For example, I have two different ways in which I want to portray Alastor as an eldritch being. In this story, I’ve only explored one version, while the other, where he can consume holy power, will be a major focus in my next work. This piece serves as an introduction, just a glimpse into Lucifer’s perspective over a six-month timeline. There are countless interactions between Lucifer and Alastor that I didn’t include, moments that shaped their dynamic but remain unwritten for now.

I wish I could expand this into a full-length fanfic, but I know myself, I’d constantly get new ideas or feel the urge to add details that wouldn’t fit if the story followed a strict, linear structure. Instead, I want to explore different points in the timeline without being bound to a continuous narrative.

I asked for your thoughts on what Alastor might have in his little shrine, and honestly, so many of you had the same ideas I did! But one suggestion caught me completely off guard, something I totally overlooked. It was one of those moments where I thought "Uh, duh, how did I not think of that?"

Alastor would absolutely have a collection of things from Lucifer, and for good reason. Serial killers tend to collect trophies from their victims, and Lucifer is, well… technically his victim. Or rather, his future victim (for love, of course). But the pattern is still there, his obsession, his need to have something from Lucifer, to claim a piece of him, like the little creep that he is.

Honestly, it fits too well.

Here is the list of things I imagine Alastor has of Lucifer:
1. Lucifer's feathers.
2. A rubber duck.
3. A doll of Lucifer that he made.
4. The portrait Lucifer made.
5. Strands of Lucifer's hair.
6. Lucifer's notes (anything that contains Lucifer's handwriting).
7. A book from Lucifer's collection (this one makes sense in this chapter you're about to read:p).
8. A recording of Lucifer's laughter.
9. Pens/pencils that Lucifer has absently bitten while thinking.
10. A bowtie of Lucifer (thank you for this suggestion EnergeticEccentricism).

Enjoy this chapter<3

CHAPTER THREE | SO ALASTOR TALKS TO HIMSELF… GOOD TO KNOW HE WAS NOT ALONE IN THAT DEPARTMENT

So, Alastor talked to himself. Good to know Lucifer wasn’t alone in that department.

Alright. Maybe—just maybe—he had it wrong. Maybe Alastor wasn’t actually out to get him, wasn’t scheming in the shadows to manipulate Charlie, wasn’t carving out some elaborate con to overthrow everything Lucifer had built. Maybe he was just here. For entertainment. Because he found something fun in all of this ridiculousness—the chaos of the hotel, the absurdity of sinners trying to be better, the strange, dysfunctional little family Charlie had created. Maybe, just maybe, he actually liked these sinners. Maybe he wasn’t playing them, wasn’t twisting his way into their trust with some hidden agenda, but genuinely enjoyed their presence.

When Lucifer came to this realization—when he accepted it—he wanted to punch himself directly in the face.

Because ugh. The mere idea of Alastor being nice was atrocious. Unnatural. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it. And yet… thinking of Alastor as his kind of not-really-but-maybe-actually-semi-friend wasn’t that crazy to think about.

Because the truth was—Lucifer didn’t have friends. Not anymore. Once upon a time, before everything collapsed around him, he had spent his time with the Sins, had entertained himself with their excesses, had indulged in their vices, had allowed himself to be present. But then his marriage with Lilith crumbled—divorce, the aftermath, the mess of emotions he refused to fully process. Depression had settled in like a second skin, wrapping around him so tightly that for decades, he simply hadn’t wanted to be around anyone. Hadn’t wanted to entertain the idea of companionship. Hadn’t wanted to engage in anything outside the walls he had built for himself.

And now? Now that he was starting to flourish again—awkwardly, unevenly, but still—of course, it had to be Alastor that he latched onto.

It didn’t matter that they fought constantly, didn’t matter that their banter was never-ending, didn’t matter that they still irritated each other beyond reason. Even after months—three months, maybe more—since Lucifer’s initial stay at the hotel, even when he had found a functional dynamic with the others, even when his relationship with Charlie was finally progressing—it was still Alastor he spent the most time with. Because there was something about that damn deer, undeniable, pulling, that made Lucifer gravitate toward him, that made every conversation with him feel alive.

Or—how should he describe it?

Every interaction with Alastor forced Lucifer into some extreme emotion. Annoyance, anger, wonder, joy, amusement. Nothing was simple, nothing was neutral. It was always something, always sharp, always pulling him into reactions that were far too strong for his liking. Passion might be the perfect word for it, except—except that word implied something else in his mind.

Something that frustrated him more than anything.

Because Lucifer had already resigned himself to the unfortunate fact that Alastor was, objectively, the prettiest thing in existence.

Fucking hell.

That was already bad enough, already an irritating truth he couldn’t shake, that kept clawing at the edges of his thoughts when he really didn’t want them there. He did not need to start having thoughts about him in a more sentimental way—did not need to acknowledge any possibility beyond that, did not need to entertain the idea that his willpower was slipping, his thoughts wandering, his irritation shifting into something else entirely.

No.

Lucifer was fine.

He was totally in control.

And if he repeated that enough times, maybe—just maybe—he could convince himself it was still true.

Lucifer had learned by now that being around Alastor meant expecting the unexpected.

There was something unnerving about him, not referring that eldritch thing of his, subtly unnatural in the way he existed, always so hyperaware, always perfectly poised, as if not a single detail in his surroundings ever escaped his attention. And yet—sometimes—when he was alone, or when he thought he was alone, Lucifer would catch glimpses of something else. Alastor would go still, eyes unfocused, staring at something beyond sight, beyond perception, and his ears—those damn fluffy things—would twitch, shifting as if listening to a sound only he could hear.

At first, Lucifer hadn’t thought much of it. It wasn’t unusual to drift away into one’s thoughts—to let the mind wander, to detach for a moment of silence. Hell, he did it too, sitting alone in his room, staring into the abyss of his own memories, letting himself be swallowed by thoughts far older than most could comprehend. But then—the weird part started happening.

Alastor spoke.

Not loudly. Not with the usual confidence and theatrical flourish that made his voice carry through rooms with ease. No—he whispered, lips moving as he muttered words into the air, rolling his eyes as if responding to something—someone—that wasn’t there.

What the hell?

The first time Lucifer noticed, he didn’t hesitate to call him out, demanding answers in sharp, direct questions "Who are you talking to? What the hell are you doing?"

But, of course, of course, Alastor—infuriating as ever—simply waved him off with that irritatingly casual grin, dismissing it with a smooth, effortless response "Oh, my dear Lucifer, I’m simply thinking out loud!"

Like hell he was.

Thinking out loud was not carrying an entire conversation with seemingly nothing, pausing at specific moments as if expecting a response. Thinking out loud was not rolling your eyes at a comment no one else heard, was not having a tone that suggested genuine interaction. Lucifer knew what thinking out loud looked like—he did it himself, pacing in solitude, muttering grievances and contemplations under his breath when he was alone. That wasn’t this.

Alastor wasn’t talking to himself.

He was talking to something else.

He really thought at first that Alastor was talking to that... that which must not be named because he was not going to acknowledge it at all, it was for the best, he did not need to worry about that thing that could eat him, well... Alastor could eat him too, technically, but that was not the point. The point was that at first he thought Alastor was communicating with it but he wasn't, which instantly relieved him. 

It wasn’t until Lucifer decided to mask his presence—to truly watch without being watched—that he saw it. He rarely ever unleashed his full power, knew better than to let it spill freely, knew that the intensity of his being was too much for most creatures to handle. The same way his true form could melt the eyes of the unprepared, his presence, if left unrestrained, could warp reality in ways even he didn’t fully care to explore. So he kept it masked, controlled, suppressed to protect others—even if they would never realize it.

But when he chose to let himself see—to stretch his senses beyond their usual limits, past the veil of ordinary perception—he understood something fundamental about reality.

The universe was alive.

His Father had made it that way. It wasn’t just stars, wasn’t just matter, wasn’t just vast expanses of physics and time. It breathed. It shifted. It had an awareness—a sentience, subtle but undeniable. Lucifer had seen it firsthand, had helped in the shaping of existence, had stood at the precipice of creation and understood what it meant to be part of something boundless and endless.

And that was when he finally noticed.

While Lucifer could see the universe…

Alastor could hear it.

And Alastor’s universe was not silent.

Lucifer had always believed himself to be the pinnacle of perception. He could see the universe in a way no ordinary being could, his sight extending beyond the limits of the physical realm, witnessing the intricate weave of reality itself. The stars, the galaxies, the flow of cosmic energy—they were all visible to him, all pieces in the vast puzzle of existence. But now, as he observed Alastor, he realized something unsettling.

Alastor didn’t see the fabric of existence—he heard it.

His connection to sound waves, to frequencies beyond comprehension, was not simply a skill or a trick. It was something more. Lucifer watched him closely now, seeing the way Alastor’s ever-present radio waves seemed to intertwine with the very breath of the cosmos, tuning into something beyond ordinary perception. His presence resonated—unheard whispers threading through the very air he occupied, weaving into something vast and infinite.

The bastard could hear eternity itself.

And that—more than anything—made Lucifer pause.

It was the second time, he had a confirmation about Alastor just being more. The incident in the 'bayou', he hated to even think about, had been the first confirmation that Alastor hadn’t lied about his durability, about surviving Adam’s attack, about enduring something that should have killed him. Alastor was something beyond a simple sinner. Even if Lucifer couldn’t feel it emanating from him, couldn’t sense that fundamental difference within his being, the truth remained undeniable. 

Lucifer could see the stars—brilliant, ancient, burning. But Alastor? Alastor could hear their dying songs.

The whispers of black holes collapsing inward, the final gasps of suns bleeding out into the void, the distant hum of existence itself unraveling and reforming in an endless cycle. It was not meant for mortal ears. Not even for celestial ones. And yet, Alastor basked in it, tuned in as if he belonged to it—as if he were born to listen to the cosmos, a vessel through which eternity whispered its secrets.

For the second time, Lucifer, so sure in his dominion, so secure in his sight, knew—there were things in this universe he would never perceive. Things only Alastor could understand.

The first, that disgusting so called bayou which was nothing more than an alluring trap for someone like him and yet—it thrived thanks to Alastor's will, thanks to that little crack in the poor universe. The second, being this power of hearing the universe, that he was sure had nothing to do with his stay in it during those seven years.

His Father, of course, could see and hear all that he created. But Lucifer—he had only ever seen it. Now, for the second time, he stood as a witness to something entirely different. A creature who heard what Lucifer could not. And it frustrated him—not because he felt threatened, not because he was afraid, all of those feelings he experienced during his first interaction with it. No, this time it frustrated him because he wanted to know.

He wanted to ask Alastor. To demand answers. To hear him describe what existed beyond Lucifer’s perception. What did he hear?

Lucifer felt a rare, burning curiosity that had nothing to do with power, nothing to do with control. This was something new—an uncharted discovery, something only Alastor could provide. Charlie had inherited his tendency to question everything, and now, Lucifer felt that same relentless need rise within him. He wanted to ask—wanted to understand.

And beyond that curiosity, beyond the desire for knowledge, there was another thought that lingered at the edges of his mind. A realization that crawled into his chest and settled there, quietly, patiently.

Lucifer had been alone for so long.

Existing in a way no one else could understand. Seeing what no one else could comprehend.

But now?

Now, he had proof that someone else might understand.

Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so lonely anymore.

If Alastor was in the same boat as him.

***

Lucifer wandered through the hotel, moving with no particular urgency, finding himself drawn toward one of the rooms he had originally created on a whim—a small library, tucked away from the bustle, barely touched by anyone aside from himself.

Or, as he had recently discovered, Alastor.

He hadn't expected the sinner to take much interest in the library, yet here they were—months into his stay, and somehow, this room had become one of the few spaces used exclusively by them. No one else frequented it, no one else lingered here for long, as if some unspoken agreement had made this place theirs alone.

Lucifer stepped through the entrance, eyes sweeping over the shelves, scanning the spines of books he had chosen mostly at random, a collection spanning millennia of knowledge. But what caught his attention was something new.

Some of the shelves had shifted.

There were books here that weren’t his.

Alastor had added to the collection.

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed slightly, not in annoyance, but in curiosity. The deer had been inspecting the books earlier, carefully placing his own among them, integrating them seamlessly into the existing arrangement. It wasn’t done thoughtlessly—there was an odd sort of precision in how they sat on the shelves, as if Alastor had deliberately crafted a space where his selections could blend in without disruption.

Lucifer allowed himself a small exhale, shaking off the surprise before his attention shifted.

Alastor sat in one of the chairs now, a book resting on his lap. At first glance, Lucifer assumed he was reading, absorbed in whatever absurd text he had chosen for the evening. But as he stepped closer, his assumptions faltered.

Alastor’s eyes were closed.

His ears twitched ever so slightly, shifting with an unseen rhythm, reacting to something Lucifer couldn’t perceive.

It took him only a second to realize—he was listening again.

Hearing the universe, sinking into the frequencies beyond comprehension, tuning himself into the very breath of existence. And Lucifer—who was always noticed by Alastor, whose presence was impossible to ignore—stood there, unseen, unheard.

Alastor hadn’t even realized he was in the room.

How loud must it be?

Lucifer remained where he stood, unmoving, arms crossed as he leaned against the bookshelf, watching Alastor with a quiet patience that was rare for him. The sinner hadn’t noticed him yet, too deeply immersed in whatever unearthly frequency he had tuned into, his expression oddly serene, his posture relaxed in a way that was never present when he was around others. His fingers rested lightly on the open pages of the book in his lap, unmoving, forgotten in favor of whatever played for his ears alone.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Alastor finally stirred, his ears twitching, his expression shifting slightly as awareness crept back into his features. Then, slowly, those red eyes opened—and the moment he saw Lucifer standing there, watching him with far too much scrutiny, his grin flickered into place like clockwork.

“Your Majesty! You do love to sneak up on me, don’t you?” his voice carried its usual amusement, the teasing lilt as effortlessly charming as ever, but there was a fraction of something else beneath it—surprise, maybe even hesitation, quickly masked behind his theatrics.

Lucifer didn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady, measured, watching the way Alastor adjusted himself in the chair, shifting as though preparing for whatever interrogation was coming next. He exhaled slowly before he finally spoke.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Alastor blinked, tilting his head just slightly, his grin unwavering but his posture not entirely relaxed “Oh? Whatever do you mean?”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes slightly, pushing away from the bookshelf and taking a single step forward, closer now, close enough to catch every subtle shift in Alastor’s demeanor “You can perceive the universe” he stated, voice even, lacking his usual bite, lacking any playful mockery “Through sound. Through your radio waves.”

Something flickered across Alastor’s expression—brief, fleeting, gone before Lucifer could fully catch it. But it had been there.

Lucifer inhaled slowly, allowing a brief moment of hesitation before continuing, his words softer this time, lacking any of his usual arrogance “I can sense it too” he admitted, voice carrying an unfamiliar weight, quiet, almost—shy “But my way is through sight.”

Alastor remained still, his grin frozen in place, his eyes sharp—too sharp, studying Lucifer now with the same intensity Lucifer had used to observe him.

Lucifer felt exposed.

Alastor exhaled, a quiet, measured sigh slipping past his lips, he closed the book on his lap, his fingers drumming idly against the cover of the book. It was rare for him to relent in conversation, rarer still for him to speak of things beyond the polished mask of amusement he always wore. But tonight, in the quiet hum of the library, with Lucifer watching him too intently to ignore, he chose not to deflect. Not entirely.

“When I arrived in Hell” Alastor began, his voice carrying a softness not often heard “And started learning how to use my powers, I began to hear things” he tilted his head slightly, as though listening even now, as though the frequencies whispered to him even in this moment “Not voices—not quite. More like… a sentiment. A presence” his grin didn’t waver, but there was a depth to his expression now “It didn’t speak in words, but it felt like a voice. Something distinct. Something there.”

Lucifer remained silent, watching the way Alastor’s fingers idly traced the edges of the book cover, his movements slow, unhurried, as though recalling something not just distant, but intimate.

“It communicated with me over the years” Alastor continued, his tone still light, still carrying that ever-present delight, yet beneath it—a foundation of realness at the sentiment he felt for the universe “Simply because it was lonely.”

Lucifer’s fingers twitched.

Lonely.

The universe—the very fabric of existence—felt lonely.

Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head, eyes flickering toward Lucifer as if gauging his reaction “For the first time… in a very long time, its existence felt heard” he leaned back slightly, exhaling again, this time a bit more dramatically, his grin curling just a fraction wider, lighter now, almost fond “You know what’s funny? Sometimes, it behaves like a child.”

Lucifer stiffened slightly at that, brows furrowing just barely as the words settled over him.

A child.

The universe—vast, eternal, endless—sometimes behaved like a child.

The thought crawled under his skin, foreign, absurd, strange. And yet—it made sense.

Lucifer inhaled slowly, his mind turning over the words, dissecting the implications, feeling something he didn’t quite have the name for yet. He hadn’t considered the possibility before—the idea that the universe could want something, that it could seek connection in its vast, eternal silence. He had always believed it to be indifferent, merely existing, moving in the way it had been designed, shifting, expanding, collapsing without emotion. It had never once occurred to him that it might desire to be understood.

But Alastor had understood it.

And now Lucifer was left with the nagging realization that he hadn’t.

He exhaled, rubbing a thumb against his wrist as he finally spoke, his voice lower “I never thought about that before” he admitted, gaze distant, focused on nothing in particular “That the universe would want something. I always saw it as something that simply was. Unmoving in its purpose, existing because it was designed to” he shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief at himself “I’ve seen it for as long as I can remember. I can sense its movements, its energy, the way it folds and shifts, but I never once thought it might want to be acknowledged.”

His voice dropped just a fraction, quieter now, his words carrying weight he hadn’t realized was there until they left his lips “It’s different for me. My perception” he glanced at Alastor then, watching him closely, measuring his reaction before continuing “I can see it. The universe, its flow, every atom that constructs existence—I can see it all. My celestial power allows it, grants me sight beyond what any mortal could comprehend” he paused, fingers tightening slightly against his palm, hesitating before continuing “But I never use it fully. Never let it manifest in its truest form. Because it would hurt them.”

There was no need to explain who them was. Mortals, demons, sinners—anyone who wasn’t designed to withstand something so vast, so immense, so real. His true essence wasn’t meant for this world, wasn’t meant to be seen without consequence. He had spent millennia suppressing it, muting his existence to avoid destruction, dimming himself until he was nothing more than a fraction of what he was supposed to be. He had been hiding. Always.

He dragged a hand down his face, the admission heavier than expected “I mask everything” he said, voice edged with a sentiment that showed how tired he was “To protect them. To keep my presence from affecting things I don’t intend to. I always have.”

Alastor, who had been listening with a rare sense of calm, finally interrupted—not with his usual amusement, not with teasing or dramatics, but with a much different tone entirely.

“Oh, Lucifer” he mused, his grin curling in an unreadable expression “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lucifer blinked, thrown off for just a second before Alastor continued, his tone smooth, steady, carrying that effortless ease that always made his words sound infuriatingly sure.

“I can hear your frequency” Alastor admitted, tapping his fingers lightly against the book still resting in his lap “Even through your mask” he tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining playful, yet his voice lacked the usual exaggeration—it was real “You hide well, truly—but I can hear it. The sound beneath the surface. The one you think no one else can perceive.”

Lucifer tensed slightly, his fingers twitching against his arm, ready to deflect, ready to twist the conversation before it settled into something dangerous. But before he could speak, before he could regain his footing, before he could control the moment, Alastor pressed forward.

Without shame. Without hesitation.

“It’s beautiful.”

Lucifer felt his breath hitch, felt a sharpness slice through his chest, felt the warmth creeping up his neck before he could shove it away.

Alastor leaned back slightly, as casual as ever, yet his words held an honesty Lucifer wasn’t prepared for “The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard” he admitted, as if it were nothing, as if it were a simple truth, as if it weren’t the single most overwhelming thing Lucifer had ever been told in his existence.

His sound? His essence?

Lucifer had been complimented before. His appearance, his presence, his power—those were things beings had admired, praised, feared. He had heard words spun in flattery, had seen the way mortals bent beneath his aura, had felt the weight of reverence from creatures who had tried to grasp something greater. But this?

This was new.

His frequency. His existence itself.

And it had come from Alastor—the most annoyingly pretty sinner in the universe.

Lucifer stuttered.

He stuttered. Like some flustered, ridiculous idiot struck speechless by something so stupidly genuine that he almost passed out. His fingers curled into fists, his throat tightened, his mind screamed at him to do anything to escape the ridiculous, unbearable emotion rising in his chest.

This was too much.

He needed to leave.

Immediately.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, his movements stiff, abrupt, barely controlled as he spun on his heel, bolting for the door without another word.

He would deal with this later.

Or never.

Preferably never.

Alastor let out a delighted laugh as Lucifer disappeared down the hall, his amused chuckle lingering in the air like a victorious echo.

Lucifer was never going to hear the end of this.

And that made everything so much worse.

Notes:

Alastor going from a simple "thank you" to "the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard"? Yeah, Lucifer totally fell in love at that point, because seriously, what kind of smoothness was that? Damn. Alastor is pulling out all the moves, and at this rate, he’s getting impatient with Lucifer not catching on.

I know you caught that 'bayou incident' and how there was no explanation for it. The incident will be the first chapter of the next work. It will explain what 'IT' is and why Lucifer hates IT. Honestly, if you think about, Alastor having a bayou doesn't make sense because sinners can't create life...right?... So, Alastor having animals and plants that are alive??? Are they truly alive or what the hell? Like did he created this? Did he summoned this? If he did, how? He just doesn't make sense in that regard, which is why I can exploit that concept in the eldritch thematic!!!

Now, onto the second way I want to portray Alastor as an eldritch being, his ability to hear the universe speak through the waves, tuning into frequencies that no one else can perceive. The idea of being able to hear the universe itself feels so unreal, so beyond comprehension, that I think it fits perfectly with the eldritch theme. Not necessarily in the classic horror sense, but in a way that highlights how otherworldly this power is, something entirely unique to him.

And if we’re making it eldritch, why not go all in? Imagine Alastor weaponizing this ability, forcing someone to hear the frequency of existence itself, a sound so overwhelming, so incomprehensible, that it kills them instantly. Just like how someone would die from seeing Lucifer’s true form, anyone else would perish from hearing the voice of reality itself. So yeah… let’s weaponize this too, wooooo!

Another concept I’ve always loved is the idea of the universe acting like a child, which I’m actually using alongside Alastor’s ability in my other fanfic. If the universe were sentient, it makes sense that it wouldn’t behave like some ancient, omniscient entity. No matter how old it is, a childish nature feels more reasonable, like it’s just an observer, unable to truly interact with others, which stunts its development. It’s a starved child craving attention, but no one can give it to it, because there’s only one universe, and nothing else truly understands it, leaving it isolated, alone, unable to grow.

Maybe it’s a weird take, but honestly, I love this concept... it just fits.

Also, for more background. It was the universe that guided Alastor to that crack, it was the universe's way of saving Alastor because he had gotten hurt in his fight with the Vees, seven years ago. Since it almost lost the only being that was capable of communicating with, its version of helping was sending Alastor through the crack so he would be more 'durable' and wouldn't be so fragile. Sweet thing.

How about I just ask questions in each chapter for some interaction hahaha
Today's questions. If you follow along with the concept of the universe being a childish entity. What do you think it asks of Alastor? What kind of things do they talk about? Since I implied that Alastor is fond of the universe, do you think they have nicknames for each other?

Thank you for reading, and for sharing in my excitement!
TikTok: sasuwux

Chapter 4

Notes:

Hello, my lovely readers!

Thank you so much for your comments and continued interest in the story, it truly warms my heart every time.

I love that so many of us seem to agree that the nicknames Alastor would use for the universe would naturally be in French or Creole. And yes, the nicknames I’ve chosen (which will be revealed in the next work!) are in French. The universe actually has two nicknames for Alastor, and Alastor himself has a sweet nickname for Lucifer in Creole.

Now, as for this chapter, yes, you finally get a taste of why the tag “Jealous Lucifer” exists! Wooo! We love ourselves a possessive angel moment.

And of course... Vox makes an appearance here as well. Well, he is just mentioned:p I’m really curious to read what you all think of my take on Alastor and Vox’s dynamic.

Hope you enjoy the chapter!

CHAPTER FOUR | ALASTOR IS MORE SENTIMENTAL THAN HE LETS ON… UNFORTUNATELY, WITH THE WORST PEOPLE

Alastor was more sentimental than he let on. Unfortunately, it was with the worst people.

And Lucifer—Lucifer was in love with him.

It wasn’t gradual. It wasn’t some slow burn that had taken months to creep up on him. No—it had slammed into him like divine wrath, like an unforgiving truth he couldn’t outrun. It had happened the moment that damn sinner had called his sound beautiful. Not his appearance, not his presence, not his influence—his essence. His frequency. He had called it the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, had said it with effortless honesty, had struck Lucifer so deeply that he had practically swooned like an idiot.

And honestly, who wouldn’t fall in love with someone after being told that?

An idiot, that’s who. And was Lucifer Morningstar an idiot? No. He wasn’t.

Well… maybe he was.

But not in this matter.

Had he had a breakdown when realization struck him? Yes.

Had he got over it in a day? No.

Had he avoided Alastor like the plague for an entire week? Absolutely.

Had he apologized when he realized that his avoidance had genuinely upset the bellhop? Regrettably, yes.

Had he made a customized rubber duck for Alastor as an apology? Don’t ask.

Had he continued hiding his feelings even after that? Obviously.

And now here he was—Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, hopelessly in love with the most annoyingly charming demon in existence.

It was pathetic.

It had made him clingier than usual, though he prayed Alastor wouldn’t notice the change. He couldn’t take a rejection—not from him. Not when the mere thought of losing the closeness they had now sent an ache through his chest that he didn’t even want to name. No—he would pretend. Pretend that nothing had shifted. Pretend they were just friends. Forever.

Because anything else? That was dangerous.

He had overheard Angel Dust mention it once—that Alastor wasn’t interested in relationships. He had thrown out a term Lucifer couldn’t quite recall, but the sentiment had stuck. Relationships weren’t his thing. He wasn’t interested.

And Lucifer… Lucifer could accept that.

Or at least, he thought he could.

Until jealousy reared its ugly head.

Oh—he had forgotten how that felt. That possessiveness, that sharp, cutting anger directed not at Alastor, but at the poor fool who had gotten too close, who had dared to linger where Lucifer had claimed.

Except, he hadn’t claimed him. He had no right to feel this way.

And yet—he did.

And that—that was a problem.

And how did this come to pass?

The conversation had been flowing easily, as it always did between him and Alastor, their banter carrying the usual rhythm—sharp remarks, occasional laughter, the constant push and pull of their personalities clashing in the most entertaining way. Lucifer had grown accustomed to it, had even started to find comfort in the way Alastor’s presence filled the space around him.

Then, the doors swung open with force, breaking the moment entirely.

Angel Dust strode into the hotel, frantic energy pouring off him like static, his movements rushed, purposeful. His sharp eyes locked onto Alastor almost immediately, his usual playful swagger replaced by something rigid, something urgent.

“Al, I need to talk to you. Now.”

Alastor barely flicked a glance in his direction, dismissive as ever, waving a hand like the request was hardly worth entertaining “Oh-ho, Angel, dear! Whatever it is, it can wait!”

Angel’s jaw tightened, his body tensed, but he didn’t back down “No, it can’t. This is serious.”

Lucifer could see it then—the irritation creeping into Alastor’s expression, the way his grin twitched just slightly at the edges, the faintest sign of exasperation as he huffed “Really, must it always be dramatics with you?”

Angel barely spared a second before cutting him off.

“It’s about Vox.”

The moment the name left Angel’s mouth, Alastor paused.

Lucifer saw it immediately—the way his grin froze, how the air around him seemed to shift, how something tightened in his posture, subtle but undeniably there.

Alastor turned to Lucifer then, his gaze sharp, his usual playfulness held back for the first time “Give me a moment, Your Majesty, won’t you?”

Lucifer didn’t have time to respond before Alastor turned on his heel and walked off, Angel following closely behind, pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly flipping through something on the screen.

Lucifer remained where he stood, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched them disappear into the other room.

What the hell was that?

Vox.

The name sat heavy in his mind, a thread of intrigue settling in his thoughts.

Alastor never reacted like that.

And now, Lucifer was left standing in the lobby, watching the door they had disappeared through, irritation sparking in his chest.

Because for the first time in a long time—Alastor had walked away from him.

And Lucifer hated the way that felt.

Lucifer sat in the lobby, arms folded, fingers tapping idly against his sleeve as he waited. He wasn’t sure how long had passed since Alastor had disappeared into the other room with Angel, but the longer he lingered here, the more his curiosity burned. He had expected Alastor to brush whatever this was off with his usual casual amusement, to let Angel ramble about whatever nonsense had sent him into a frenzy before lazily dismissing him with a wave of his hand. That was how Alastor operated, after all—always unfazed, always in control, always carrying himself with an unbothered ease.

But something felt… off.

He could hear it now, faint but distinct—the sharp edge in Alastor’s voice, raised just enough to be noticeable, just enough to betray something heavier beneath his words. Then, the air shifted.

Lucifer stiffened.

Power rolled through the walls, rippling outward, pressing into the space around him with an unmistakable force. The very foundation of the hotel seemed to shudder for a brief, unsettling moment, not enough to cause damage, but enough. Enough for Lucifer to feel it. Enough for him to realize that Alastor wasn’t merely irritated—he was angry.

And Lucifer had never seen Alastor angry.

The doors burst open before he could process that thought further, and there Alastor stood, his usual grin pulled taut, his movements sharp, deliberate, carrying a weight that was normally absent from his body language. Angel followed closely behind, his expression twisted in something between guilt and worry, hands gripping his arms as he shifted uncomfortably under Alastor’s now-rigid demeanor.

“I—” Angel started, but Alastor cut him off instantly.

“Enough, Angel” his voice carried authority. Not theatrical dramatics. Not playful condescension. Real authority, the kind that left no room for argument, no space for deflection. He turned to him fully now, his eyes gleaming with something Lucifer couldn’t quite place “Go to Husker. Explain everything.”

Angel’s shoulders tensed slightly “Al—”

“Tell him I am ordering him to watch you” Alastor continued, tone unwavering, sharp “Just in case.”

Angel exhaled, nodding reluctantly, expression still laced with regret “Right. Okay.”

Lucifer, who had sat in stunned silence through this entire exchange, finally narrowed his eyes, pushing away from his seat, stepping forward “What the hell is going on?”

Alastor barely spared him a glance, adjusting his coat with quick, frustrated movements, already making his way toward the door “Something that requires immediate attention, Sire.”

That was all he said.

No playful flourish. No teasing remark. No sarcastic dismissal.

Just that.

And then… he was gone.

Lucifer stood frozen for a moment, staring at the space Alastor had occupied just seconds ago, his fingers tightening at his sides.

This wasn’t normal.

Alastor never moved with urgency like that.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, shaking off the unease creeping into his thoughts, but the weight of that moment—of the shift in Alastor’s demeanor, of the anger he had seen in his expression—lingered far longer than he liked.

Something was happening.

Something big.

And Lucifer definitely knew he wasn’t going to like it.

Lucifer turned sharply, his gaze locking onto Angel Dust the moment Alastor disappeared beyond the hotel doors. The tension still hung in the air, thick and heavy, the weight of whatever had just happened settling uncomfortably into his bones. Alastor had been angry—truly, visibly angry—something Lucifer had never seen before, that had shifted the entire atmosphere of the hotel in an instant. And Lucifer hated not knowing why.

His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his voice edged with authority “Angel.”

Angel flinched slightly but didn’t move, his fingers tapping anxiously against his arm, his entire body stiff in a way that was unusual for him. He wasn’t fidgeting out of nervous energy—he was tense in a way that suggested he was hiding something.

“What the hell was that?” Lucifer pressed, stepping forward, his presence towering, demanding “What happened? Why is he so pissed?”

Angel sighed, rolling his eyes but failing to look as relaxed as he usually did “Listen, I—”

“Don’t stall me” Lucifer’s voice dropped just slightly, not quite threatening, but commanding “I want answers.”

Angel huffed, his fingers tightening around his arms, glancing toward the door Alastor had stormed out of “It’s… complicated.”

Lucifer scoffed, his patience wearing thin “Complicated? Everything with that damn deer is complicated. I don’t care—tell me.”

Angel groaned loudly, throwing his hands up “Shit, man, I really don’t want to be the one to say it. He’s already pissed at me!”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, stepping even closer, his posture shifting just slightly—more imposing, more demanding “Angel” his voice dipped, carrying the weight of his title now “I am the King of Hell. If this involves anything serious, I need to know.”

Angel sucked in a breath, his entire body tensing at Lucifer’s words, frustration clear on his face “You just had to pull the King card, huh?”

Lucifer didn’t answer.

Angel clicked his tongue, shaking his head in defeat “Smiles is going to kill me if I tell you.”

Lucifer exhaled sharply “Then let me worry about that. I’ll take the full blame if he finds out.”

Angel looked at him for a long moment, his face contorted with uncertainty, his mind clearly weighing the consequences. Then, finally, he sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

“Fine” he muttered “But when Alastor loses his damn mind over this, I’m throwing you under the bus.”

Lucifer smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Angel exhaled heavily, shaking his head once more, then straightened.

“Alright, listen carefully—because this is a whole mess.”

Lucifer did.

The room had been too small for the tension inside it.

Angel had stood in front of Alastor, flipping through his phone as he spoke fast, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to explain “Look, man—I got something to show you, alright?”

With a quick movement, he pulled up a video and held the screen out toward Alastor.

The moment those familiar images flickered to life, Alastor’s grin stiffened.

The recording played—the fight against Adam. Every movement, every burst of power, every moment that should have been lost to time, now captured in crisp footage. Vox had this.

Angel could see the shift in Alastor’s expression. The amusement faded, his eyes darkened, his fingers twitching just slightly.

“Where did you get this?” Alastor’s voice had dropped, still maintaining its casual flow, but now carrying something beneath it—a warning.

Angel exhaled, bracing himself “Stole it.”

Alastor’s gaze snapped to him.

Angel didn’t stop “Had to. Vox had it, and you know that bastard would’ve used it against you eventually. Val was practically bragging about it.”

Alastor remained still—too still.

Angel pressed forward “Deleted it. Gone. Right off his computer.”

A moment of silence. A second that stretched too long.

Then—Alastor took a step forward.

And everything shifted.

“You sneaked into his quarters?” Alastor’s voice was lighter now, sharper, carrying the kind of amusement that wasn’t genuine. The kind that was edged with warning, it was brewing beneath the surface.

Angel hesitated but there was no point lying now “Yeah.”

Alastor laughed, sharp, dangerous, completely lacking in humor.

“You idiot” Alastor spat, his usual playful lilt absent, his voice sharp, cutting, the amusement gone “Sneaking into Vox’s quarters—you risked everything!”

Angel winced, hands raising slightly as if to shield himself, even though Alastor wasn’t touching him. But he didn’t need to—his words alone felt like they could crush him “Listen, Al—”

“No” Alastor cut him off, his voice dipping into a far more dangerous tone “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Angel hesitated—he thought he did, but the way Alastor was acting, the way his energy crackled through the room like static on a wire, made him doubt just how bad this really was.

“I—deleted it, okay? It’s gone. Poof!” he forced a grin, weak, desperate to inject some levity into the suffocating atmosphere “No harm, no foul, right?”

Alastor laughed—except it wasn’t really a laugh. It was sharp, edged with something ugly, coldness “No harm?” his eyes gleamed, burning, his grin twisting into a cruel form “Do you truly believe Vox won’t notice?”

Angel swallowed. Shit.

“I—I mean, he could—but like—he might not, you know? I was careful—”

“Careful?” Alastor snapped, stepping forward, each movement precise, controlled—but just barely “Vox knows. He will retaliate. And do you know what that means?”

Angel swallowed, his throat dry, his pulse pounding. He knew. Of course he knew. Vox wasn’t just some random Overlord—he was calculated, strategic, dangerous. And now? Now he would want retribution.

And worst of all—Valentino worked with him.

Angel’s stomach twisted.

Alastor exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, frustrated beyond words “This isn’t just your problem now” he seethed “You’ve forced me into it. I protect this hotel, and that means you—so congratulations, Angel, you’ve successfully ensured my direct involvement.”

Angel cringed “I didn’t mean to—”

“That doesn’t matter” Alastor hissed, his voice tight “What matters now is fixing it before it gets worse.”

Angel bit his lip, his fingers twitching at his sides, his usual confidence buried under layers of guilt “I—I’m sorry, okay?”

Alastor stared at him for a moment—then sighed, shaking his head. The frustration in his body didn’t leave, but he shoved it down, pressing it into something more controlled. Alastor didn’t wait for anything else—he turned, storming toward the door, his posture sharp, his energy pulsing outward.

Back in the present, Angel exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple as he finished explaining everything to Lucifer.

Lucifer stood in front of him, silent, absorbing every word, his expression unreadable.

Angel clicked his tongue, shaking his head “And that, buddy, is why he’s mad.”

Lucifer let the weight of the explanation settle over him, his mind working through the implications, his fingers curling slightly at his sides.

***

Alastor didn’t come back until two in the fucking morning.

Lucifer had waited.

He had debated going directly to handle the issue himself—to confront that insufferable, static-faced bastard and end this nonsense before it spiraled any further. But he knew better. As satisfying as it would have been to personally put Vox in his place, it would only make things worse—for Alastor. That damn radio demon had built a reputation, a legacy of influence in Hell, and if Lucifer barged into an Overlord dispute, it wouldn’t just reflect poorly on him—it would reflect on Alastor, too. And that? That was something Lucifer wouldn’t let happen.

And then there was Charlie.

If things turned violent—if this escalated into something deadly—it wouldn’t be Lucifer or Alastor paying the price. It would be her. It would be the hotel she was painstakingly building, the vision she was fighting for, the fragile hope she clung to. This place had momentum now, a reputation of its own beginning to take form. The last thing Lucifer needed was a scandal tainting its foundation.

So, he waited.

Time was supposed to be meaningless to him. That was the lie he had told himself for centuries—an eternity spent drifting through existence, unbothered by the passage of seconds, minutes, years. But now? Now—time wasn’t meaningless. It was tangible. It was slow. It was painful. Every passing second was felt, stretched out and drenched in anticipation. Because now—now he was tied to them. To Charlie. To this goddamn deer. And waiting suddenly felt too long.

It was the second time he had stood here—stationed in the hallway, waiting for Alastor to answer for something. Only, this time was different. This time, Lucifer wasn’t here because he was suspicious. He wasn’t demanding explanations out of paranoia. This time—he was worried.

Progress.

And yet, the answers he sought only made his concern worse.

Vox was more than an annoyance—that much was clear. He wasn’t just some rival or petty nuisance in Alastor’s way. No—there was something bigger, deeper, dangerous.

And Lucifer had wanted to understand, had gone searching for those answers himself.

He had asked Husk. He had asked Niffty. He had tried to pry the details out, had pulled rank, had invoked his title, had demanded an explanation with all the weight of the King of Hell behind his words.

And still—they wouldn’t talk.

Not even Husk had cracked, not even Niffty with her usual eagerness to chatter about everything.

They had firmly stated that they wouldn’t discuss Alastor’s relationship with Vox. No matter what. Not unless they had strict permission from him.

Lucifer clenched his jaw.

The way they had said it—the way they had phrased it—had set something off inside him.

Relationship.

The way it sounded—the way they had refused to say more—it felt… too personal.

More intimate than it should have been.

Maybe it was just paranoia.

No.

It was definitely paranoia.

But Lucifer had spent ages honing his instincts—had perfected the art of reading people, of seeing what others couldn’t. And everything about this—the way Alastor had reacted, the defensiveness from Husk and Niffty—was wrong.

It was something Lucifer had never seen from any of them.

And every single reaction—every single unexplained piece of this mess—was connected to Vox.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, his fingers curling against his arms.

That bittersweet feeling churned inside him, growing heavier, sharper. Was this jealousy? From what? He had no context, no solid reason to feel this way—just fragments, just vibes, just his own damn instincts whispering something he couldn’t rationalize. How stupid. How absurd. And yet—there it was, sinking into his gut like an anchor he couldn’t pull free.

He hated it.

It wasn’t about Vox—not really. It wasn’t even about the history between them, whatever the hell that was. It was about Alastor. About Lucifer wanting—needing—to be the one who ignited those extreme reactions out of him, the one who made Alastor pause, made him tense, made him feel. He didn’t want to see Alastor walk away—to turn away from him—when he had always had his attention. And that was it, wasn’t it?

He wanted Alastor’s attention.

To always be focused on him.

To never let it shift onto someone else.

Had he always been this possessive? He thought back to Lilith—to the thousands of years spent tangled in that failed marriage, and no, he hadn’t been like this then. Not this bad. Had time warped him? Had all those years of solitude twisted something in his mind? Maybe. Maybe he had been alone for too long, and now that he had someone—really had someone—he feared losing them.

The thought sent a sharp, ugly feeling through his chest, like a raw wound being pressed too hard.

The mere idea of Alastor one day turning away, growing bored, distant, leaving Lucifer in silence, in emptiness—he couldn’t think about that. He wouldn’t think about that. It would set him off. It would send him spiraling.

Lucifer exhaled, forcing control back into himself. He needed to be careful now, needed to tread lightly. If he wanted answers—if he wanted the truth about whatever the hell had happened—he couldn’t press too hard. He couldn’t let his emotions slip through, couldn’t let Alastor see. He had to be cool, collected, sharp.

He couldn’t let Alastor realize just how much this mattered to him.

Just how much he mattered to him.

He pushed himself up from where he had been waiting, straightening as his gaze flickered toward the staircase.

And then—finally—Alastor appeared.

Lucifer almost hesitated.

Alastor wasn’t tired in the physical sense. That permanent grin was still intact, his sharp attire still pristine, his movements still fluid. But Lucifer saw it. Saw the weight in his gaze, the exhaustion lurking just beneath the surface, the kind of weariness that wasn’t just from a long day—it was something deeper.

Lucifer almost let him walk past.

Almost.

But he needed to know.

And that meant—whether Alastor wanted to deal with him or not—Lucifer was about to make his night even worse.

"I know about the video" Lucifer blurted out.

So much for calmness and coolness, Lucifer.

Alastor paused for a fraction of a second—just a fraction—before his grin twitched, amusement carefully measured "Oh?"

"Vox had footage of your fight with Adam" Lucifer continued, gaze unwavering "I know that’s why you left."

Alastor’s expression was smooth, unimpressed, but Lucifer saw it—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his eyes sharpened for just a moment before he regained his usual composure "And where, pray tell, did you learn such fascinating details?"

Lucifer smirked slightly, tilting his head "You already know who told me."

Alastor sighed, shaking his head slightly and unbothered "Angel. Of course."

Lucifer took a step forward, watching him carefully "So what did you do?"

Alastor exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his features before smoothing out again, his grin stretching just a fraction wider "Oh, My King, must you always pry?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well" Alastor mused “If you must know, Vox has been sufficiently reminded of his place! And Valentino, well—he proved to be slightly more troublesome, but in the end, quite cooperative!"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, arms crossing over his chest "And what does that mean, exactly?"

Alastor chuckled, adjusting his coat, his confidence slipping effortlessly into place again "It means that Vox’s broadcasting privileges remain entirely at my discretion."

Lucifer blinked, his thoughts stalling for just a moment "You—" his words cut off as realization settled "You threatened to cut him off."

Alastor’s laughter was light, effortless, carrying the same unsettling ease as always "Why, Lucifer, of course! You do realize television cannot exist without radio, don’t you? Vox’s empire runs because I allow it."

Lucifer inhaled slowly, turning the thought over in his mind, feeling something shift deep in his chest. It made sense. Disturbingly so. Alastor had power—real power—and yet, he had never fully exerted it until now.

"And Valentino?"

Alastor’s grin stretched wider "Ah, well! He was somewhat more resistant, but ultimately, his cooperation was secured! And as an added bonus, dear Angel is now free from his previous ownership!"

Lucifer stiffened, the words settling like weight in his mind "You got Angel’s soul back?!"

"Indeed!" Alastor nodded, voice smooth, almost pleased with himself "Though I have yet to decide what to do with it."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, feeling a slow frustration creep into his thoughts "You don’t plan on keeping it?"

Alastor laughed, shaking his head "Really? What would I do with his soul? I have no need for such things. Maybe I should simply give it back" Alastor hummed lightly, his grin never fading "After all, if a certain angel is to be believed, perhaps dear Angel having his soul will assist in his journey toward redemption."

Lucifer stiffened, inhaling slowly, his mind working through the implications.

Alastor had fixed everything.

Blackmailed Vox and Valentino. Gotten Angel’s soul back. Reinforced his influence over Hell itself. And yet—Lucifer felt it. Something lingering. Something unspoken.

And then, finally, he asked "Why didn’t you kill them?"

Alastor paused.

Just for a second.

Then—he smiled, a fraction softer than before, but no less unreadable "Oh, my dear, and here I thought I would be praised for abstaining myself from committing murder. How could I dare to taint Charlie’s project with my extracurriculars?"

Lucifer didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t let the conversation slip away "You’ve killed for less."

Alastor laughed—but this time, there was something off about it.

Lucifer waited.

And Alastor didn’t answer. Not really. And hat was more telling than anything else. Lucifer hated when Alastor did this. Because when he avoided a question entirely? It meant the answer mattered too much.

Alastor was smooth—too smooth—slipping into his usual demeanor, letting the conversation slide into something shallow, dismissive, effortless as always "Vox is far more entertaining alive than dead, Your Majesty" he quipped lightly, as if the entire topic wasn’t worth the energy, as if Lucifer should simply accept that and move on.

Lucifer didn’t move on.

He barely waited for Alastor to maneuver around him before following directly into his room, steps deliberate, calculated, his posture rigid with unspoken frustration "What kind of answer is that?"

Alastor chuckled, shaking his head as he opened the door, stepping inside with all the ease in the world "Must you always concern yourself with my affairs?"

Lucifer didn’t hesitate—didn’t let the door close between them "I don’t buy it" he stated, voice sharp, edged with something bitter "You could destroy him. His influence, his entire empire—you could wipe it out, erase his medium, cut him off completely. And yet? You didn’t."

Alastor exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against the edge of his desk as he had stood next to it, irritation flickering through his features before smoothing back out "Because it isn't necessary, dear! Vox poses no true threat—he’s merely a nuisance, nothing more!"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, watching him carefully, every calculated movement, every deflection "That doesn’t make sense" he said, voice lower now, heavier, pressing the words into the space between them like a challenge "Logically, you would have eliminated him entirely. Yet here you are, letting him keep his power. Letting him exist."

Alastor let out an exaggerated sigh, his irritation barely contained now, though his grin stayed intact "My King, really, this is not an issue you need to concern yourself with" he turned slightly, his movements sharper now, quicker, as though hoping Lucifer would drop it, would let it die "This is my matter to handle, and it is already resolved!"

Lucifer didn’t let it die.

Because something inside him wasn’t letting it die.

It churned inside him, twisting, burning—jealousy, resentment, something sharp pressing against his ribs that he didn’t want to name.

"Maybe I do need to concern myself with it" Lucifer bit out, bitterness threading through his words now, laced with something uglier than he wanted to acknowledge "Since you don’t seem to be taking it seriously."

Alastor snapped.

His cane slammed against the floor with a force that sent a shockwave through the room, rattling the furniture, making the walls pulse with his rage. His energy crackled through the space, distorting the air for a brief second before pulling back, controlled, barely restrained.

"You do not know what you are talking about!" his voice was sharp, cutting, carrying a weight Lucifer had never heard from him before "Stay out of this!"

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, his own power stirring beneath his skin, his presence pressing into the room now, tension building like a second pulse between them "No" he said, his voice unwavering, steady, despite the way his chest burned "I won’t."

"Lucifer, must you always dig where there is nothing to find?" Alastor’s voice curled around each word, sharp, condescending, deliberately mocking, forcing the weight of his amusement in a way that didn’t feel playful anymore "Really—this concern, this determination to involve yourself in matters that do not require your attention—it’s quite pathetic coming from you, dear King."

Lucifer stiffened, his jaw clenching slightly, the words hitting harder than he wanted to admit, irritation flaring beneath his skin "Don’t do that" he warned, voice steady, unwavering, cutting through the static energy that had begun to hum faintly in the room "Don’t play me like I’m some fool who doesn’t see what’s happening."

Alastor laughed again, more exaggerated this time, more forced, the kind of mockery meant to provoke, meant to hurt "Oh, Sire, please! What exactly do you think is happening here? Do entertain me—what is it that you assume?"

Lucifer inhaled sharply "You might be compromised."

The amusement died.

It didn’t fade—it didn’t soften into something neutral—it simply ceased to exist entirely.

Alastor’s grin didn’t vanish, but his expression was suddenly unreadable, his posture unnaturally still, his eyes locked onto Lucifer with what wasn’t anger anymore.

Lucifer pressed forward "There’s history there" he stated, voice firm, measured, unwavering, pressing into the space between them like a blade slipping just beneath the skin "Something that’s keeping you from acting the way you normally would. You would have killed him. You could have erased his influence completely. But you didn’t."

He took a breath, steadying himself, then added—softer now, but just as firm, just as certain "You can tell me" he said, voice lower now, measured, carrying honesty "Whatever this is, whatever is keeping you from doing what you should have done—I’ll listen."

Alastor stared at Lucifer, unmoving, gaze unreadable, the tension between them stretching longer than Lucifer had anticipated. The seconds passed, and Lucifer refused to speak first, refused to shift, refused to back down. He had pressed too far to let silence win now.

Then, finally, Alastor exhaled, muttering something under his breath, something almost begrudgingly amused, his fingers twitching "How annoying you are, my dear" he murmured, his voice carrying an exasperated lilt "Standing there looking so eagerly honest. How could I possibly say no?"

Lucifer didn’t respond. He just waited.

Alastor sighed again—more dramatic this time, more exaggerated, as if it were some great inconvenience to relay the truth. But after a moment, his grin shifted—still present, still in place, but smaller now. More measured. Less theatrical.

"Vox and I were friends once" Alastor started, voice slipping into something smoother, quieter, as if he were recounting a story rather than reliving a burden "For decades. A long, long time" he tilted his head slightly, fingers tapping idly against his cane "And for a while, it was good. Great, even."

Lucifer felt the faint sting of familiarity settle in his chest—the kind of nostalgia that lingered when recalling something that was almost perfect before it fell apart. Oh, he definitely knew that feeling.

"And then" Alastor continued, his voice carrying a hint of sharperness "He wanted more" his fingers stilled, and his gaze flickered toward Lucifer, holding something that was far too aware "And I, well—" he gestured lightly, shrugging "Couldn’t give that to him."

Lucifer swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly.

Alastor continued, his tone carefully composed, as if each word had been carefully selected before he spoke it "He didn’t take it well" a pause "Didn’t take it at all, really" his gaze darkened, amusement thinning into bitterness as he could recall the memories "And instead of letting it go, instead of taking my offer to remain friends, he let that anger take over."

Lucifer could already see where this was going.

He inhaled slowly, but didn’t interrupt.

"And well—" Alastor smiled—tight now, brief, strained, but still holding its usual sharpness "That led to our fight!"

Lucifer hated how casual he made it sound.

How lightly he glossed over what had actually happened, how much weight he refused to acknowledge. It was visible to him that Alastor had skipped something very important just before him and Vox had a fight. Something had happened between the rejection and the fight.

He was not going to entertain whatever disgusting idea was starting to crawl into his mind. Not unless he had more context or Alastor could straight up tell him.

Lucifer clenched his teeth slightly "And yet you still wouldn’t kill him now" his voice was quieter now, but edged, cutting, laced with something angrier than he wanted it to be “Even after… it’s obvious that he did something else to you that I know you’re not telling me. But still… even after all these years, you did not bring yourself to kill him.”

Alastor’s grin twitched "No. I didn’t."

Lucifer inhaled sharply, hating the answer.

But after a brief pause, Alastor’s grin curved just slightly, softer now, without its usual performative exaggeration "But that does not mean I would ever let him become a problem" his tone was firm, reassuring "If it came down to it—if it were a choice between this hotel, between Charlie, between you and the others—or Vox…"

Lucifer didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Alastor exhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly as though shaking off the weight of the conversation "Then the answer is obvious, isn’t it?" his voice was light again, but not dismissive, not avoiding—just simply stating "There is nothing to worry about, Lucifer. Not truly."

It sucked. It sucked that Alastor was this sentimental with people who absolutely did not deserve it. Vox had thrown away years—decades—of friendship, had tossed aside what they had simply because he couldn’t handle rejection. Alastor had offered him continued companionship, had given him the chance to keep what they had, and Vox had ruined it himself.

And yet—Alastor still couldn’t erase him.

Lucifer’s fingers curled into fists, the irritation boiling inside him, the frustration not at Alastor, but at the situation.

Vox should feel lucky.

Because Lucifer wanted nothing more than to rip him apart right now.

Despite the anger, despite the frustration burning in his chest, despite the irritation sitting heavy in his mind—Lucifer felt something else, sharp, he definitely didn’t want to think about.

Because wasn’t he in a similar position?

Lucifer was in love with Alastor.

And yet—they were friends.

And Lucifer didn’t know what would happen if he confessed, didn’t know if he’d ruin what they had, didn’t know if he’d drive him away.

But he knew—if Alastor still offered friendship, still wanted him around—he would gladly take it.

Because it would mean he was still in his life.

And wasn’t that enough?

Wasn’t it supposed to be enough?

Notes:

And I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

As always, here I am, ready to ramble and offer more context because I love doing that. :p

First: Lucifer misheard Angel. What Lucifer thought he heard was that Alastor wasn't interested in relationships at all, when Angel actually meant Alastor wasn't into sexual relationships. Misunderstandings at their finest, don’t you just love it? :D

Second: There was a brief flashback from Angel’s perspective in this chapter. I included it to give you all a better sense of the situation, since relying only on Lucifer’s reaction wouldn’t be enough. Naturally, Alastor wouldn’t explain anything directly to Lucifer, especially when it involves Vox. He gets a little… evasive.

Third: I get that Angel’s decision might seem a bit unbelievable, yeah, it was kind of a reckless move. But considering he was still with Valentino at the time, and just happened to be at Vox’s tower rather than the studio (we’re rolling with that, okay?), he probably wasn’t fully coherent. Possibly drugged, and just acting on instinct to protect someone he cared about. So... yeah. That’s my justification, hahaha.

Fourth: Alastor actually moves the bayou for Lucifer’s comfort every time he comes to his room. I debated including a mention of this here, but the focus of the conversation was on Vox, so it didn’t quite fit, even as a little aside.

And now, the fifth thing... which, warning, is very long.
So! About how I view Alastor and Vox in this little universe: they were best friends. Deeply similar in ambition and a hunger for more, they clicked easily. Vox, in my version, was someone who latched onto Alastor from the moment he arrived in Hell. Alastor was the first to see him, to acknowledge him. Naturally, Vox began to imitate Alastor, sometimes as flattery, sometimes as an attempt to be seen more. At first, it was innocent. But eventually, it spiraled. Vox, after all, had once been a cult leader in life, with an unhinged craving to get what he wanted. And what he wanted here was Alastor. Alastor didn’t return those feelings. He offered friendship, but that wasn’t enough for Vox. In this version of events, Vox tried to drug Alastor right before their falling out. That’s what triggered the violent confrontation and ultimately led Alastor to disappear for seven years.

For how I characterize Alastor: I imagine him as someone who feels too much. That may sound strange, but I think, even canonically, he’s someone who takes everything personally, deeply, even if he doesn’t show it. That sensitivity fuels his intensity. In this story, he’s an emotional extremist: if he loves you, chooses you, you have his loyalty. He’ll do anything for those he claims as his. Even the unthinkable. Murder? Easy. He justifies it with this overwhelming sense of personal justice. As a serial killer who disposes of society’s “garbage”, and not because it’s his job, but because he feels so strongly. Even when the offense has nothing to do with him, he takes it on emotionally and acts, driven by righteous indignation.

So why doesn’t Alastor just kill Vox? Because, at the core of it all, he still cares. Despite everything, Vox was once “his.” That kind of emotional attachment doesn’t just vanish, not after fifty years of friendship. Even betrayal doesn’t erase the gravity of shared memories. Alastor’s logic tells him to get rid of Vox. He knows it’s the most strategic thing to do. And Alastor is a strategist, cold, methodical, detached when needed. But not when it comes to this. He can’t make the final cut. And he hates that this is one of his weaknesses. Caring too deeply for the wrong person can, and will, backfire on him. It’s tragic. It’s human. It’s like someone in a relationship who’s been betrayed in a way that objectively warrants walking away… but they stay. Because the love, the history, the hope of what once was outweighs the pain. It’s not healthy, but it’s painfully real.

And finally, something I hope was already clear, but just in case, I want to make it explicit:
When I wrote that Lucifer is in a similar position to Vox, I want to be 100% clear: Lucifer would never do anything like Vox. He would never force himself on Alastor or do anything manipulative or harmful. That distinction should be obvious. What’s actually happening here is that Lucifer sees parallels where there really aren’t any. His self-esteem makes him spiral into thinking: “What if Alastor sees me the way he sees Vox? What if he thinks I’m a threat or a burden?” He’s scared that if Alastor even suspects a comparison, he’ll push Lucifer away completely. It’s not rational, but that's the point. We, of course, know that’s not the case. That’s just Lucifer's paranoia and sadness talking.

Anyway, that’s all for now!
See you in the next chapter. No questions this time, but as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. <3

Thank you for reading!
TikTok: sasuwux

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hello everyone!

I will keep it short this time...

I'm Gen-Z.

That's it.

Enjoy!!! (￣y▽￣)╭ Ohohoho.....

CHAPTER FIVE | HE IS SURE ALASTOR KNOWS MODERN SLANG BUT PRETENDS NOT TO KNOW

Lucifer was convinced Alastor knew modern slang but pretended not to.

Because there was no way—no possible way—someone as sharp, as perceptive, as deeply attuned to the shifting undercurrents of Hell could be that oblivious. No—Alastor knew and was simply choosing to feign ignorance, likely for his own amusement, likely just to watch people squirm in frustration when he deliberately misinterpreted something completely obvious.

It was infuriating.

And Lucifer would willingly hand over his soul to Alastor if he asked for it at this point.

He was too deep. There was no salvaging this, no clawing his way back to neutral ground, no pretending his attachment wasn’t festering into something far too obvious, far too consuming. How many times had he nearly let the words ‘I love you’ slip? How many times had he swallowed them back, forced them down, bitten his tongue as Alastor waved him off, flashing that ever-present grin, parting with his usual goodbye or see you later before disappearing through the doors? It was dangerous, the way Lucifer almost said it.

Every time.

Every single time Alastor smiled at him.

And Alastor always smiled.

Lucifer was doomed.

He was proud to say his jealousy had gotten better.

That was a bold fucking lie.

He was pretty sure it had gotten worse.

Every single time that fucking television-faced bastard came up in conversation, every time Vox resurfaced in any capacity, Lucifer felt the urge to erase him from existence. Delete him entirely, atom by atom, until not even a memory remained. Because why—why was he so obsessed with Alastor’s attention? How fucking annoying was it?

As if Lucifer was going to let Vox take Alastor’s attention from him.

No—Lucifer was winning.

Every time Alastor dismissed Vox, brushed him aside, waved him off with complete indifference whenever Lucifer happened to be present, it was a victory.

So, fuck you, screen-faced bitch. Lucifer was staying on top.

But where he wasn’t winning—where he was losing, constantly, miserably—was the hotel.

With redemption proven real, with Pentious as undeniable proof, the hotel had filled with residents, with hopeful souls, with people. And Alastor—of course—was popular.

Lucifer should have expected that.

He was the prettiest demon in Hell. It was insulting when someone didn’t appreciate his aesthetic. But with that popularity came a flood of sinners—bold, obnoxious sinners—flirting, prying, pushing their way into his space with far too much confidence.

Lucifer gritted his teeth.

How about they fucking back off?

Lucifer had never wanted to smite so many people at once.

Lucifer’s major problem—aside from his overwhelming, utterly ridiculous attachment to Alastor—was that he couldn’t do shit about the unwanted attention his bellhop was receiving.

With Vox, there was some leeway. Lucifer could maneuver his influence, plant himself firmly between Alastor and that obsessive, static-faced bastard, and there was always room for a subtle—or not-so-subtle—power play. But with the residents? That was an entirely different issue. Charlie would absolutely scold him if he were to rip one of them apart just for making eyes at Alastor, and unfortunately, he wasn’t technically allowed to commit murder simply because his patience had limits.

And he hated—despised—how much worse it was when the sinner in question was a woman.

Because then, then, Alastor wouldn’t brush them off as effortlessly as he did the male sinners. No, his damn gentlemanly nature meant he would take it, letting their flirtations linger longer than necessary, never outright dismissing them, just letting them exist in his space—letting them put their hands on his arm, his shoulder, even his damn waist—and Lucifer seethed.

It wasn’t fair.

So, of course, Lucifer had perfected the art of subtly—not really—stepping between them when someone got too friendly. He expected Alastor to catch on, to eventually snap at him for being overbearing, but the damn radio demon never seemed bothered. No, he would just laugh, shift smoothly into conversation with Lucifer instead, and every single time that happened, Lucifer won.

And that? That was everything.

Now, when it came to the matter of age—both Lucifer and Alastor were undeniably the oldest souls in the hotel. Technically, Charlie was older than Alastor, but she aged differently, mentally and emotionally far younger than either of them. Well, there was also another sinner at the hotel who had been just a few years older than Alastor—five years, if he remembered correctly what the bellhop had once told him. However, since that man had died in his early twenties, while Alastor had died at forty, he decided not to count him either. So that left the King and the Radio Demon standing at the top, two beings with so many years of experience, yet frustratingly out of sync with modern ways of communication.

Lucifer at least had a cellphone.

Alastor refused to have one.

Charlie had tried to drag him into the world of social media, attempted to explain the intricacies of modern interaction, but Lucifer had little interest in putting his existence on display. What did it matter if he had multiple people to talk to? Wasn't the simplicity of sending a text or making a phone call enough? Did he need to put pictures or make statements in a platform?

No.

There was only one person he actually wanted to talk to—and Alastor was never going to send him a text. At best, he might get a call, but only if Alastor used the hotel’s landline. Well, not just that. Alastor had done something to his cellphone—something about tuning it to a specific frequency. Lucifer, being the good friend that he was—and not at all because Alastor had flashed that infuriatingly sweet smile at him—handed over his phone without complaint.

When he got it back, naturally, he asked what the deer had done to it. Alastor, with that maddening glint in his eye, simply told him it was a surprise. Wonderful. Turns out, the surprise was that Lucifer could now call Alastor directly. That little “tuning” he’d mentioned? It let their connection ride on a unique frequency Alastor had somehow manipulated—something permanent and just for them.

That was so fucking sweet of him. Ugh.

Back to the point. That man didn’t exist on the internet—he didn’t show up in cameras, he avoided televisions like they were laced with poison, and honestly? Fair. Television did scramble the brain, and considering Vox’s ever-lingering obsession, it was obvious why Alastor had developed such a deep dislike for the medium.

Vox could easily use it to spy on him.

Fucker just kept ruining everything.

In this regard, Lucifer smugly believed that he, at least, had the advantage in keeping up with modern times.

Alastor, meanwhile, remained comfortably stuck in his twenties aesthetic—or so he thought.

The new residents were recent arrivals, souls that had barely lived past their twenties before winding up in Hell, and Lucifer couldn’t help but find that utterly depressing. But beyond that—beyond the unfortunate circumstances—there was another issue: the way they spoke.

It was baffling.

Half the time, he wasn’t even convinced they were saying actual words. Their slang was foreign, unnatural, an erratic mess of modern language that felt like a cruel joke played exclusively on the older demons forced to tolerate it. But what truly unsettled him—what genuinely made him pause—was when, during one of Charlie’s seemingly endless activities, he realized that maybe—just maybe—Alastor wasn’t as old-timey as he let on.

The activity itself was something Lucifer could barely tolerate, though he didn’t know why he kept showing up for them. He loved his daughter, of course he did, but spending extended periods of time surrounded by so many voices, so much noise, was overwhelming. He wasn’t the extrovert he used to be—he had adapted to silence, to solitude, and the constant chatter of sinners hoping for redemption grated on him more than he cared to admit. But the only reason he endured it was because Alastor was always either paired with him or close by.

Alastor hated the activities too.

Lucifer had asked him once—direct, no pretense "Why do you do them if you don’t like them?”

Alastor had only grinned. That infuriating, smug grin that carried far too much knowing amusement.

Lucifer had glared at him then ‘Don’t give me that look’ he had wanted to say ‘Because I actually don’t know why you do them.’

Alastor never answered.

Lucifer had decided not to ask again.

That day’s activity had been straightforward enough—listing five things they liked about their partner and five things they disliked. Simple. Harmless.

Until Alastor spoke.

Lucifer knew he was about to regret something the moment Alastor tilted his head with that grin, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin before finally answering—completely unbothered, completely casual.

"Ah-ha, well! I don’t like it when you cook."

Lucifer had frozen.

That—was not what he had expected.

Of all things—his cooking?

Oh, really?

As if he didn’t put his heart and soul into making food for that red bastard. Maybe it wasn’t the best-looking food, maybe it wasn’t even the best-tasting food, but it was made with love, damn it!

Lucifer stared at him, seething, but Alastor only laughed, waving it off like it was nothing.

Lucifer exhaled sharply, forcing down the irrational sting to his ego, refusing to acknowledge how much that little comment annoyed him.

Fine. Fine.

Next time, he’d just burn everything and see how much Alastor appreciated that.

Ungrateful deer.

A young-looking sinner barreled into their space, practically vibrating with excitement, her energy so intense it threatened to overwhelm the entire atmosphere of the room. Lucifer barely had time to react before she was squealing, hands clasped together, eyes wide with unfiltered enthusiasm, her mouth moving so fast that Lucifer couldn’t even begin to process what was happening.

He did not recognize her, which wasn’t surprising—new arrivals flooded the hotel regularly now—but the sheer force of her personality ensured that if he ever did meet her again, he would not forget her.

"OHHHH, no fuckin’ way, fam, this is wild—like, deadass, y’all are real?!" her voice came out in an ecstatic rush, barely pausing between words, her entire body practically bouncing with excitement "I mean, obvi, Hell’s, like, totally real since I got yeeted outta my mortal coil, but, like—THE Lucifer? And Alastor?! My dudes, I’m SHOOK! This is the most iconic moment of my unlife, fr fr."

Lucifer blinked once.

Then again.

Words had been spoken—many, in rapid succession.

He understood exactly none of them.

This woman was speaking. But she was not speaking a language.

“I’m Stephanie btw…“ she continued, completely unbothered by his confusion "Bruh, I was so not ready for the whole eternal damnation vibe—like, I thought maybe I was gonna get, like, a cryptic loading screen before the afterlife, y’know? But nah, just full send into Hell, no pause, no buffer time, mad disrespectful, tbh."

Lucifer could feel his brain melting.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. What was she saying? Was she making up words? Was this modern dialect? No, because even Charlie didn’t sound like this.

Stephanie’s excitement peaked when she turned her gaze fully onto Alastor, her eyes going wide with admiration "And YOU! Omfg, you live here? I had a crime podcast, y’know, back when I was still rocking a pulse, and YOU were, like, the most insane case! The Butcher of New Orleans—literal nightmare fuel, fr, like, peak horror icon status! Your kill count? ABSOLUTELY cracked. Wild stuff, my guy. Like, ACTUAL legend vibes."

Lucifer turned his gaze sharply toward Alastor, expecting some kind of reaction, maybe even mild confusion.

Instead, the damn deer smiled, his grin stretching wide as he let out an amused hum.

"Why, my dear Stephanie, how utterly delightful it is to meet someone so enthusiastic about my work!" Alastor practically beamed, his tone smooth, playful, completely unbothered by the absolutely incomprehensible string of words that had just left her mouth "And a crime podcast, you say? Oh, how thoroughly entertaining! A whole broadcast dedicated to true crime—I must say, I appreciate such dedication to admiration!"

Lucifer stared.

He stared hard.

Alastor had just—understood—every single thing that woman had said?

Lucifer slowly dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, his entire soul reeling at the revelation "You understood that?" he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief, eyes narrowing at the radio demon "Every single word?"

Alastor chuckled lightly "Lucifer, of course! It wasn’t that difficult to follow!"

Lucifer wasn’t sure if he was impressed or deeply, deeply concerned.

Because this?

This was actual proof that Alastor was far more in tune with modern times than he ever let on.

Lucifer had to be imagining this.

There was no way—no possible way—that this bizarre, slang-spewing sinner was standing before them, openly recounting her murderous revenge story with the same enthusiasm someone might have when discussing their favorite TV show.

And yet, here they were.

Stephanie was practically buzzing with energy, arms gesturing wildly as she launched into her tale, completely unbothered by Lucifer’s growing dismay "So, like, my ex? Total piece of shit, obvi. Dude was mad abusive—like, textbook gaslighty trash tier, and y’know? I figured, I gotta do somethin’ about it. And, no cap? When I heard about you, Alastor—" she turned her glowing gaze fully onto the radio demon, hands clasped together in admiration "I was INFLUENCED. Like, bruh, inspired. You were out here yeeting these walking red flags off the mortal coil and, like? Who else was gonna do it? So I did! I totally followed your example!"

Lucifer blinked.

Alastor merely tilted his head, his grin widening with sincere amusement "Oh! How delightful!"

Stephanie continued, voice gaining momentum, words blending into one rapid mess of slang and sheer lack of filtering "I handled it, y’know? Got rid of the trash—one swift little snip-snip to the throat, easy peasy, my guy! Totally cathartic. But, uhh… plot twist—did NOT see this one coming—his side chick full-on murked me right after. Like, no hesitation, straight-up shanked me! Disrespectful as hell, tbh. So yeah! That’s the lore! Now I’m here, vibing in hell, meeting literal legends. Wild times, man."

Lucifer stared. Again. 

What the actual fuck?

He had officially entered third wheel territory, and it was starting to grate.

Alastor, on the other hand, was thriving. His hands behind his back as he let out a hum, head tilting just slightly, expression thoughtful before finally speaking "Well! I must say, my dear Stephanie, I do appreciate your enthusiasm for eliminating such undesirables! A shame about your unfortunate demise, but truly, such revenge was rightfully earned! It’s always such a tragedy when a proper cleansing of filth ends in unintended consequences!"

Stephanie beamed "Exactly, bro! You get it!"

Lucifer had had enough.

He was done.

Every second that passed, he could feel himself becoming more and more irritated, his patience rapidly thinning. This woman was not supposed to be here, invading his space, hijacking his conversation, bonding with Alastor over murder like they were discussing a shared hobby. He could not believe this was happening.

He wanted her gone.

Immediately.

Before his sanity crumbled beneath the weight of her presence.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, forcing himself to rein in the growing frustration clawing at his chest "Well" he finally muttered, voice edged with something unmistakably flat "As fascinating as this has been, I do believe we had a conversation before we were interrupted."

Alastor merely hummed, gaze flickering toward Lucifer with an unmistakable glint of amusement "Lucifer, dear, you mustn’t be rude!"

Stephanie gasped, her entire body shifting slightly, putting a hand to her chest in dramatic shock "Ayo—am I interrupting somethin’? Y’all got some vibes goin’ on!"

Lucifer gritted his teeth.

Stephanie, in all her hyperactive glory, finally took a pause, blinking rapidly before offering a wide, sheepish grin "Oh, shiii—my bad, fam! Didn’t mean to, like, totally wreck the vibes or whatever!" she barely let the apology settle before she whipped out her phone, turning her attention fully back onto Alastor, her entire demeanor shifting into something very obviously flirtatious "Anywho! Since we’re here, big guy, lemme just hit ya with the deal—ya see, back when I had, like, blood and stuff, My banging podcast was mad poppin’, crazy audience, ya feel? But now—now I’m dead, so I gotta restart my grind, y’know? And considering your history, your rep, your insane kill count—BOOM, instant viral potential! So how ‘bout it? Can I snag an interview one day? Get the deets on how to pop off in Hell’s broadcasting scene? You gotta show me the ropes!"

Lucifer felt his patience snap.

She was flirting. Boldly. Shamelessly. And Alastor—damn Alastor—was just standing there, letting it happen, looking entirely amused as she practically threw herself into his space.

Lucifer’s teeth ground together, but before he could speak, Stephanie wasn’t done.

"OH, and yo—you gotta let me take a pic! Deadass, everyone is gonna be foaming at the mouth over this! Literal legendary encounter—people will lose their minds!"

No. No. No.

"That’s not possible" he stated, voice edged, sharp, slicing through the excited atmosphere like cold steel "Alastor doesn’t appear in photos."

Stephanie blinked at him "Wait, for real?"

Lucifer exhaled sharply, irritation bubbling just beneath his skin "Yes. And he can’t appear in a podcast either. Alastor doesn’t do any of that—" his gaze flickered to the radio demon, narrowed in frustration "—he doesn’t like to appear in camera."

Stephanie completely missed the jealousy laced in his words, waving a hand dismissively "Oh, easy fix, bruh! A lotta podcasts don’t do video—it can be, like, audio only! Just a mic, just vibes, that’s all!"

Lucifer was seconds from going full devil on this woman.

And Alastor—unfair, unbothered Alastor—finally decided to step in.

"My dear Stephanie" Alastor started smoothly, tone effortless, perfectly charming as he took a single step forward with a light hum "I must say, your enthusiasm is utterly delightful! However—" his eyes gleamed, knowing, his voice dipping into something decisive and intentionally final "I never give interviews, and I always work solo" he smiled wider, wickedly pleased, carefully spinning his words just enough to redirect her excitement without outright rejection "Just as I did when I was alive—I prefer to keep such matters private!"

Stephanie, unaware she was being completely manipulated, melted under the charm, sighing dramatically as she placed a hand over her chest "Damn, okay, I get it! Lone wolf vibes, major respect!"

Lucifer inhaled, forcing himself to calm, feeling the tension finally drain as Stephanie backed down, bought entirely by Alastor’s carefully placed words.

"You are truly understanding!" Alastor praised lightly, giving her a smooth nod, making sure she felt satisfied enough to leave.

And finally—finally—Stephanie did.

Alastor simply chuckled "For a moment I thought you would kill the poor girl with your glare."

Lucifer let out a sharp exhale, running a hand down his face as he shook off the lingering frustration that the sinner had so graciously left behind "She was annoying" he muttered, still feeling the irritation simmering under his skin "Obnoxious, loud, entirely unaware of personal space—why does Hell keep letting people like her in?"

Alastor chuckled at the irony of his question, effortlessly smooth, the aftermath of their little guest clearly leaving no irritation in his mood "I must disagree! She was quite entertaining" his grin stretching in that familiar way—the kind that meant he was going to say something irritating "And you, my dear King, were equally as entertaining, I must say! Your reactions were positively adorable!"

Lucifer stiffened immediately, whipping his gaze toward him with narrowed eyes, prepared to snap at the remark—but Alastor was already moving, stepping closer in that effortlessly confident way, reaching out without hesitation.

Lucifer barely had time to react before Alastor's fingers pinched lightly at the red mark on his cheek.

"What a faithful little guard dog you are!" Alastor teased, amusement dripping from every syllable, his voice curling around the words too smoothly, too intentionally "Such ferocity! Such dedication! Why, I daresay you're quite the tiny angry dog, Ti Zétwal!"

Lucifer froze.

His mind blanked for a fraction of a second.

That nickname. That was Alastor's nickname for him. The one he had just recently started to use in front of him. In public. Ti Zétwal. Little Star.

Then—heat—his face flared, that damn uncontrollable blush rushing up before he could suppress it, before he could force it down.

His hands twitched at his sides, caught somewhere between pushing Alastor away and grabbing his wrist just to hold it there, just a moment longer, just—

Damn it.

Lucifer snapped his head away, clearing his throat aggressively as he quickly stepped back, putting space between them before he did something humiliating "Don’t— don’t do that" his voice came out more clipped than he wanted, but fine, whatever, it was better than letting Alastor know exactly how much he was unraveling.

Alastor only laughed, clearly not fooled in the slightest.

Lucifer glared at him, desperately clinging to the thread of banter to keep himself together "How the hell did you understand that woman?" his voice was sharp, pressing forward, focusing on anything else—anything that wasn't his own reactions "Since when could you decode that mess of language? You don’t even know how to text on a cellphone."

Alastor hummed lightly watching Lucifer with far too much amusement "Your Majesty, simply because I choose not to use modern devices does not mean I am unaware of them!" his grin curled wider, sharper, his posture still entirely composed "I am very aware of modern terminology, modern music, modern culture! But I simply dislike it! Truly—" his eyes gleamed, knowing, calculated "How else could I easily get away with everything unless I was knowledgeable about the things I hate the most?"

Lucifer only watched him in disbelief.

Processing.

Alastor—the demon who refused modern attachments, refused modern anything—was actually well-versed in all of it?

And simply pretended otherwise?

Lucifer knew—he knew he was in love with a menace.

But somehow, Alastor still found new ways to infuriate him.

"You are the most insufferable person I know" Lucifer muttered, shaking his head as he let out an exhausted sigh.

Alastor simply smiled, entirely pleased with himself "And yet, you adore me!"

Lucifer didn't bother denying it.

Because they both knew he wouldn't.

Notes:

Today's Notes!

Let’s be real: Lucifer is absolutely that type of partner who on one side is “How dare you not recognize that my man is the most drop-dead gorgeous being in the universe?” And on the other “How dare you presume you have the right to look at him like that?”

This man would paint a hundred paintings of Alastor to hang in public spaces and then glare at anyone who dares to admire them. He wants the world to know Alastor is an ethereal nightmare-daddy wrapped in a three-piece suit, but only if they know it with reverence and fear, not thirst.

Basically: praise him, but not too earnestly. Gaze upon him, but know your place. Below him.

Alastor really said to Lucifer “Give me your phone so I can connect it to myself, so you can call me and I can answer no matter where I am.” Honestly, Lucifer… the signs are right there.

Come on, there's only one reason why Alastor joins in on all these group activities too, and it's not for the team-building exercises, Lucifer.

Also, it’s officially canon in this universe that Lucifer and Charlie are not allowed to cook for everyone. If they want to prepare food for themselves? Totally fine. But they are absolutely not assigned breakfast or dinner duties in the rotation schedule. For everyone's safety.

Yeah, well, I’m Gen Z. So if you understood everything I wrote here… congrats, and also, I’m sorry. The fact that you understood it all says a lot. If you cringed, though? I’m not apologizing. That just makes it even funnier to me, hahaha. I honestly love when media includes characters who speak in 'current' slang, it always cracks me up. Which brings me to Stephanie’s character: she’s 100% inspired by Camie from My Hero Academia. Camie speaks entirely in slang, and I adore her for it. Like, she’ll be in the middle of a battle and casually say “Hawks is a total rizz-cake. You can’t unalive that snack” to the big bad, and I LIVED for every second of it. If you’re familiar with her, you know exactly what I’m talking about. And if not? I highly recommend looking up a few of her scenes, either with subtitles or in the English dub. She’s something else.

If Alastor had been alone with Stephanie, the man would’ve absolutely suffered, he’d have tuned her out the moment she started talking. But since Lucifer was with him? Oh, it became pure entertainment. All the better to watch Lucifer's expressions twist in confusion, irritation… and jealousy. Alastor was having a great time.

Ti Zétwal means "Little Star" in Creole. At this point in the story, Alastor has already used this pet name for Lucifer before. The moment he first says it, though? That’ll be revealed in the next work, which, by the way, is already finished. :p

Now, to the main point:
In canon, it’s clear that Alastor isn’t exactly up with the times, he didn’t even know what “Ace” meant, which suggests he doesn’t keep up with modern slang or culture. But in this version? Alastor is completely aware of how modern technology and culture work. He just chooses not to participate. He prefers the comfort and familiarity of his era. And frankly, constantly watching his back in case Vox tries to spy on him through TVs, phones, or computers would be exhausting.

Still, I think it totally fits his character to be well-versed in the modern world for two key reasons:

- To dismantle it. Like I mentioned in the chapter: the best way to criticize or destroy something you hate is to fully understand it. It’s like prepping for a debate, you need to master the topic to poke holes in it effectively. Alastor can’t protect himself from modern surveillance unless he understands exactly how it works.

- Because of his past. This man used to be a radio broadcaster. His job was literally to stay informed, to know the news, current events, entertainment, music, weather, gossip, sports, all of it, and transmit that to the public. Staying plugged in wasn’t a quirk, it was a necessity. That habit never left him. So now, even if he dislikes the modern age, he’s still completely informed. It’s second nature. If you asked him to name the top ten most popular songs in Hell right now? He’d rattle them off with terrifying accuracy, and probably hate every single one unless they matched his aesthetic.

Next week will be the last chapter of this work, and it's going to be a long oneeeee!

As always, let me know your thoughts<3

***
Well... this is kind of self promo? I made an account in bluesky, the account's name is the same as here 'sasuwux', I keep seeing that it's better than Twitter, less toxic? But, who knows. I’ll probably use it mostly to promote the fanfics or ramble:p

Thank you for reading!
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Chapter 6

Notes:

Welcome to the final chapter of PART ONE!

Yes, I’m telling you twice, here and at the end, the first chapter of PART TWO is already posted! So once you’re done here, feel free to dive right into what’s next.

But! Not before dropping me your thoughts about this chapter (or the whole work, I’m not picky... that's a lie, I'm super picky) :p

At long last, our little angel and eldritch deer are getting the happy ending they deserve... for now... kidding!

Hope you enjoy it! <3

CHAPTER SIX | IT WAS TIME TO CONFESS HIS FEELINGS TO ALASTOR

It was time to confess his feelings to that damn deer.

Lucifer had spent so long convincing himself that he wouldn’t, that he shouldn’t, that it was better—safer—to simply stay friends with Alastor. He had believed, with absolute certainty, that the radio demon had no interest in relationships, that romance was not something Alastor wanted, and Lucifer had accepted that. He had resolved himself to the idea that it was just how things were, that Alastor would never want more, and that Lucifer would remain by his side in the only way he could.

Until he found out he was wrong.

He had gotten it wrong.

Alastor was capable of love—was emotionally and romantically available—just not in the way Lucifer had initially thought. It had been Rosie who finally clarified things, who explained that Alastor was asexual, uninterested in physical relationships but very much capable of something deeper if the right person came along.

Lucifer had never felt more relieved in his entire existence.

Sex was inconsequential to him—always had been. He was created before sex was even a concept, before it held any significance, he had liked having sex but also, he could live without it just fine. That was never going to be something he needed. But this? This, the idea that Alastor could love—could feel something—could maybe, possibly return what Lucifer felt?

It was enough to make him hope.

But as time passed, that hope twisted into an ache—raw and sharp.

Guilt.

Guilt, because Alastor didn’t know.

Guilt, because Lucifer was keeping this from him, living day after day with feelings he refused to express, walking beside him, laughing with him, fighting with him, existing in his orbit while hiding how much he loved him.

It wasn’t fair.

Not to Alastor.

Not to himself.

So, he decided.

He was going to confess.

He was going to tell him.

He was going to say I love you, knowing full well that rejection was inevitable, knowing that Alastor would hear those words and look at him with that unreadable expression, that charming, composed, infuriating ease, and turn him down.

And Lucifer would accept it.

He had to.

If Alastor didn’t want him anymore after that—if he decided that things had to change, that distance had to be placed between them, that he no longer wanted Lucifer in his space—then… then…

Fuck.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

Lucifer would have to respect his choice, accept rejection with grace, cry himself into oblivion, and pretend he could move on like it was nothing.

No—no, he wouldn’t. He was lying to himself, lying so thoroughly that the sheer performance of convincing himself was pathetic. He wouldn’t move on. He wouldn’t simply get over it. But he would try—because he had to, because Charlie was still here, still relying on him, still pulling him along a path of redemption that he couldn’t afford to abandon just because of one failure.

Charlie.

Lucifer hadn't been expecting the conversation when she cornered him one day, waiting until he was alone, approaching with all the awkward tension of someone who had been planning this for far too long. Which was weird, because usually, he was the awkward one. There had been a lot of stalling words, a lot of stumbling, until finally, she got straight to the point.

The moment she approached him, her movements were hesitant, awkward, her gaze shifting slightly like she was trying to figure out how to say whatever was sitting heavy on her tongue. Lucifer had seen her stalling before, but this was different. This was planned.

He knew something was wrong before she even opened her mouth.

"How are you doing?"

Lucifer raised a brow "Fine" his answer was immediate, instinctive, and too short.

Charlie shifted again, arms crossing, fingers tappping against her arms, her expression tight in that uncertain way "No, I mean—" she exhaled, pressing her lips together before starting again "Are you okay? Like… how are you really doing?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes "Why are you asking me like that?"

Charlie winced slightly, the hesitation in her posture growing worse, and Lucifer did not like how uneasy she looked.

She took a breath, trying to make this seem natural, and when she finally got to the point, she still stumbled over her own words "Mom and you got… divorced."

Lucifer stiffened.

Charlie watched him carefully, waiting, scanning for any shift in expression.

“Yes…” Lucifer kept his composure, but only barely "I know."

Charlie exhaled through her nose, nodding once before continuing "And… I was thinking… maybe it’s time to move on."

Lucifer’s fingers twitched against his arms, his posture tightening slightly "Move on."

She nodded again "Yeah."

Lucifer stared at her for a long moment, waiting, silent, but Charlie wasn’t done. She inhaled deeply, bracing herself—and Lucifer could feel it, feel that something worse was coming.

And then—

"And, you know—if you… like someone—if there’s someone who makes you happy, I want you to know that I totally encourage it. You should go for it."

Lucifer malfunctioned.

His entire body went rigid, heat creeping up his throat, words scrambling in his brain before they tumbled out in an incoherent mess "Wh—what are you talking about?"

Charlie stared at him.

Blank.

Blunt.

She did not stall. She did not hesitate. She did not soften the truth.

"I know you have feelings for Alastor."

Lucifer stopped breathing.

"And" Charlie continued with calm certainty "So does everyone else in the hotel."

Lucifer had never felt panic like this before.

He was obvious? Everyone knew? Had Alastor noticed?

Lucifer swallowed hard, his voice coming out strangled, uneven, desperately grasping for any answer that would make this less humiliating "Alastor—does Alastor know?"

Charlie smiled slightly—gently—a knowing edge creeping into her expression that Lucifer did not pick up on "No."

Lucifer exhaled sharply, tension loosening just slightly.

"He’s the only one who doesn’t know" she reassured.

Lucifer believed her.

Which was his biggest mistake.

Charlie had lied. Smoothly. Effortlessly. She had woven deception into a perfectly crafted reassurance, something she had learned directly from Alastor himself—something the radio demon was immensely proud of.

Lucifer did not catch it.

Instead, he just tried, tried to stay composed, tried to pretend he wasn’t seconds from spiraling, tried to ignore the way his entire fate had just been placed under a spotlight.

Charlie—sweet, hopeful, optimistic—had encouraged him, had reassured him that maybe… just maybe, Alastor would give him a chance.

Lucifer had heard the words.

But he already knew the truth.

Alastor would never see him as anything more than a friend.

And that?

That was going to ruin him.

***

Lucifer was stalling. Again.

Another day had passed, another wasted opportunity to confess, another pathetic excuse to postpone what needed to be said. He was drowning in cowardice at this point, fully aware of it, fully unwilling to do anything about it.

So, naturally, the logical solution? Drink himself into oblivion.

Lucifer had tuned it all out, focused solely on the bottles stacking up in front of him. Husk had tried—tried—to cut him off somewhere past his twentieth bottle, muttering something about bad decisions and how he wasn’t about to deal with whatever mess Lucifer was spiraling into.

Lucifer, irritated, barely lifted his hand before sealing Husk’s mouth shut with his magic.

The cat demon jerked, ears flattening, his glare sharpening into a deadly thing.

Lucifer only smirked at him, completely unapologetic as he swished the liquor he’d just poured into his glass before taking another slow sip.

Husk’s eyes burned with rage, growling as he clawed at his own face, pulling at the invisible force keeping his jaw locked, until finally—after a long moment of pure seething—Lucifer sighed and undid the spell.

Husk exhaled sharply, shaking off the sensation before fixing Lucifer with an unbelievably pissed-off look "You absolute bastard" he growled "You are going to let me do my job or you’re going to keep being a petty little king with god powers?"

Lucifer just pouted at him, lifting his glass in mock cheer before taking another drink, letting the alcohol settle, ignoring the judgment radiating off the sinner in front of him.

"Rude" he muttered, barely coherent through the liquor running through his brain.

Husk rubbed his temples, muttering a string of curses and how he was just as bad as Alastor under his breath before finally moving on, leaving Lucifer to his self-destructive indulgence.

Lucifer was well past drunk, swimming in liquor-fueled self-pity, swirling his glass with slow, deliberate movements, trying to pretend the conversation he was about to start wasn’t going to ruin everything.

"How…" he started, voice heavy, slurred but determined "…The hell am I supposed to confess to him?"

Husk froze.

Entirely.

Not even a casual twitch of his tail, not even a slow blink of indifference—just pure, immediate horror.

"Oh, fuck no" Husk muttered, exhaling sharply, shaking his head, ears flattening in deep, deep disapproval "I am not dealing with this."

Lucifer ignored the reaction, leaned forward slightly, a lazy, almost pleading motion, tipping his glass just enough to make Husk stay, to keep him here, to make him listen "You have to help me" he insisted, voice edged with desperation, stripped bare "You know him the longest."

Husk groaned, rubbing his face as if physically wiping away the conversation could somehow save him "Technically, Niffty’s known him the longest, genius."

Lucifer scoffed immediately, waving a dismissive hand "I’m not asking her. She’s a creepy little thing. That’s not happening."

Husk rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath before taking a slow, resigned breath "Fine" he muttered "But you’re not going to like what I have to say."

Lucifer leaned in further, the heat of alcohol settling deep in his chest, coating his thoughts, making his movements heavier, slower, but he listened.

"Alastor is a bastard" Husk started bluntly, fingers wrapping around his own glass, if he was going to talk about this… he would do so while drinking too "He’s always been a bastard. And when I met him, I kind of hated him."

Lucifer frowned, but didn’t interrupt.

"But…" Husk inhaled sharply, tapping his claws against the glass before continuing "I kind of liked him too. Because, honestly? Having my soul owned by him was the best-case scenario I could’ve had."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching Husk carefully.

"Alastor only owns two souls. Mine and Niffty's. I’m sure you know that" Husk mentioned, his tone shifted, dipping into quiet reflection, and deeper, not before taking a sip from the glass "He deals in favors, not ownership. But when it came to me, it wasn’t bad. My deal kept me from spiraling. It kept me from betting my soul again."

Lucifer blinked once, slow, processing.

"I was in a bad place decades ago, Lucifer" Husk’s gaze flickered toward him, tired, worn out, sharp in ways that had nothing to do with the present moment "And he helped me. In his own twisted way. And I’ll never pretend I understand his reasoning, but I do know that—" he exhaled, voice shifting, hardening slightly "—You better be sure you have feelings for him. Because I need to know if you’re in love with him—or if you’re just in love with the idea of him."

Lucifer stiffened immediately "What?" his voice was clipped, defensive, almost offended.

Husk simply sighed, shaking his head slightly "I’ve seen it too many times. The bastard is too charming sometimes which ends with people claiming they love him, people thinking they know him, thinking they understand what’s behind that smile. But they don’t. They never do. And you? You better be sure before you say anything."

Lucifer scowled, irritation flickering across his face, anger rising in his chest "That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard."

Husk’s gaze sharpened, his voice dipping lower now, heavier "Is it?"

Lucifer opened his mouth—snapped it shut.

Because Husk wasn’t done.

"Vox" Husk stated simply, without hesitation, without softening the name.

Lucifer stiffened.

Husk leaned back slightly, arms crossing, gaze unreadable "Vox was in love with Alastor. Or at least, he thought he was. But he wasn’t in love with Alastor. He was in love with the idea of him—of how wonderful and charming he was, of what he thought he could have. And when he got rejected?" Husk exhaled sharply, shaking his head "Everything went to shit."

Lucifer knew that story. Well, he didn't... not the full story. He was sure at this point that Alastor was never going to tell him exactly what happened the day of his fight with that bastard.

But hearing that name now—hearing it this way—

It stirred a knot deep in his chest.

Husk continued, voice thick with near-warning edge "It was Rosie, Niffty and me that had to deal with Alastor after that. We had to deal with him losing this long friendship of his… fifty fucking years down the drain."

Lucifer was silent.

Husk leaned forward, leveling him with an unwavering gaze "So, Lucifer—" his voice was firm now, deliberate, weight pressing into his words "If you really love him? If you really tell him, he rejects you, and your reaction is bad?" Husk’s claws tapped against the bar, sharp, slow, pointed "It’s not going to be just the three of us anymore that will have to deal with him. And whatever fucked up thing happens after."

Lucifer scoffed, sharp and immediate, his irritation spilling over as he sat forward, fingers tightening against the glass in his hand, his patience stretched far too thin for this.

"I am not in love with the idea of him" he stated firmly, his voice weighted with finality—undeniable, inescapable, impossible to ignore "I’m in love with him. Alastor. Not some idealized version of him, not some pretty illusion, not some ridiculous fantasy" he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration burning behind his ribs, behind the slosh of alcohol weighing him down "Do you honestly think I haven’t considered that before? That I don’t know exactly who he is?"

Husk watched him carefully, silent for now, his tail flicking in idle thought as he let Lucifer spiral through his own words.

"I hated him when we first met" Lucifer continued, jaw clenching slightly as he thought back to the first tangled, volatile interactions between them "I thought he was an evil bastard, thought he was trying to use Charlie, thought he was playing some long, cruel game with her and with me—thought he was nothing but some twisted, grinning menace."

He paused, swallowing down the heat rising in his throat, forcing the liquor-heavy thoughts into something sharper, and less messy.

"But I was wrong."

Husk’s ear twitched, but he still didn’t speak, letting Lucifer pour the words out himself.

"He is an evil bastard" Lucifer admitted, his tone shifting now, softer, more contemplative, less defensive "But to the people who deserve it. And I’m fine with that. I’m fine with him being cruel, with him enjoying what he does, with him taking pleasure in the pain of those who’ve earned it."

He let out a sharp breath, tipping his glass back, letting the alcohol settle, letting the weight of everything sink deep into his skin.

"Honestly?" he smirked slightly "I actually find that hot."

Husk groaned immediately, rubbing his temples, letting out a deeply disappointed sigh "Disgusting" he muttered.

Lucifer ignored him, continued, because the words weren’t finished yet.

"He’s annoying" Lucifer stated simply, easily "He thinks he’s superior to everyone, hates being wrong, loves being right even when it’s infuriating. He’s high-maintenance, controlling, a damn nightmare to deal with when he gets in a mood."

His fingers drummed absently against the side of his glass.

"And yet."

Husk lifted a brow slightly, waiting.

"And yet" Lucifer repeated, voice dipping quieter now, lower, more weighted "He still accepted me—even with all the ways I’ve been a sorry excuse of a father."

Husk’s posture shifted, but Lucifer wasn’t watching him anymore.

"He hates bad parents" Lucifer continued, his voice slower, each word settling between them with the weight of truth "Hates them more than anything. And yet instead of hating me for it, instead of looking down on me the way he does everyone else who’s failed their own children, he believed in me."

Lucifer swallowed, inhaling slowly, rolling his shoulders back as the weight of it all started pressing down on him.

"He believed I could fix things with Charlie. That I could be better than I’ve been. That I wasn’t just some lost cause."

Husk didn’t react, simply watched.

"He accepted my depressive moods but also helped me through them" Lucifer admitted, exhaling sharply "He’s come into my room more times than I can count just to drag me out of bed, to force me to do something instead of wallow."

Lucifer laughed slightly—soft, breathless, barely there.

"Alastor has never accepted anyone at face value" Lucifer muttered, shaking his head slightly, tired "He picks people apart, unravels them, analyzes them, finds every weakness, every flaw, every little thing to hold against them."

He dragged his fingers through his hair again, pressing his palms briefly against his face before sighing, pulling back, looking directly at Husk.

"And yet, he accepted me—as me. Not the King of Hell. Not the Devil. Just Lucifer."

Husk almost laughed.

Almost.

Because Lucifer didn't realize.

Lucifer didn't catch what he had just said.

Because if Lucifer had fallen in love with all the good and bad parts of Alastor—had accepted him as his true self—

Then of course Alastor could have done the same thing.

And everyone knew it.

Everyone but Lucifer himself.

Husk sighed deeply, like this was the single most exhausting conversation he had ever been forced into. Lucifer could see the resignation settling in, the reluctant acceptance that, fine, Husk was actually going to help.

"Alright" Husk muttered, voice low and gruff "I’ll tell you the best way to confess to him."

Lucifer straightened, anticipation creeping in nonetheless.

"But listen carefully" Husk continued, pressing his claws against the bar, looking at Lucifer with too much knowing, too much weight "Because if you screw this up, it’s on you."

Lucifer scoffed but stayed silent, waiting.

Husk inhaled deeply, exhaling slow, clearly considering his words carefully "You probably have this idea that since Alastor loves theatrics, since he thrives on performance and entertainment, that a confession should follow the same theme" his eyes narrowed slightly "Forget all of that."

Lucifer blinked once, slow, processing past the alcohol, but Husk’s tone had shifted now, turning serious.

"No pranks, no elaborate stunts, no ridiculous speeches. Just tell him. Straight up. Bluntly. Say I love you and that’s it" Husk’s fingers tapped against the bar, slow, deliberate, sharp "Just pure honesty and certainty—nothing else."

Lucifer watched him carefully, trying to piece together why Husk's voice carried the weight of conviction just shy of law.

Husk continued, leaning back, crossing his arms, letting out another sigh like he was physically preparing himself for the next words "If you do that—if you just say it and mean it—he’ll accept it."

Lucifer froze.

A twinge curled in his chest, twisted just slightly, almost unsettling.

Husk’s tail flicked lazily, his expression shifting—smug now, edged with a teasing look "You might actually have a chance with him."

Lucifer stared.

"You think I have a chance?" he asked, voice coming out flatter than intended, more measured, trying to figure out if Husk was messing with him.

Husk smirked, shrugging "Maybe. Wouldn't rule it out."

Lucifer swallowed thickly, heat crawling up his throat as tension curled in his ribs—sharp, constricting, nearly overwhelming.

Because that felt like hope.

And hope? Hope was the last thing he needed. Hope was how people got hurt. Hope was how people fell apart.

Lucifer stared down at his drink, the amber liquid moving in slow, hypnotic motions, the weight of Husk’s words settling deep into his chest.

"You’re the second person who’s told me that" he murmured, voice softer now, more contemplative, as if speaking it aloud made it more real.

Husk lifted a brow "Oh yeah? Who was the first?"

"Charlie" Lucifer admitted, sighing deeply, rubbing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, exhaustion creeping in "She told me I should go for it. Thought I had a chance."

Husk let out a low hum "Then why don’t you ask everyone else?"

Lucifer glanced up at him, skeptical, brows furrowing slightly "Everyone?"

"Yeah" Husk said, shrugging slightly, leaning back against the bar "Ask Angel. Ask Niffty, Vaggie, Rosie. Go down the list. See what they say."

Lucifer scoffed, shaking his head "And what? You think they’re all going to tell me the same thing?"

Husk grinned, with confidence creeping in his tone "I do."

Lucifer exhaled slowly, shaking his head again, pushing his drink aside, considering—really considering—if this was even worth doing.

"And Rosie?" Husk continued, voice shifting, more serious now "She’s the one you should listen to the most. She knows Alastor better than anyone—knew him the longest, closest friend he’s got."

Lucifer swallowed, inhaling sharply, the thought tightening the knot in his chest.

"You could think about their answers" Husk continued, casual but firm, his voice pressing forward with quiet weight—carrying more than just idle advice "Then decide if that pushes you enough to actually tell him how you feel."

Lucifer didn’t speak.

And Husk, seeing the hesitation, knowing exactly what was going through Lucifer’s mind, let out a slow, knowing sigh before finally adding—

"But I already know what they’ll say, King."

Lucifer’s gaze flickered toward him, sharp, wary.

Husk’s smirk curled, a glint of something almost amused flashing in his eyes "Out of everyone, Lucifer, you’re the one they—we can actually see being with him."

Lucifer inhaled slowly. He actually considered believing it.

***

Lucifer found Vaggie tucked away in one of the hotel salons, surrounded by stacks of paper, carefully sorting through questionnaires that Charlie had prepared for the next resident activity. The meticulous way she handled them, double-checking each copy, making sure there were enough for everyone—it was clear how much she wanted to help, how much she cared. Best girlfriend indeed.

He approached casually, making some small talk, asking about the activity, commenting on how brave she was for willingly dealing with paperwork—because no matter how much progress he had made, bureaucracy still made him want to rip his own eyes out. Vaggie had smirked slightly, called him dramatic, which—fair.

After a few moments, Lucifer shifted the conversation, letting himself ease into the question "What do you think of Alastor?"

Vaggie paused, brow furrowing slightly, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift "What do I think of him?"

Lucifer nodded, watching her carefully, waiting.

She tilted her head slightly, considering, before answering honestly "At first? Didn’t trust him at all. Thought he was trying to use Charlie, thought he had some angle, some plan, something bad."

Lucifer hummed lightly, understanding.

"But over time" Vaggie continued, tapping her fingers against the table absentmindedly "I realized something. Yeah, he’s an evil bastard, but he’s not an evil bastard to Charlie. And that’s enough for me."

Lucifer exhaled, nodding slightly, letting the words sink in, appreciating the shift, the growth in her perception of the radio demon.

Then—Vaggie narrowed her eyes, her gaze settling on him, more focused now.

"Why are you asking me this?"

Lucifer tensed, a flicker of nervousness creeping in "Just curious" he muttered, avoiding her gaze slightly, looking down at the nearest stack of papers like they were suddenly fascinating.

Vaggie scoffed, shaking her head "No, you’re not."

Lucifer sighed deeply, rubbing his temples, already knowing where this was going.

"Does this have anything to do with your little crush?"

Lucifer groaned, dragging a hand down his face "Huh. Everyone really does know."

Vaggie smirked slightly "Obviously."

Lucifer let out a slow breath, deciding there was no point in hiding it "Yeah" he admitted, his voice weighted with exhaustion and quiet surrender "And… I wanted to ask—" he hesitated for just a moment "Do you think I have a chance with him?"

Vaggie paused, genuinely considering, tilting her head slightly before finally answering "Months ago? I would’ve said yes—but only because it would’ve meant he had access to the King of Hell’s power, that it was all manipulation, that he was playing some long game for control."

Lucifer did not find that reassuring.

But Vaggie wasn’t finished.

"Now?" she exhaled, thinking "Now, I think he'd accept it for real. Not because of power or advantage, but because—" she looked at him carefully, seriousness in her expression, thoughtful "Because you two are always together."

Lucifer stiffened slightly.

"Alastor teases the hell out of you" Vaggie continued, smirking faintly "And you guys are constantly fighting, but it’s all in good fun. And you both seem genuinely happy in each other’s company."

She paused, added something she clearly debated saying for a moment.

"Honestly?" her nose scrunched slightly, discomfort flickering through her expression "Sometimes you guys look just like me and Charlie."

Lucifer froze.

Vaggie groaned immediately, shoving a hand through her hair "Which makes me want to throw up, because that would make Charlie you and me Alastor, and—" she made a disgusted noise, waving her hand in dismissal "God, gross."

Lucifer barely reacted, still processing, still feeling a weight turn over in his chest—slow, deliberate, inescapable.

"But yeah" Vaggie finished, shaking off the momentary horror "If you’re asking me if I think Alastor looks at you the same way I look at Charlie, and vice versa—then yeah. I do."

Lucifer had no idea what to say to that. He was stunned—because the possibility of Alastor actually loving him was becoming too real.

***

Lucifer found Angel sprawled out on his bed, phone in hand, idly scrolling through whatever nonsense entertained him these days. The spider hardly looked up when Lucifer entered, merely flicking his eyes in acknowledgment before flashing him a smirk.

Lucifer had no idea why he kept starting conversations with the same damn question "How are things going?"

Angel raised a brow, tilting his head slightly, clearly amused at the sudden visit "Damn, you are checking up on me now? Didn’t know you cared, Luce!"

Lucifer rolled his eyes, ignoring the teasing tone, but Angel went along with the small talk, indulging him, playing along with whatever this was.

And then—Angel’s smirk widened.

"Hold up" he said, easing the phone down, eyes lit with mischief and a glint that cut just a little too clean "Are you here ‘cause you need tips on how to charm Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?"

Lucifer pouted, immediately crossing his arms, scowling "No."

Angel let out a dramatic sigh, tapping his nails against his phone "Shame. Thought you finally saw the light—thought you finally realized you got to step it up if you want to land him.”

Lucifer grumbled something under his breath, but Angel wasn’t letting up.

"Like, you got to work it—throw in some razzle-dazzle, you feel me? Give him something interesting—put on a show!"

Lucifer glared, cheeks warming, utterly fed up "That’s not going to work" he snapped, trying—and failing—to keep his embarrassment in check "He’s not into that kind of stuff!"

Angel snorted "Duh. I know that." he stretched lazily, yawning before flashing him a knowing grin "He’s asexual. Total opposite of me, you know? But it’s funny making these jokes—keeps things lively!"

Lucifer sighed, shaking his head "You are impossible."

Angel winked "I try, babe."

Lucifer finally composed himself enough to ask the real question "What do you think of Alastor?"

Angel hummed, considering, tapping a finger against his chin "Didn’t think much of him at first—thought he was just another shady Overlord. Was kind of worried he’d end up being like Valentino—especially since they knew each other" his expression dimmed slightly, a flicker of seriousness crossing his gaze "But then? Started hearing more. Started learning more. Heard a lot from Val and Vox—lot of bad shit about him. But the kind of shit that made me realize—he’s nothing like them."

Lucifer nodded slowly, letting him continue.

"Stopped being afraid of him after that. And... Well, you know the whole deal. I tried helping him by stealing that video of his fight with Adam from Vox. That was a mess. Led to even more problems" Angel sighed, shaking his head "But then he fixed it. Then he did something I did not see coming—he took my soul from Valentino."

Lucifer knew that. Remembered that.

"Valentino no longer owns my soul" Angel said, voice heavier now, steadier "Alastor gave it back to me. And that? That changed everything."

Lucifer could see it—could feel it in Angel’s tone, in the way his words carried weight.

"So yeah" Angel exhaled, stretching slightly "I like him. Obviously. He’s kind of like a controlling older brother—wants me to get my shit together, wants me to stop wasting my potential. He’s got his own way of doing things, but… it works."

Lucifer smiled slightly, genuinely happy for him "That’s good."

Angel leaned back, looking at him carefully "Alright, enough about me—why you are really here?"

Lucifer sighed deeply, bracing himself, dragging a hand through his hair before finally asking "Do you think I have a chance with him?"

Angel snorted.

"DUH."

Lucifer stiffened, staring at him "That’s it?"

Angel laughed, shaking his head "You might actually be the only one who does!"

Lucifer swallowed thickly, warmth burning upward while a silent weight took root in his chest.

"Honestly" Angel continued, smirking wide "If it wasn’t for the fact that Alastor disrupts video, I’d have recorded you two by now so you could see exactly how obvious this shit is."

Lucifer blinked, uneasy "What does that mean?"

Angel cackled, sitting up more "It means you already act like a married couple. You two are the parents of this hotel."

Lucifer froze.

Angel leaned forward, voice dripping with amusement "The amount of jokes we make when you all aren’t around? Hilarious. Always something like—‘Oh no, Daddy made Mommy mad!’"

Lucifer winced "I—" he hesitated, then blurted "Am I the daddy or the mommy?"

Angel howled with laughter, slapping his knee "Oh, babe—you are the daddy."

Lucifer regretted asking.

"But" Angel added, smirking wide "While you might be daddy, it does not mean you run the house—Mommy is obviously in charge."

Lucifer groaned, burying his face in his hands "I hate this."

Angel grinned, but his tone softened slightly "Seriously? You just got to confess. Everyone already knows. And you two? You already act like you’re together. You just got to say it out loud."

Lucifer exhaled sharply, a quiet weight sinking into his chest.

***

Niffty was always moving. Always running, always zipping through the hotel like she had limitless energy, too fast even for him at times. Lucifer had seen plenty of speed, plenty of agility in his existence, but the way she moved—the way she had snuck behind Adam himself and managed to kill him—it was impressive. More than impressive. He could still hardly believe it.

And honestly? The only thing Lucifer could think about when it came to her was just how much Alastor adored her.

The radio demon spoiled her. Followed her lead. Entertained her with whatever odd whims she had. He would amuse her, indulge her. She worshipped him in kind, always praising him, always adoring everything he did. Alastor was her favorite person.

And Lucifer—like everyone else in the hotel—had found her creepy at first. Her mind was too twisted, even for his tastes, her energy sharp, erratic, almost unsettling. Which, of course, was exactly why Alastor found her so fascinating.

So Lucifer wasn’t even sure if he should be asking her opinion on this—on Alastor, on him, on this ridiculous confession dilemma.

But Niffty was also blunt. Honest.

And if nothing else—she knew Alastor in ways he didn’t. She technically knew Alastor the longest out of everyone in the hotel. And that made her worth asking, even if Lucifer wasn’t quite ready for what she was about to say.

Lucifer had barely taken two steps into the storage room when Niffty spun to face him, her eye lighting up with immediate recognition, her energy bursting through the space like she had been waiting for him all along.

"Ooooh! Look who finally decided to check on his little kingdom of dust and neglect!" she chirped, balancing a stack of old boxes with one hand while effortlessly gesturing around the room with the other "Seriously, Ultimate Bad Boy, you’re lucky I found this mess before it became an infestation! Do you have any idea how many cockroaches were nesting in that corner? A whole family! I had to eradicate them before they got any ideas about spreading out!"

Lucifer sighed, already knowing this was going to be chaotic "Thanks, Niffty" he muttered, glancing toward the pile of boxes she had dragged from the shadows "Much appreciated."

She huffed putting down the boxes, placing her hands on her hips, eye gleaming with satisfaction "And don’t even get me started on the giant cockroach I found last month! Oh! You wouldn't believe it—it was practically the size of a shoe! And obviously, I had to show it to King Roach!"

Lucifer blinked "King Roach?"

"Alastor!" Niffty declared with pride, puffing out her chest "He told me I did a wonderful job finding it—asked me if I was going to keep it as a pet or torture it! So thoughtful!"

Lucifer let out a sigh "Niffty, please."

"Hm?" she tilted her head.

"I need to ask you something serious."

Her expression shifted instantly, straightening, ready to listen, as if she had simply flicked a switch in her brain "Oh! Okay! Ask away!"

Lucifer hesitated—just briefly—before finally saying the words "What do you think of Alastor?"

Silence.

Lucifer stiffened slightly.

Niffty didn’t blink—didn’t twitch—just stared, completely frozen, like her entire system had shut down.

Lucifer panicked. Had he broken her? Had he somehow glitched her out of existence? If he had—oh, Alastor was going to kill him.

But then—

"Alastor is Alastor!" she chirped suddenly, eye gleaming again, tone bright, smooth, certain "He’s the best bad boy I’ve ever met! Not like the mean bad boys—no, no, no, no! He’s special!"

Lucifer blinked.

Well—that was an answer, he supposed.

"I met him back in the fifties!" Niffty continued, barely pausing between words "A very mean bad boy had my soul, and then one day, I saw Alastor—from far away—and I fell in love! Because he was so pretty! So, I started following him!"

Lucifer stiffened slightly "You followed him?"

"Yes! And eventually, he noticed! He turned around and asked ‘What are you doing, my dear?’ And I said ‘Following you! Because you’re a pretty boy!’"

Lucifer stared.

Any normal person would’ve been tortured for pulling something like that.

But Alastor hadn’t.

Maybe because she was a woman? He did seem softer toward women. Not always, but sometimes.

Niffty barely gave him time to process before continuing "Then, the mean bad boy chased after me! He didn’t recognize Alastor—not at all! He was about to hit me, and then Alastor stopped him—"

Lucifer already knew where this was going.

"—And then Alastor ate him!"

Lucifer sighed "Of course, he did."

"And just like that, I belonged to Alastor! And I was the happiest!"

Lucifer rubbed his temples again. There was so much missing context in that story—so much that was not being said, so many details he was not going to get out of her. And the only person who could tell him the full truth?

Alastor.

He inhaled slowly, steeling himself, then asked "Niffty—if I confessed to Alastor, do you think he’d accept me?"

She giggled, bouncing slightly on the tips of her toes "You’re just like me! Following him around because he’s a pretty boy!"

Lucifer’s face heated immediately "That is not why—"

"Oh, yes it is!" she insisted, eye sparkling, completely convinced "It’s the best thing you could do! You’ll never regret it! I didn’t!"

Lucifer had a pained look in his eyes, wanting to cover his face with his hands.

"Of course he’d accept you!" her voice carried forward, sure and shimmering with conviction "He accepted me when no one else did! Once you confess, you’ll belong to Alastor, and he’ll always take care of you! Because Alastor always takes care of what’s his—with love and care!"

Lucifer’s stomach flipped.

This was getting way too real.

And if Niffty—Niffty, of all people—was saying this?

Lucifer had no choice but to start believing it.

***

Lucifer hadn't bothered with the trip to Cannibal Town—hadn't walked, hadn't flown, hadn't wasted any time dragging himself through Hell's streets. No, he had simply teleported, appearing at the entrance of Rosie's emporium in a single blink of magic.

The moment he stepped inside, the air shifted.

It was rare for him to come here alone, without Alastor, and the cannibals noticed—froze in place, their eyes locking onto him with uncertainty. He wasn’t a threat here—not really—but he wasn’t familiar enough for his presence to be expected. He mostly only came when Alastor was with him, when they visited Rosie for lunch, and the sudden appearance of him alone was enough to make the room tense.

Lucifer ignored them.

He strode forward, cutting through the unease like it was nothing, and finally—Rosie appeared, weaving through her people with effortless confidence.

She greeted him warmly.

They were friends, of course. Alastor had introduced them, and despite his initial reservations, Lucifer had grown to appreciate her presence. At first, there had been a flicker of jealousy—Rosie and Alastor were so close, always comfortable in each other’s space, always genuinely happy together. But over time, Lucifer had realized their bond was deeply platonic—siblings, not lovers.

That had helped.

Rosie took one look at him and immediately knew.

She was perceptive—dangerously perceptive—and Lucifer watched the amusement flicker through her expression as she tilted her head, eyes gleaming with quiet excitement.

Because she knew.

This meant it was finally happening.

Lucifer—Alastor—finally moving toward something real.

She led him to the back of her emporium, away from prying eyes, into a private space where they could talk without interruption.

With her usual charm, she smiled as she sat down, crossing her legs, hands folded in her lap, watching him carefully "So" she mused lightly "What brings you here today, Your Majesty?"

Lucifer swallowed thickly, a flicker of nerves creeping in, his mouth opening—almost stuttering—before he forced himself to keep steady. Talking to her was different. Her opinion mattered more than the others. She was closest to Alastor, and whatever she said would hold more weight than anything he had heard so far.

She noticed his hesitation—saw right through him—and decided to speak first.

"Is this about romance?" she asked, voice smooth, effortless, her fingers tapping gently against the arm of her chair "Perhaps a certain deer Overlord?"

Lucifer exhaled slowly, nodding once, quiet.

Before she could say anything else—before she could offer him too much at once—Lucifer steadied himself and asked first.

"What do you think of Alastor?"

Rosie blinked at him—then chuckled.

"Oh, Lucifer" she exhaled, amused, shaking her head slightly "Such a short question—but one that requires a very long answer. The things I could say about him…"

Lucifer waited, silent, patient.

Rosie took a breath, and began.

"I’ve known him a long time. Longer than anyone in that hotel. I was already here before Alastor arrived, already settling into my status, newly declared an Overlord myself. And when he first appeared, when he rose so quickly, it was…" she tapped her nails against the wood beside her, thoughtful "Outstanding. And terrifying."

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, listening.

"This sinner—this new arrival—was taking down Overlords who had been here for centuries. He had potential, and anyone smart enough could see it. But I was worried. I was afraid that one day, he’d target me—that I’d be next."

Lucifer had never thought about it from her perspective before.

"Then" Rosie continued, her tone shifting slightly "He was declared an Overlord. And that’s when I finally met him—in his first official Overlord meeting."

She smiled slightly, nostalgia flickering in her eyes.

"And the man I met… did not fit the rumors."

Lucifer leaned in just slightly, intrigued.

"He was charming, smooth, polite—" she chuckled, shaking her head "He was a gentleman with me. And I thought he was playing me, at first. But after, we met again. And again. And again."

A slow breath left her lips as she met Lucifer’s gaze—warmth and quiet understanding settling behind her eyes "Until I realized—Alastor is genuine. If he doesn’t like you, oh—you will know. And if he does? You’ll know that too. Maybe not immediately, but eventually?" she smiled wider "You feel it."

Lucifer swallowed thickly, nodding slowly.

He did feel it.

Rosie sighed, her tone dipping more thoughtful, more weighted "Alastor is complicated. He can be the sweetest man—and the cruelest man. He has the ability to dissect someone entirely, to see through them, to understand everything about them—and then decide whether to help them or torment them."

Lucifer knew that well.

Rosie smiled again "But that ability? That skill? It makes him the best friend. Because when I’ve needed him, he’s always been able to read the situation, dissect the problem, fix it."

Lucifer breathed deeply, taking in her words, letting them settle into his mind.

Rosie knew Alastor better than anyone.

And Lucifer agreed with everything she had said.

After a pause, he finally asked "Do you think I have a chance with him?"

Rosie smiled, that too-knowing warmth blooming across her face as a thought took root behind her eyes "You shouldn’t be asking me that."

Lucifer stiffened slightly, brows furrowing "What?"

"You should be asking yourself that."

Lucifer froze.

Rosie tilted her head slightly, gaze steady "Do you think you have a chance?"

Lucifer’s mind blanked.

He bit his lip harshly, his chest tightening, his voice faltering slightly before coming out in a quiet, uncertain tone "I… I want to believe that he’d accept my feelings. That he’d return them."

Rosie nodded "So ask yourself this—" she leaned forward slightly "With everything you know about him, with everything you’ve seen, with the way he treats you—do you think he would turn them away?"

Lucifer hesitated, his thoughts unraveling, his mind pulling up every moment between them.

He inhaled slowly—then answered.

"No" he admitted, finally seeing it clearly "Even if he didn’t reciprocate, he wouldn’t turn me away. He’d still want to be friends. Because he cares about me."

Rosie smiled "Then maybe" she said smoothly "You should go and confess."

Lucifer frowned slightly "You still haven’t answered the question" he muttered, his tone edged with frustration "Do you think I have a chance with him?"

Rosie grinned.

Almost too similar to Alastor’s grin.

"Oh, Your Majesty" she mused lightly, tilting her head "I couldn’t answer that for you. If I did, then my answer would confirm something, and that wouldn’t make me a good friend to Alastor, now would it?"

Lucifer hated that answer.

But before he could argue—before he could demand something more—Rosie shooed him away with a playful wave of her hand "Go find him, Lucifer. Be honest with your feelings. No more running. No more stalling."

Lucifer sighed deeply.

Rosie had dodged the question entirely. And now? Now, he had to find Alastor, now, he had to face this. No more excuses. No more pretending.

It was finally time.

***

Lucifer had waited.

Waited again.

And again.

Maybe the third time was the charm, because this was the third time he waited in front of their hallway, where their rooms stood side by side, where he could catch Alastor returning late at night.

And this time—this time he wasn’t going to stall.

His fingers tapped absently against his knee, his mind spiraling, thoughts circling like vultures around the weight of what he was about to do. Husk had told him to be blunt and honest—no theatrics, no complications, straightforward. He had nearly spiraled just thinking about it, nearly let the fear consume him, nearly let the worry unravel him into another night of hesitation.

But—no.

Not this time.

Because no matter what happened, he knew—knew, without doubt, without hesitation—that Alastor cared about him. That would not change.

Lucifer inhaled sharply when he felt him enter the hotel.

Waited.

Felt the presence of static energy trace up the stairs, the familiar hum of power pressing against the walls.

Finally—he stood. Biting his lip, clenching his fingers, barely holding himself together, he waited as the final footsteps reached their floor.

And consequently, Alastor appeared.

Lucifer swallowed thickly, nerves pushing against his chest, fingers twitching slightly as he fidgeted in place before finally managing a quiet "Hey."

Alastor tilted his head slightly, his grin twitching with amused curiosity "Why, Your Majesty, what an unexpected sight!" his voice curled around each word with ease, his posture fluid, smooth, as he ascended the final step, stopping in front of him.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak "Did you… have a good day?"

He hated how hesitant his voice sounded.

Alastor noticed.

But didn’t comment.

Instead, he answered easily, his tone light, carrying that ever-present playfulness "A fine day, indeed! Finished some of my workload, acquired a few things for our dear hotel. Ah—but of course, the final decisions lie with our lovely Charlie. Always insists on contributing with her own means."

Lucifer barely absorbed the answer, his thoughts too tangled, his mind too lost in what was about to happen.

Alastor sensed it immediately.

"Now-now, Lucifer" he said smoothly, his fingers tapping against his cane, his gaze narrowing slightly, scanning him closely "You seem rather fidgety tonight. Have you something to tell me?"

Lucifer swallowed hard, nodding once, forcing himself to breathe "Yeah. I do."

Alastor hummed, tilting his head "Then let’s talk in my room."

Lucifer nodded again, barely processing, barely keeping himself steady.

They entered Alastor’s room, the soft glow of the fireplace coming to life as Alastor flicked his wrist, igniting the flames before smoothly preparing drinks—one for himself, one for Lucifer. Oh, how he was always relieved by the fact that Alastor always moved the 'bayou' into another room to ensure his safety. One time of almost being consumed was enough for him, fuck that thing.

Lucifer almost cursed aloud when he realized his hands were shaking when he took the glass.

Alastor almost laughed.

Lucifer gulped.

Focused.

Tried to fix his thoughts.

Finally—he spoke.

"I hated you when we first met."

Alastor snorted, entirely unbothered "Oh-ho! Yes, yes, that much was rather obvious."

Lucifer exhaled sharply, ignoring the comment, pushing forward "I hated how easily Charlie accepted you, how she treated your words like law. I was… envious."

Alastor watched him, silent now, waiting.

"And then… as months passed… we spent more time together" Lucifer’s fingers tightened around his glass "And I started to see… I started to realize…" his breath hitched slightly—he forced himself to keep talking "You never cared that I was the King of Hell."

Alastor’s grin twitched slightly.

Lucifer inhaled "You had no respect for my title—even when you used it. You never pretended around me. You were always yourself—unapologetically" his throat tightened "You pushed me to be better. The version of me you knew I could be—a better father, a better person, someone who could fix things instead of wallow."

Alastor’s grin softened—only slightly.

"You were the first person to thank me for giving humans free will. The first person to tell me that my essence—my frequency—was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard" Lucifer sniffled, realized too late that tears were forming "You pulled me out of my depressive moods, made sure I never stayed too long drowning in them. You would force me out of bed, remind me that the world moved, that I was still here—that I had to face it."

His voice broke slightly—he kept going "You make me feel alive, Alastor" his breathing shook "You—you bring out every emotion in me. And—" he clenched his fists "—I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saying this, I’m sorry if this is too much, if I’m overstepping, but I can’t hide it anymore. It’s not fair—not to you, not to me."

Lucifer looked at him, eyes glossy, voice cracking.

"I love you."

Alastor did not move.

Lucifer sucked in a breath, his chest tight, emotions overwhelming, tears falling now, freely, as the words poured out, as his heart opened completely "I love you so much, and I don’t know what to do anymore" his voice trembled—he kept talking.

"I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ve hidden it, afraid of what would happen, afraid I’d drive you away, afraid that if I told you—if I said it—you would disappear" his hands shook "I love you so much that I can’t—I can’t picture a future where you’re not by my side."

Lucifer was falling apart, sobs breaking past his lips, fingers clutching at his own arms, his entire body shaking with the weight of everything he had just admitted. His breath came in uneven bursts, his throat burned, his chest ached—but more than anything, he was afraid.

Afraid of what Alastor would do.

Afraid of what would happen next.

Afraid that he had just ruined everything.

So lost in his own spiraling emotions, he didn’t notice—didn’t see Alastor stepping closer, closing the distance between them, moving with slow, deliberate precision.

Not until he was right there, mere centimeters away, standing directly in front of him, so close that Lucifer could feel the warmth of his presence.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, startled, his watery eyes flickering up, panic still clinging to his expression as his voice barely whispered past the air between them.

"Please don’t hate me for this" he murmured, voice fragile, raw, pleading "I don’t— I don’t know what I would do if you sent me away."

His breathing hitched—his hands trembled.

And so—

Alastor moved.

Slowly.

Intentionally.

His slender fingers reached forward, steady, gentle, and cupped Lucifer’s cheeks with unwavering care.

Lucifer froze.

Alastor’s touch was warm—so warm—his palms smooth, firm, cradling his face with a near-reverence.

Lucifer’s heart stopped.

And—Alastor smiled.

Soft.

Tender.

Beautiful.

"Oh, Ti Zétwal" Alastor murmured, voice quieter than usual, filled with softness and aching with depth. His thumbs brushed against Lucifer’s tear-streaked skin, slow, affectionate, tracing his cheekbones with a kind of gentleness that Lucifer had never felt before "You truly are so silly, aren’t you?"

Lucifer couldn’t breathe.

"All this time—" Alastor whispered, tilting his head slightly, his gaze steady, unwavering, weighted with an unspoken truth "—And still, you didn’t see what was right in front of you."

Lucifer’s pulse raced, his throat tightening, his entire body tense with the weight of his own emotions.

And then—then—Alastor said it.

"I love you."

Lucifer shattered.

"I have always loved you" Alastor continued, his voice laced with fondness and realness "From the very beginning. From the moment you truly saw me, truly fought with me, truly laughed with me—I have loved you."

Lucifer’s entire soul trembled.

"And all this time?" Alastor exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing through the strands of Lucifer’s hair, smoothing them back with deliberate intention "I have been waiting—waiting for my dear, worrisome King to finally catch up to me."

Lucifer couldn’t think.

Couldn’t process.

His mind was spiraling, spinning too fast, crashing against the overwhelming realization that Alastor had loved him this entire time.

"I hoped—" Alastor continued, his voice gentle "—That one day, one day, you would feel the same. I hoped, for months, for so long—I thought I had been obvious, after all. Everyone saw it."

Lucifer’s mind reeled.

His thoughts were spinning, crashing together, clashing with the weight of realization, the overwhelming, suffocating clarity that had been sitting in front of him this whole time.

Alastor loved him.

Charlie—her words surfaced in his mind first "If there’s someone who makes you happy, I want you to know that I totally encourage it. You should go for it."

She had said it so gently, her smile so sure, her eyes bright with unwavering support. She had known. She had known. And yet, she had let him figure it out himself, let him take his time, let him stall as long as he needed—because she knew this was something he had to come to on his own.

Husk—his words had been more blunt, more direct "Say I love you and that’s it. If you do that—if you just say it and mean it—he’ll accept it."

He had said it with certainty. With confidence. No doubt in his voice, no hesitation in his tone, no question that Lucifer would be accepted. Because Husk had already known—he had already seen it. He had been waiting for Lucifer to catch up.

Then Vaggie—Lucifer remembered her answer, the way she had considered, the way she had truly thought before speaking "If you’re asking me if I think Alastor looks at you the same way I look at Charlie, and vice versa—then yeah. I do."

She had seen it too.

The way Alastor treated him—the way they acted around each other—the way their dynamic had settled into something undeniable, too familiar, so close to what she had with Charlie.

Angel—his response had been so obvious, so sure "Seriously? You just got to confess. Everyone already knows. And you two? You already act like you’re together. You just got to say it out loud."

He had laughed when he said it, amused, exasperated, like Lucifer was being ridiculous for not already knowing. Because everyone else did.

Niffty—her enthusiasm had been unshaken, her certainty absolute "Once you confess, you’ll belong to Alastor, and he’ll always take care of you! Because Alastor always takes care of what’s his—with love and care!"

She had seen it, felt it, lived it. She had been claimed by Alastor before, had been kept in a way he could keep someone, the way only he could protect and hold onto the people he deemed his. And now—now, she knew Lucifer was about to be the same.

With that—Rosie.

The final piece. The one person Lucifer knew had the most insight into Alastor, who knew him better than anyone else. And she had dodged his question entirely.

"I couldn’t answer that for you. If I did, then my answer would confirm something, and that wouldn’t make me a good friend to Alastor, now would it?"

Because she knew.

She knew, and she had been waiting for Lucifer to see it too.

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his chest tight, his emotions swirling uncontrollably as the weight of it all came crashing down onto him.

Of course, Alastor loved him.

It had been obvious.

So obvious.

Lucifer thought back—thought about the compliments, the charm, the soft touches, the nights spent playing music together, the endless moments that felt too private, too intimate, too real for them to be anything but proof that Alastor had always loved him.

He stared at Alastor, his cheeks flushed, heat burning across his skin as the radio demon cupped his face, fingers smooth, gentle, warm against his cheeks.

And then—then he saw it.

Saw it clearly.

The way Alastor was staring at him.

The way he had always been staring at him.

Like he was so in love.

Like he had been waiting for Lucifer to finally understand.

Lucifer’s breath shook, his hands tightening against his sides, his entire body overwhelmed with unbelievably heaviness.

Alastor truly loved him.

Lucifer felt the ache in his throat curled down to his chest—warmth blooming and breathtakingly real. 

More tears started to come out of his eyes.

But this time, happy ones.

Alastor chuckled, brushing them away with his thumbs, smoothing his fingers gently across his cheeks "My dear" he mused, voice edged with softness and endlessly affection "It is good that I know the difference between your tears—or else I would be panicking right now!"

Lucifer laughed—breathless, broken, but so damn happy.

Lucifer felt the world shrink down to this single moment, to the warmth of Alastor’s hands cradling his face, to the soft glow of the fire casting flickering shadows against the walls, to the stillness between them that was heavy with everything unsaid, everything finally understood.

He knew what was about to happen.

He closed his eyes, pulling in a scent—lush and layered—that had always been there, but now clung differently, like meaning finally caught up.

And—

Their lips met.

It was slow at first—a careful press, tentative, almost hesitant, like both of them were trying to commit this exact feeling to memory. But the moment they felt it—felt the warmth, felt the way their bodies instinctively leaned into each other, felt how right this was—hesitation melted away.

Lucifer’s fingers trembled before they moved, reaching up, curling lightly against Alastor’s coat, gripping the fabric just enough to keep him close, as if to make sure this was real, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Alastor’s grip tightened just slightly, thumbs brushing delicate strokes against Lucifer’s skin, grounding him, coaxing him, holding him in place like he was something precious.

Lucifer had known Heaven.

Had felt it, had lived it, had been part of it.

But this—

This was a Heaven all his own.

Warmth seeped into his veins, spread through his chest, filled every space that had ever felt hollow, ever known cold, ever ached for more.

This was everything.

This was Alastor.

They deepened the kiss, letting it linger, letting it settle, letting it be. Time ceased to exist. Nothing outside of this mattered. Nothing outside of them mattered.

And when air finally became necessary, they parted—just barely—breaths mingling, foreheads resting against each other, smiles wide, soft, content.

Lucifer stared into Alastor’s eyes—eyes that had always held secrets, always held mystery, always gleamed with riddles he could never quite solve.

Except now.

Now, those eyes held love.

Love for him.

Alastor’s fingers smoothed across his cheek one last time before he murmured, voice edged with warmth, with quiet amusement "My dear Lucifer, it seems you’ve finally caught up to me."

Lucifer laughed—light, breathless, overwhelmed by a feeling too vast to name, too beautiful to define.

Because he loved Alastor.

And Alastor loved him back.

And that?

That was everything.

And Lucifer was never letting go.

Ever.

Notes:

Second notice!

The first chapter of the next story is already posted, so come on over when you’re done here! I’d love to see you there.

Also, I hope you enjoyed watching Lucifer go around asking everyone for their thoughts on Alastor, and their relationship. It really drove home how incredibly obvious the whole situation is. Everyone’s been clocking it from the start, Lucifer just needed the receipts. :p

Also, just so you know: there won't be anything more than kisses in this portrayal of Alastor. He’s completely uninterested in anything beyond that, and Lucifer’s perfectly okay with it. Being an angel created before the very concept of sex existed, it's more of a choice for him than a personal need.

Thank you so much for reading this fic!

I truly appreciate every lovely comment and your continued interest in this little universe I’m building. It means the world to me. Honestly, one of my biggest concerns when I started writing this was whether readers would connect with my portrayal of Alastor, as this ultra-mysterious, ridiculously powerful demon that everyone seems to adore. Not gonna lie, it definitely shows how biased I am... he’s my absolute favorite. So I’m super relieved (and thrilled!) that the response has been so positive.

As for writing from Lucifer’s POV, there are two reasons for that.
First: I find it way easier. Alastor’s voice would probably still be steeped in 1920s slang and an entirely different worldview. So, that means more research to do from my part if I want to write his POV. Lucifer, on the other hand, feels more modern and relatable… well, at least compared to that damn deer.
Second: it gave me the perfect excuse to let Lucifer shamelessly thirst after Alastor. Simple as that. Hahaha.

Once again, thank you for reading! Hope to see you in the next part<3

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Frequencies Of The Eldritch